while Scarthe, stepping into the embayment of the window, broke open the
royal seal, and read:
"_His Majestie the King to Captain Scarthe, commanding ye Cuirassiers in
the County of Bucks_.
"_In addition to ye orders already given, Captain Scarthe is hereby
commanded to raise by recruit in ye county of Bucks as many men as may
be disposed to take service in his Maiestie's regiment of cuirassiers;
and he is by these same presents empowered with ye king's authority to
offer to each and every recruit a bounty as prescribed in if
accompanying schedule_.
"_Furthermore, it having come to ye ear of his Majestie, that divers
disloyal citizens of said shire of Bucks have of late shown symptoms of
disaffection to his Majestie's Government, in the holding of secret
meetings, and divers other and like unlawful acts, and by speeches
containing rebellious doctrines against his Majesty's Government, and
person as likewise against the well-being of ye state and ye church;
therefore, his Majestie do command his loyal and trusted servant, ye
Captain Scarthe aforesaid, to search, discover, and take cognisance of
all such dissentious persons; and if he find good and substantial proof
of their disloyalty, then is he hereby enjoined and commanded to
communicate ye same to ye Secretary of his Majestie's Council of State,
in order that such rebellious subjects be brought to trial before ye
Star Chamber, or ye High Commission Court, or such other court or courts
as may conform to the nature of their offence and punishment_.
"_Given at our palace of Whitehall_.
"_Signed Carolus Rex_."
"Pish!" exclaimed Scarthe, as he concluded reading the despatch.
"That's a pretty duty to put _me_ on! Making a spy of me! The king
forgets that I am a gentleman!"
"I shall obey the first command readily enough. My troop wants
recruiting; and I suppose, along with the increased numbers, I may get
that colonelcy I ought to have had long ago. As to my eavesdropping
about inns, and listening for every silly speech that Jack makes to Jem,
and Jem repeats to Colin--with the usual embellishments of the rural
fancy--I'll do nothing of the sort;--unless," added he, with a
significant smile, "unless the _queen commands me_. To gratify her
sweet grace, I'll turn potboy, and wait upon the gossips of the tap.
Ho! what's this?--more writing;--a postscript! Perhaps, as in the
letters of ladies, the most important part of the epistle?"
"_Since writing the above dispatch, his Majesty hath been further
informed that one of his Majestie's subjects--by name Holtspur--and
bearing the Christian name of Henry, hath more than any other been of
great zeal in promoting the subversive doctrines aforementioned; and it
is believed that the said Holtspur is an active instrument and coadjutor
among the enemies of his Majesties government. Therefore Captain
Scarthe is directed and enjoined to watch the goings and comings of ye
said Holtspur, and if anything do appear in his conduct that may be
deemed sufficient for a charge before ye Star Chamber, then is Captain
Scarthe directed to proceed against and arrest the said individual. His
Majestie in ye matter in question will trust to the discretion of
Captain Scarthe to do nothing on slight grounds,--lest the arrest of a
subject of his Majesty, who might afterwards be proven innocent, bring
scandal on ye name and government of his Majestie_.
"_C.R_."
"Spy!" exclaimed Scarthe, starting to his feet as he finished reading
the postscript, "Spy, you say? I thank you for the office. Fear me
not, kind king! I'll play the part to perfection.
"Did I not say so?" he continued, striding to and fro across the floor,
and waving the paper triumphantly over his head. "The women are wise.
They keep their best bit for the last. Henceforth of a letter give me
the postscript!
"So, Master Henry Holtspur, I thought there was something not sound
about you--ever since you drank that toast to taunt me. Aha! If I
don't have you on the hip--as Will Shakespeare says--then I'm not Dick
Scarthe, captain of the king's cuirassiers!
"Stay! I must go gently about this business--gently and cautiously.
The king counsels it so. No fear for my rashness. I know when to be
stormy, and when to be tranquil. Proofs are required. That won't be
difficult, I ween--where a red rebel stands before the bar. I'll find
proofs. Never fear, your Majesty. I'll find, or _frame_ them--proofs
that will satisfy that scrupulous tribunal--the Star Chamber! ha! ha!
ha!"
And, as he gave utterance to the satirical laugh, he passed rapidly out
of the room--as if starting off in search of those proofs he so
confidently expected to obtain.
Volume Two, Chapter VIII.
We left the beautiful Bet Dancey, with her eyes fixed on the man she
admired--waiting his entrance into her father's cottage, and with a
throbbing bosom.
Hers were not the only eyes that were watching Henry Holtspur--nor the
only bosom throbbing at his approach. There was one other beating as
wildly as hers, though with emotions of a far different kind. It was
that of her discarded suitor.
On parting with his cruel sweetheart, Will Walford had walked on among
the trees, not caring what direction he took. The horoscope of a happy
life, as the husband of Bet Dancey--which he had been long
contemplating--had become dim and dark by the very decided dismissal he
had just received; and the young woodman's world, circumscribed though
it might be, was now, to his view, a vast chaos.
For a time he could find no other occupation for either thought or
speech, than to repeat the revengeful phrase with which he had
signalised his departure.
Only for a short time, however, did he continue in this reckless mood.
The fact of his sweetheart being done up in her holiday dress, once more
recurred to him--along with the suspicion that she must be expecting
some one.
This thought checked his steps--bringing him to an instantaneous halt.
Despite his ungracious dismissal--despite the hopelessness of his own
suit--he determined on discovering who was the happy rival--who it was
for whom that boddice had been buttoned on.
That there was such an individual he could scarce have a doubt. The
girl's manner towards himself--her air of anxiety while he stayed in her
presence--the desire she had expressed for him to follow, and overtake
her father--and finally the banging of the door in his face--all pointed
to a wish on her part to get rid of him as soon as possible. Even the
dull brain of the brute was quick enough to be convinced of this.
If he had any doubting hope upon the subject, it was determined by the
baying of the lurcher, which at this moment broke upon his ear. The dog
could no longer be barking at him? Some other arrival must have engaged
the animal's attention; and who could that other be, but the man for
whom Bet's black tresses had been so coquettishly coifed?
The jealous rustic faced round and commenced returning towards the hut--
as if the bark of the dog had been a command for him to do so.
Very different, however, was the attitude exhibited on his backward
march. Instead of the reckless devil-me-care swagger with which he had
taken his departure, he now made approach with the instinctive caution
of one accustomed to the woods; sheltering himself behind the trunks of
the trees, and gliding from one to the other--as if afraid of being shot
at, by somebody lying in wait within the cottage.
After arriving upon the edge of the open ground, that extended some
yards outside the enclosure--he came to a final stop--crouching down
behind a bush of holly, whose thick dark foliage appeared sufficient to
screen him from the observation of any one--either in the cottage or in
front of it.
The first glance which he gave, after getting into position, discovered
to him the individual whose arrival had set the dog to barking. Had it
been the coarse cuirassier--Bet's latest conquest--or even the officer
who at the _fete_ had made so free with her lips, Will Walford would
have been pained by the presence of either. But far more dire were his
thoughts, on perceiving it was neither one nor the other--but a rival
infinitely more to be dreaded--his own patron--the protector of Maid
Marian.
Had it been any other who was making approach Will Walford might have
sprung from his hiding-place, and shown himself upon the instant--
perhaps commanded their instantaneous departure. But after witnessing
that combat in the Saxon camp--combined with other knowledge he
possessed of the character and qualities of the "black horseman"--a
wholesome fear of this individual counselled him to keep his place.
The dog soon ceased his angry demonstrations; and, springing gleefully
upon his chain, commenced wagging his tail in friendly recognition of
the new arrival. It was evident the cavalier was not coming to the
cottage of Dick Dancey for the first time!
As Walford reasoned thus, the cloud upon his countenance became darker--
the agony in his heart more intense. Still more agonising were his
emotions when he saw Henry Holtspur step inside the hut, and heard his
voice in free conversation with that of the girl. The tones appeared to
be of two persons who had talked in confidence--_who understood one
another_!
The shadow of a fell intent showed itself on the beetling brow of Will
Walford. Despite his dread of such a powerful adversary, jealousy was
fast urging him to a dark deed--to do, or dare it. No doubt, in another
instant, it would have stimulated him to the wielding of that terrible
woodaxe, but for an unexpected incident that turned him from his
intention.
The dog again gave out his howling note of alarm; but soon changed it
into a yelp of recognition--on perceiving that it was his own master who
was coming along the path.
At the same instant Walford recognised the old woodman. Instead of
showing himself, he crept closer in among the glabrous leaves of the
holly, and lay crouching there--more like a man who feared being
detected, than one bent on detection.
It was not till the cavalier had stepped forth from the cottage, and,
apparently entering into serious conversation with its owner, walked off
with him into the woods, that Walford stole out from his hiding-place
under the holly.
Then, shaking his axe in the direction in which they had gone--with a
gesture that seemed to signify only the adjournment of his fiendish
design--and, still keeping the bush between his own body and the windows
of the hovel, he sneaked sulkily away.
He did not go in silence, but kept muttering as he went; at intervals
breaking out into louder enunciations--as some thought especially
exasperating struck into his excited brain.
Again he repeated the menace made on his first departure from the
cottage.
"Ees, dang me! I'll keep my threet, if I shud ha' to hang for't!"
This time, however, the "threet" applied to a special victim--Holtspur.
It is true that he still mentally reserved a condition; and that was,
should his suspicions prove correct. He was determined to play the spy
upon his sweetheart by day and by night; and, should he discover good
grounds for his jealousy, nothing should then stay his hand from the
fell purpose already declared--to kill.
This purpose--fully resolved upon as he walked through the wood--had
some effect in tranquillising his spirit; though it was far from giving
it complete contentment.
His steps were turned homeward; and soon brought him to a hut standing
only a few hundred yards from that of Dick Dancey--of even humbler
aspect than the domicile of the deer-stealer. It looked more like a
stack of faggots than a house. It had only one door, one window, and
one room; but these were sufficient for its owner, who lived altogether
alone.
The "plenishing" was less plentiful, and of a commoner kind than that in
the cottage of the deer-stealer; and the low truck-bed in the corner,
with its scanty clothing, looked as if the hand of woman had never
spread sheet, or coverlet, upon it.
This appearance of poverty was to some extent deceptive. However
obtained, it was known that Walford possessed money--and his chalk score
in the tap-room of the "Packhorse" was always wiped out upon demand. No
more did his dress betray any pecuniary strait. He went well habited;
and could even afford a fancy costume when occasion called for it--to
represent Robin Hood, or any other popular hero of the peasant fancy.
It was this repute of unknown, and therefore indefinite, wealth, that in
some measure sanctioned his claim to aspire to the hand of the beautiful
Bet Dancey--the acknowledged belle of the parish; and though his
supposed possession of property had failed to win over the heart of the
girl herself, it had a deal to do in making him the favourite of her
father.
Already slightly suspicious of Bet's partiality for the black horseman,
what he witnessed that morning rendered him seriously so. It is true
there was still nothing ascertained--nothing definite. The cavalier
might have had some object, in visiting Dancey's cottage, other than an
interview with Bet; and Walford was only too willing to think so.
But the circumstances were suspicious--sufficiently so to make sad havoc
with his happiness; and, had Dancey not returned at the time he did,
there is no knowing what might have been the _denouement_ of the
interview he had interrupted.
On entering his unpretentious dwelling, Walford flung his axe into a
corner, and himself into a chair--both acts being performed with an air
of recklessness, that betokened a man sadly out of sorts with the world.
His thoughts, still muttered aloud, told that his mind dwelt on the two
individuals whose names constantly turned up in his soliloquy--Bet
Dancey and Henry Holtspur. Though Bet was at intervals most bitterly
abused, the cavalier came in for the angrier share of his denunciations.
"Dang the interloper!" he exclaimed, "Why doan't he keep to his own
sort? Ridin' about wi' his fine horse an' his fine feathers, an' pokin'
hisself into poor people's cottages, where he have no business to be?
Dang him!
"What's brought him into this neighbourhood anyhow? I shud like to know
that. An' what's he doin' _now_? I should like to know that.
Gatherin' a lot o' people to his house from all parts o' the country,
an' them to come in the middle o' the night! I shud just like to know
that.
"Theer be somethin' in it _he_ don't want to be know'd: else why shud
those letters I carried--ay, an' opened an' read 'em too--why shud they
have told them as I tuk 'em to, to come 'ithout bringin' theer own
grooms, an' at that late hour o' the night? Twelve o'clock the letters
sayed--one an' all o' them!
"I shud like to know what it's all about. That's what I shud.
"Ay; an' may be I know some'un else as wud like to know. That fellow as
fought wi' him at the feeat. I wish he'd run him through the ribs,
instead o' gettin' run through hisself. Dang it! what can _he_ be
wantin' wi' me? Can't be about that thwack I gin him over the skullcap?
If't are anything consarnin' that, he wouldn't a' sent after me as he's
done? No, he' a sent a couple o' his steel-kivered sogers, and tuk me
at once. Withers sayed he meeant well by me; but that Withers an't to
be depended on. I never knew _him_ tell the truth afore he went
sogerin'; an' it an't like he be any better now. Maybe this captain do
meean well, for all that? I'd gie somethin to know what he _be_
wantin'.
"Dang it!" he again broke forth, after pondering for a while, "It mout
be somethin' about this very fellow--this black horseman? I shud say
that 'ere captain'll be thinkin' o' him, more'n about anybody else. If
he be--ha!"
The last ejaculation was uttered in a significant tone, and prolonged,
as if continuing some train of thought that had freshly started into his
brain.
"If't be that;--it may be? Dang me! I'll know! I'll go an' see Master
Captain Scarthe--that's what they call him, I b'lieve. I'll go this
very minnit."
In obedience to the resolve, thus suddenly entered upon, the woodman
rose to his feet; seized hold of his hat; and made direct for the door.
Suddenly he stopped, looking outward upon some sight, that seemed to
cause him both surprise and gratification.
"I've heerd say," he muttered, "that when the devil be wanted he beeant
far off. Dang it; the very man I war goin' to see be comin' to see
_me_! Ees--that be the captain o' the kewreseers, an' that's Withers as
be a-ridin' ahint him!"
Walford's announcement was but the simple truth. It was Captain
Scarthe, and his confidant Withers, who were approaching the hovel.
They were on horseback; but did not ride quite up to the house. When
within a hundred yards of the door the officer dismounted; and, having
given his bridle to the trooper, advanced on foot and alone.
There was no enclosure around the domicile of Will Walford--not even a
ditch; and his visitor, without stopping, walked straight up to the
door--where the woodman was standing on the stoup to receive him.
With the quick eye of an old campaigner, Scarthe saw, that on the ugly
face of his late adversary there was no anger. Whatever feeling of
hostility the latter might have entertained at the fete, for some reason
or other, appeared to have vanished; and the captain was as much
surprised as gratified at beholding something like a smile, where he
expected to have been favoured with a frown.
Almost intuitively did Scarthe construe this circumstance. The man
before him had an enemy that he knew to be his also--one that he hated
more than Scarthe himself.
To make certain of the justness of this conjecture was the first move on
the part of the cuirassier captain.
"Good morrow, my friend!" began he, approaching the woodman with the
most affable air, "I hope the little incident that came so crookedly
between us--and which I most profoundly regret--I hope it has been
equally forgotten and forgiven by you. As I am an admirer of bravery,
even in an adversary, I shall feel highly complimented if you will join
me in a stoup of wine. You see I always go prepared--lest I should lose
my way in these vast forests of yours, and perhaps perish of thirst."
As he approached the conclusion of this somewhat jocular peroration, he
held up a flask--suspended by a strap over his shoulders--and
unconcernedly commenced extracting the stopper.
His _ci-devant_ adversary--who seemed both surprised and pleased at this
brusque style of soldering a quarrel--eagerly accepted the proffered
challenge; and, after expressing consent in his rough way, invited the
cavalier to step inside his humble dwelling, and be accommodated with a
seat.
Scarthe gave ready assent; and in another second had planted himself, on
one of the two dilapidated chairs which the hovel contained.
The wine was soon decanted into a pair of tin cups, instead of silver
goblets; and in less than ten minutes' time Captain Scarthe and Will
Walford were upon as friendly terms, as if the former had never touched
the lips of Maid Marian, nor the latter broken a cross-bow over his
head.
"The fact is, my bold Robin!" said Scarthe, by way of a salvo, "I and my
companion, the cornet, had taken a little too much of this sort of stuff
on that particular morning; and you know when a man--"
"Dang it, yes!" rejoined the rustic, warming to his splendid companion,
who might likely become a powerful patron, "when one has got a drap too
much beer i' the head, he arn't answerable for every bit o' mischief in
that way. I know 'twas only in sport ye kissed the lass. Dang it! I'd
ha' done the same myself. Ay, that I would."
"Ah! and a pretty lass she is, this Maid Marian. Your sweetheart, I
take it, Master Walford?"
"Oh! e-es;--Betsey be somethin' o' that sort," replied the woodman,
rather vain of the avowal.
"A fortunate fellow you are! I dare say you will soon be married to
her?"
Walford's reply to this interrogatory was ambiguous and indistinct.
"As one," continued the captain, "who has a good deal of experience in
marrying matters--for I've had a wife, or two, myself--I'd advise you--
that is, after the fair Betsey becomes Mistress Walford--not to permit
any more presents of flowers."
"Dang it!" ejaculated the jealous lover, "what do you mean by that,
master?"
"Why, only that I was witness to that little affair in the old camp;
and, to say the troth, was not a little surprised. If any one deserved
those flowers from Maid Marian, it was surely the man who first took up
her quarrel. That was yourself, Master Walford: as my skull case--which
still aches at the remembrance--can truly testify."
"Dang me, if I didn't! The black horseman had no business to interfere,
had he?"
"Not a bit! You and I could have settled our little difference between
ourselves; and I was just upon the eve of asking your forgiveness--for I
felt I had been foolish--when this fellow stepped in. He interfered,
for no other reason, than to figure well in the eyes of the girl. I
could see plain enough it was that; though I knew nothing of either
party at the time. But I've learnt something _since_, that puts the
matter beyond dispute."
"Learnt somethin' since--you have?" gasped Walford, springing up from
his chair, and earnestly stooping towards the speaker. "If thee know'st
anything anent Maid Marian--Bet Dancey, I mean, an' _him_--tell it me,
Master! tell it me, an'--"
"Keep cool, Walford! Resume your seat, pray. I'll tell you all I know;
but, before I can make sure that I have been correctly informed, it is
necessary for me to know more of this person, whom you style the _Black
Horseman_. Perhaps you can tell me something, that will enable me to
identify him with the individual whose name I have heard, in connection
with that of Maid Marian, or Bet Dancey--as you say the beauty is
called."
"What do you want to know o' him?" asked Walford, evidently ready to
impart all the intelligence regarding Holtspur of which he was himself
possessed.
"Everything," replied Scarthe, perceiving that he need not take trouble
to keep up even a show of reserve. "As for myself, I know only his
name. After all, it may not have been him--who--"
"Who what?" quickly inquired the impatient listener.
"I'll tell you presently, Master Walford; if you'll only have a little
patience. Where does this black horseman hold out?"
"Hold out?"
"Ay, where's his hostelry?"
"I've seed him oftener than anywhere else at the Saracen's Head--down
the road nigh on to Uxbridge."
"Zooks! my brave Robin, that isn't what I mean. Where does he live?"
"Where's his own home?"
"Ah! his home."
"'Tain't very far off from here--just a mile t'other side o' Wapsey's
Wood--in a big hollow i' the hills. Stone Dean the place be called. It
be a queery sort o' a old dwellin'--and a good lot out o' repairs, I
reckon."
"Does he see any company?"
"Wal, if you mean company--sich as fine ladies an' the like--I doan't
think he ever do hev that sort about him. And not much o' any sort,
whiles the sun be a-shinin'. After night--"
"Ah! his friends generally visit him by night," interrupted Scarthe,
with a glance that betokened satisfaction. "Is that your meaning,
Master Walford?"
"No, not gen'rally--ye mout say altogether. I have been to Stone Dean
more'n twenty times, since he coomed to live at the old house--at all
hours I've been--an' I never seed a soul theer i' the day time, 'cepting
myself an' Dick Dancey. Theer be a' odd sort o' a sarvint he brought
wi' him--a Indyen they calls him."
"But Master Holtspur has visitors in the night time, you think?"
"Ay! that he have--lots o' 'em."
"Who are they?"
"Doan't know neer a one o' 'em. They be all strangers to these parts--
leastwise they appear so--as they come ridin', kivered wi' mud an' dust,
like after makin' a goodish bit o' a journey. There'll be a big
gatherin' o' 'em theer nex' Sunday night--considerin' the letters that's
gone. I took six myself, an' Dick Dancey as many more--to say nothing
o' a bunch carried to the west end o' the county by a fellow I doan't
know nothin' about. It be a meeting o' some sort, I take it."
"On next Sunday night, you say?"
The question was evidently asked with a keen interest: for the
revelations which Will Walford was making had all at once changed the
jocular air of his interrogator into one of undisguised eagerness.
"Next Sunday night?"
"At what hour?"
"Twelve o' the clock."
"You are sure about the hour?"
"I ought to be; since I ha' got to be theer myself, along wi' Dick
Dancey, to look to the gentlemen's horses. A big crowd o' 'em there'll
be for the two o' us to manage: as the gentlemen be comin' without theer
grooms. But what was it, Master?" inquired the woodman, returning to
the torturing thought that was still uppermost; "You sayed you knowed
somethin' as happened atween Bet Dancey an' _him_? If he's been an'
done it, then, dang me--I'll keep my threet, if I shud ha' to swing for
it!"
"Done what?"
"Made a fool o' Bet--that's what I meean. What is it 't ye know, Mister
Captain? Please to tell me that!"
"Well, then," replied the tempter, speaking slowly and deliberately--as
if to find time for the concoction of some plausible tale. "For myself,
I can't say I know anything--that is, for certain--I have only heard--
altogether by accident, too--that your Maid Marian was seen--out in the
woods with a gentleman--and at a very unreasonable hour of the night."
"What night?" gasped the woodman.
"Let me see! Was it the night of the fete? No. It was the next
after--if I remember aright."
"Damn her! The very night I war gone over to Rickmans'orth wi' them
letters. Augh!"
"I shouldn't have known it was this fellow Holtspur: as the person who
gave me the information didn't say it was him. It was only told me that
the man--whoever he might be--was dressed in fine velvet doublet, with a
beaver and black plumes; but from what I've seen myself, and what you've
just now told me, I think it very likely that the black horseman was the
individual. It was in the woods--near Stone Dean--where they were seen.
You say he lives there. It looks suspicious, don't it?"
"'Twar him! I know it--I be sure o't. Augh! If I don't ha' revenge on
him, and her too! Dang the deceitful slut! I will! I will!"
"Perhaps the girl's not so much to blame. He's a rich fellow--this
Holtspur, and may have tempted her with his money. Gold goes a great
way in such matters."
"Oh! if't were only money, I could abear it better. No! It an't that,
master, it an't that! I'm a'most sure it an't. She's done it, damn
her!"
"Perhaps we may be mistaken. Things may not have gone so far as you
think. At all events, I should advise you to let the girl alone; and
confine your revenge to the villain who has wronged her."
"Him first--him first! And then, if I find she's let herself be made a
fool o'--"
"Whether or not, he deserves no thanks from you for having made the
attempt."
"I'll thank him!--I will, whenever I gets the chance. Wait till I gets
the chance."
"If I am not mistaken, you may have that--without waiting long."
Misinterpreting these words, the woodman glanced towards his axe with a
significant and savage leer, that did not escape the keen eye of
Scarthe.
"True," said the latter, in a tone of disapproval, "you might have
_that_ chance almost at any hour. But there would also be a chance of
failure, with a considerable risk of your getting run through the ribs.
If what you've told me be as I suspect, there will be no need to resort
to such extreme measures. Perhaps I may be able to point out a surer
and safer method for you to rid yourself of this rival."
"Oh! Mister Captain! If you would only do that--only tell me _how_--
I'll--I'll--"
"Have patience! Very likely I may be able to assist you," interrupted
Scarthe, rising to take his departure. "I've something in my mind will
just suit, I think. But it requires a little reflection--and--some
preliminary steps that must be taken elsewhere. I shall return here
to-night, after sunset. Meanwhile, stay at home; or, if you go abroad,
keep your tongue behind your teeth. Not a word to any one of what has
passed between us. Take another pull at the flask, to keep up your
spirits. Now, Walford, good day to you!"
Having pronounced these parting words, the officer walked out of the
hut; and, returning to his horse, leaped lightly into the saddle, and
rode off--followed by his attendant Withers.
He did not communicate to the latter aught of what had transpired
between him and the woodman. The muttered words that escaped him, as he
trotted off among the trees, were spoken in a slow, measured soliloquy.
"No doubt one of the very meetings of which his Majesty has spoken so
opportunely in his despatch? Richard Scarthe shall make one at this
midnight assembly--uninvited though he be. Ah! if I can only find a
fair opportunity to play eavesdropper, I promise Master Holtspur a more
substantial dwelling than he now inhabits! Ho! have no fear, kind King
Carolus! Right willingly shall I play the spy! Ha! ha! ha!"
Elated by the high hope with which his new-gained knowledge had inspired
him, he gave the spur to his grey, while Wapsey's Wood gave back the
echoes of his joyous laughter.
Volume Two, Chapter IX.
It was Michaelmas night over merry England; but at that late hour when
the rustic--weary with the revels incidental to the day--had retired to
rest and dream. In other words, it was midnight.
Though at a season of the year when a clear sky might be expected, the
night in question chanced to be an exception. The canopy of bright
blue, usually smiling over the Chiltern Hills, was obscured by black
cumulus clouds, that hung in motionless masses--completely shrouding the
firmament. Not a ray of light, from either moon or stars, was shed upon
the earth; and the narrow bridle-path, as well as the wider highway,
could with difficulty be discerned under the hoof of the traveller's
horse.
Notwithstanding the almost complete opacity of the darkness, it was not
continuous. Gleams of lightning at intervals flashed over the sward;
or, in fitful coruscation, illumined the deep arcades of the forest--the
beeches, for a moment, appearing burnished by the blaze. Though not a
breath of air stirred among the trees, nor a drop of rain had as yet
fallen upon their leaves, those three sure foretellers of the storm--
clouds, lightning, and thunder--betokened its proximity. It was such a
night as a traveller would have sought shelter at the nearest inn, and
stayed under its roof, unless urged upon an errand of more than ordinary
importance. Despite the darkness of the paths, and the lateness of the
hour--despite the tempest surely threatening in the sky--some such
errand had tempted forth at least two travellers on that very night.
As Marion Wade and Lora Lovelace sate conversing in their chamber, on
the eve of retiring to rest, two horsemen, heavily cloaked, might have
been been passing out from under the windows, and heading towards the
high-road, as if bent upon a journey.
It was Marion's sleeping apartment, that was occupied by the brace of
beautiful maidens--whose intention it was to share the same couch.
It had not been their habit to do so: for each had her separate chamber.
But an event had occurred making it desirable that, on that particular
night, they should depart from their usual custom. Lora required the
confidence of her cousin--older than herself--and her counsel, as well--
in a matter so serious as to demand the privacy of a sleeping apartment.
Indeed, two events had happened to her on the day preceding, both of
which called for the interposition of a friend. They were matters too
weighty to be borne by a single bosom.
They were somewhat similar in character--if not altogether so: both
being avowals of love, ending in offers of marriage.
There was, however, a considerable dissimilarity in the individuals from
whom the tender declarations had proceeded. One was her own cousin--
Walter Wade--the other, it is scarce necessary to say, being Cornet
Stubbs.
Lora had not hesitated as to the reply she should make to either. It
was not for this she was seeking the counsel of her cousin. The answers
had been given frankly and freely--on the same instant as the asking.
To Walter an affirmative; to Stubbs a negative, if not indignant, at
least final and emphatic.
That point had been settled before the sun went down; and Marion's
advice was only sought in order that the little Lora--her junior in
years, as well as womanly experience--might become better acquainted
with the details relating to that most important ceremony of a woman's
life--the _nuptial_.
Alas, for Lora; her cousin proved but a poor counsellor. Instead of
being able to give advice, Marion needed rather to receive it; and it
was from a vague hope, that Lora might suggest some scheme to alleviate
her own unpleasant reflections, that she had so gladly listened to the
proposal of their passing the night together.
What had occurred to disquiet the thoughts of Marion Wade?
Nothing--at least nothing but what is known already; and from that, some
may think she should have been _very_ happy. She had met the man she
loved--had received from his own lips the assurance that her love was
reciprocated--had heard it in passionate speech, sealed and confirmed by
a fervent kiss, and a close rapturous embrace.
What more wanted she to confirm her in the supremest happiness that can
be enjoyed--outside the limits of Elysium?
And yet Marion Wade was far from being happy!
What was the cause of her disquietude?
Had aught arisen to make her jealous? Did she doubt the fidelity of her
lover?
A simple negative will serve as the answer to both questions.
She felt neither jealousy, nor doubt. The mind of Marion Wade was not
easily swayed by such influences. Partly from a sense of self
rectitude; partly from a knowledge of her own beauty--for she could not
help knowing that she was beautiful--and partly, perhaps, from an
instinctive consciousness of the power consequent on such a possession--
hers was not a love to succumb readily to suspicion. Previous to that
interview with her lover--the first and last properly deserving the
name--she had yielded a little to this unpleasant emotion. But that was
while she was still uncertain of Holtspur's love--before she had heard
it declared by himself--before she had listened to his vows plighted in
words, in all the earnestness of eternal truth.
Since that hour no doubt had occurred to her mind. Suspicion she would
have scorned as a guilty thing. She had given her own heart away--her
heart and soul--wholly, and without reserve; and she had no other belief
than that she had received the heart of Henry Holtspur in return.
Her unhappiness sprang from a different cause--or rather causes: for she
had three sources of disquietude.
The first was a consciousness of having acted wrongly--of having failed
in filial duty; and to a parent whose generous indulgence caused the
dereliction to be all the more keenly felt.
The second was a sense of having transgressed the laws of social life--
the unwritten, but well understood statutes of that high-class society,
in which the Wades had lived, and moved, since the Conquest--and in all
likelihood long before that hackneyed era of historic celebrity.
To have challenged the acquaintance of a stranger--perhaps an
adventurer--perhaps a vagabond--ah! more than challenged his
acquaintance--provoked the most powerful passion of his soul--_thrown
down the gauntlet to him_--token of love as of war--when did ever Wade--
a female Wade--commit such an indiscretion?
It was a bold act--even for the bold and beautiful Marion. No wonder it
was succeeded by an _arriere pensee_, slightly unpleasant.
These two causes of her discomfort were definite--though perhaps least
regarded.
There was a third, as we have said; which, though more vague, was the
one that gave her the greatest uneasiness. It pointed to peril--the
peril of her lover.
The daughter of Sir Marmaduke Wade was not indifferent to the events of
the time--nor yet to its sentiments. Though separated from the Court--
and well that she was so--she was not ignorant of its trickery and
corruption. In the elevated circle, by which she was surrounded, these
were but the topics of daily discourse; and from the moderate, yet
liberal, views held by her father, she had frequent opportunities of
hearing both sides of the question. A soul highly gifted as hers--could
not fail to discern the truth; and, long before that time, she had
imbibed a love for true liberty in its republican form--a loathing for
the effete freedom to be enjoyed under the rule of a king. In political
light she was far in advance of her father; and more than once had her
counsel guided his wavering resolves; influencing him--perhaps, even
more than the late outrage, of which he had been the object--to that
determination to which he had at last yielded himself; to declare for
the Parliament and People.
Marion had been gratified by the resolve--joyed to see her father
surrendering to the exigencies of the times, and becoming one of the
popular party, that had long owned her admiration.
A heart thus attuned could not fail to perceive in Henry Holtspur its
hero--its immaculate idol; and such to the mind of Marion Wade did he
seem. Differing from all the men she had ever known--unlike them in
motives, action, and aspect--in joys and griefs, passions and powers--
contrasting with those crawling sycophants--pseudo-cavaliers who wore
long love-locks, and prated eternally of Court and King--in him she
beheld the type of a heroic man, worthy of a woman's love--a woman's
worship!
She saw, and worshipped!
Notwithstanding the fervour of her admiration, she did not believe him
immortal; nor yet invulnerable. He was liable to the laws of humanity--
not its frailties, thought she, but its dangers.
She suspected that his life was in peril. She suspected it, from the
rumours, that from time to time had reached her--of his bold, almost
reckless, bearing, on matters inimical to the Court. Only in whispers
had she heard these reports--previous to the day of the _fete_ in her
father's park; but then had she listened to that loud proclamation from
his own lips, when charging upon Scarthe, he had cried out "_For the
people_!"
She loved him for that speech; but she had done so even before hearing
it; and she could not love him more.
"Cousin Lora!" said she, while both were in the act of disrobing, "you
ought to be very happy. What a fortunate little creature you are!"
"Why, Marion!"
"To be admired by so many; and especially by the man you yourself
admire."
"Dear me! If that be all, I _am_ contented. So should you, Marion, for
the same reason. If I'm admired by many, all the world pays homage to
you. For my part, I don't want the world to be in love with me--only
one."
"And that's Walter. Well, I think you're right, coz. Like you, I
should never care to be a coquette. One heart well satisfies me--one
lover."
"And that's Henry Holtspur."
"You know too much, child, for me to deny it."
"But why should I be happier than you? You've your cavalier as well as
I. He loves you, no doubt, as much as Walter does me; and you love
him--I dare say, though I can't be certain of that--as much as I love
Walter. What then, Marion?"
"Ah, Lora! your lover is sure--safe--certain to become yours for life.
_Mine is doubtful, and in danger_."
"Doubtful? What mean you by that, Marion?"
"Suppose my father refuse to acknowledge him--then--"
"Then I know what his daughter would do."
"What _would_ she do?"
"Run away with him;--I don't mean with the venerable parent--the
knight--but with the lover, the _black horseman_. By the way, what a
romantic thing it would be to be abducted on that splendid steed!
Troth, Marion! I quite envy you the chance."
"For shame, you silly child! Don't talk in such foolish fashion!"
Marion coloured slightly as she uttered the admonition. The thought of
an elopement was not new to her. She had entertained it already; and it
was just for this reason she did not desire her cousin to dwell upon it,
even in jest. With her it had been considered in serious earnest; and
might be again--if Sir Marmaduke should prove intractable.
"But you spoke of danger?" said Lora, changing the subject. "What
danger?"
"Hush!" exclaimed Marion, suddenly starting back from the mirror, with
her long yellow hair sweeping like sunbeams over her snow-white
shoulders; "Did you hear something?"
"The wind?"
"No! it was not the wind. There is no wind; though, indeed, it's dark
enough for a storm. I fancied I heard horses going along the
gravel-walk. Extinguish the light, Lora--so that we may steal up to the
window, and see."
Lora protruded her pretty lips close up to the candle, and blew it out.
The chamber was in utter darkness.
All unrobed as she was, Marion glided up to the casement; and,
cautiously drawing aside the curtain, looked out into the lawn.
She could see nothing: the night was dark as pitch.
She listened all the more attentively--her hearing sharpened by the idea
of some danger to her lover--of which, during all that day, she had been
suffering from a vague presentiment.
Sure enough, she _had_ heard the hoof-strokes of horses on the gravelled
walk: for she now heard them again--not so loud as before--and each
instant becoming more indistinct.
This time Lora heard them too.
It might be colts straying from the pastures of the park? But the
measured fell of their feet, with an occasional clinking of shod hoofs,
proclaimed them--even to the inexperienced ears that were listening--to
be horses guided, and ridden.
"Some one going out! Who can it be at this hour of the night? 'Tis
nearly twelve!"
"Quite twelve, I should think," answered Lora. "That game of lansquenet
kept us so long. It was half-past eleven, before we were through with
it. Who should be going abroad so late, I wonder?"
Both maidens stood in the embayment of the window--endeavouring, with
their glances, to penetrate the darkness outside.
The attempt would have been vain, had the obscurity continued; but, just
then, a vivid flash of lightning, shooting athwart the sky, illuminated
the lawn; and the park became visible to the utmost limit of its
palings.
The window of Marion's bedchamber opened upon the avenue leading out to
the west. Near a spot--to her suggestive of pleasant memories--she now
beheld, by the blaze of the electric brand, a sight that added to her
uneasiness.
Two horsemen, both heavily cloaked, were riding down the avenue--their
backs turned towards the house, as if they had just taken their
departure from it. They looked not round. Had they done so at that
instant, they might have beheld a tableau capable of attracting them
back.
In a wide-bayed window, whose low sill and slight mullions scarce
offered concealment to their forms, were two beautiful maidens--lovely
virgins--robed in the negligent costume of night--their heads close
together, and their nude arms mutually encircling one another's
shoulders, white as the chemisettes draped carelessly over them.
Only for an instant was this provoking tableau exhibited. Sudden as the
recession of a dissolving view, or like a picture falling back out of
its frame, did it disappear from the sight--leaving in its place only
the blank vitreous sheen of the casement.
Abashed by that unexpected exposure--though it was only to the eye of
heaven--the chaste maidens had simultaneously receded from the window,
before the rude glare that startled them ceased to flicker against the
glass.
Sudden, as was their retreating movement, previous to making it, they
had recognised the two-cloaked horsemen, who were holding their way
along the avenue.
"Scarthe!" exclaimed Marion.
"Stubbs!" ejaculated Lora.
Volume Two, Chapter X.
The astonishment of the cousins, at seeing two travellers starting forth
so late, and upon such a dismal night, might have been increased, could
they have extended their vision beyond the palings of the park, and
surveyed the forest-covered country for a mile or two to the north-west
of it.
On the ramifications of roads and bridle-paths--that connected the towns
of Uxbridge and Beaconsfield with the flanking villages of Fulmer,
Stoke, Hedgerley, and the two Chalfonts--they might have seen, not two,
but twenty travellers; all on horseback, and riding each by himself--in
a few instances only two or three of them going together.
Though upon different roads--and heading in different directions--they
all appeared to be making for the same central bourne; which, as they
neared it, could be told to be the old house of Stone Dean.
One by one they kept arriving at this point of convergence; and, passing
through the gate of the park, one after another, they rode silently on
to the dwelling--where they as silently dismounted.
There, delivering up their horses to three men--who stood ready to take
them--the visitors stepped unbidden within the open doorway; and,
following a dark-skinned youth--who received them without saying a
word--were conducted along the dimly-lighted corridor, and ushered into
an inner apartment.
As they passed under the light of the hall lamp--or had been seen
outside during the occasional flashes of the lightning--the costume and
bearing of these saturnine guests proclaimed them to be men of no mean
degree; while their travel-stained habiliments told that they had ridden
some distance, before entering the gates of Stone Dean.
It might have been remarked as strange, that such cavaliers of quality
were thus travelling unattended--for not one of them was accompanied by
groom, or servant of any sort. It was also strange, that no notice was
taken of this circumstance by the men who led off their horses towards
the stables--all three performing their duty without the slightest
exhibition either of curiosity or surprise.
None of the three wore the regular costume of grooms or stable-servants;
nor had any of them the appearance of being accustomed to act in such
capacity. The somewhat awkward manner in which they were fulfilling
their office, plainly proclaimed that it was new to them; while their
style of dress, though different in each, declared them to belong to
other callings.
Two were habited in the ordinary peasant garb of the period--with a few
touches that told them to be woodmen; and as the lightning flashed upon
their faces it revealed these two personages to be--Dick Dancey and his
coadjutor, Will Walford.
The dress of the third was not characteristic of any exact calling; but
appeared rather a combination of several styles: as though several
individuals had contributed a portion of their apparel to his _make-up_.
There was a pair of buff-leather boots, which, in point of elegance,
might have encased the feet and ankles of a cavalier--the wide tops
turned down over the knees, showing a profusion of white lining inside.
Above these dangled the legs of a pair of petticoat breeches, of coarse
kersey, which strangely contrasted with the costly character of the
boots. Over the waistband of the breeches puffed out a shirt of finest
linen--though far from being either spotless or clean; while this was
again overtopped by a doublet of homespun woollen cloth, of the kind
known as "marry-muffe"--slashed along the sleeves with the cheapest of
cotton velveteen. Surmounting this, in like contrast, was the broad
lace collar band of a cavalier, with cuffs to correspond--both looking,
as if the last place of deposit had been the buck-basket of a
washerwoman, and the wearer had taken them thence, without waiting for
their being submitted to the operations of the laundry.
Add to the above-mentioned habiliments a high-crowned felt hat--somewhat
battered about the brim--with a tarnished tinsel band, but without any
pretence at a plume; and you have the complete costume of the third
individual who was acting as an extemporised stable-helper at the
dwelling of Stone Dean.
Had there been light enough for the travellers to have scrutinised his
features, no doubt they would have been somewhat astonished at this
queer-looking personage, who assisted in disembarrassing them of their
steeds. Perhaps some of them, seeing his face, might have thought twice
before trusting him with the keeping of a valuable horse: for, in the
tall stalwart figure, that appeared both peasant and gentleman, in
alternate sections, they might have recognised an old, and not very
trustworthy acquaintance--the famed footpad, Gregory Garth.
In the darkness, however, Gregory ran no risk of detection; and
continued to play his _improvised_ part, without any apprehension of an
awkward encounter.
By the time that the great clock in the tower of Chalfont Church had
ceased tolling twelve, more than twenty of the nocturnal visitors to
Stone Dean had entered within the walls of that quaint old dwelling; and
still the sound of shod hooves, clinking occasionally against the stones
upon the adjacent road, told that an odd straggler had yet to arrive.
About this time two horsemen, riding together, passed in through the
gate of the park. Following the fashion of the others, they continued
on to the front of the house--where, like the others, they also
dismounted, and surrendered their horses to two of the men who stepped
forward to receive them.
These animals, like the others, were led back to the stables; but their
riders, instead of entering the house by the front door--as had been
done by all those who had preceded them--in this respect deviated
slightly from the programme.
As soon as the two grooms, who had taken their horses, were fairly out
of sight, they were seen to act in obedience to a sign given by the
third; who, whispering to them to follow him, led the way, first along
the front of the house, and then around one of its wings, towards the
rear.
Even had there been moonlight, it would have been difficult to identify
these new comers, who were so mysteriously diverted from making entrance
by the front door. Both were muffled in cloaks--more ample and heavy--
than the quality of the night seemed to call for. Scarcely could the
threatening storm account for this providence on their part?
On rounding the angle of the building, the man preceding them made a
stop--at the same time half-facing about.
A gleam of lightning disclosed the countenance of their conductor. It
was the woodman--Walford.
His face was paler than wont--of that ghastly hue that denotes the
consciousness of crime--while his deep-set watery eyes shining from
beneath his white eyebrows and hay-coloured hair, gave to his
ill-favoured features an expression almost demoniac.
The countenances of the two cavaliers were also for an instant
illuminated. One was the handsome face of Captain Scarthe--appearing
like that of the guide--unnaturally pale under the unearthly glare of
the electric light. The other was the stolid, but rubicund, countenance
of his subaltern, Stubbs.
While the light lasted, Walford was seen beckoning them to follow
fester.
"Coom on, masters!" muttered he, in an earnest, hurried tone, "There's
ne'er a minute to be lost. That 'ere dummy o' an Indyen has got his
eyes everywhere. If he sees ye, he'll want to take ye inside among the
rest; an' that won't answer yer purpose, I reckon."
"No! that would never do," muttered Scarthe, hastening his steps; "our
presence inside would spoil this pretty pie. Go on, my good fellow!
We'll follow you--close as the skirt of your doublet."
Without another word the trio moved on--the guide keeping a pace or two
in advance, Stubbs clumsily staggering in the rear.
In this order they continued around the right wing of the house--all
three making their way with as much silence and caution, as if they had
been a band of burglars about to enter upon the ceremony of "cracking a
crib."
The almost amorphous darkness would have hindered them from being
observed, even had there been any one in the way. But there was not--no
one to see them stealing along that sombre-coloured wall--no eye to
witness their entrance within the private side door that admitted them
by a narrow passage into the unused apartments of the house--no eye to
behold them as they stood within that small dark chamber, that
communicated by a window of dingy glass with the large hall in which the
guests of Henry Holtspur were assembled.
"Just the place!" whispered Scarthe, as, glancing through the glass, he
saw the forms of men, moving confusedly over the floor of a well-lit
apartment, and listened to the murmur of voices. "The very observatory
I wished for. Now go, my good fellow!" he continued, transferring his
whisper to the ear of Walford. "In twenty minutes from this time steal
our horses out of the stables, and have them ready. We shall go back by
the front entrance. Your worthy confreres will never know but that
we've issued from the hive inside there. If they should suspect
anything, I've got two sorts of metal upon my person--one or other of
which will be sure to keep them quiet."
Half pushing his late conductor bade into the passage, Scarthe quietly
closed the door behind him; and drew Stubbs up to the cobweb-covered
window. Behind it both silently took their stand--crouching like a pair
of gigantic spiders, that had placed themselves in expectation of prey!
Neither made the slightest stir. They no longer talked to each other
even in whispers. They were well aware of the danger they would incur--
if detected in their eavesdropping--aware that they might have to pay
for it with their lives, or at the very least, suffer severe punishment,
by a castigation upon the spot, and the consequent disgrace due to their
dastardly conduct. The act they were committing was of no trifling
character--no child's play of hide and seek; but a bold and dangerous
game of espionage, in which not only the personal liberty, but even the
lives of many individuals might be placed in peril--these, too, among
the highest in the land.
Scarthe was conscious of all this; and, but that he was impelled to the
act by the most powerful passion of man's nature--the promptings of a
profound jealousy--he might have hesitated before placing himself in
such a position. His mere political proclivities would never have
tempted him to the committal of such an imprudent act. Much as he
inclined towards the king, he was not the man to play spy over a
conference of conspirators--such as he believed this assembly to be,
from motives of mere loyalty. The thought stimulating him was stronger
by far.
He had not placed himself in that position blindly trusting to chance.
Like a skilled strategist, as he was, he had well reconnoitred the
ground before entering upon it. His coadjutor, Walford, acting under a
somewhat similar motive, had freely furnished him with all the
information he required. The woodman--from an acquaintance with the old
"caretaker," who had held charge of the house previous to Holtspur's
occupation--had a thorough knowledge of the dwelling of Stone Dean--its
ins and its outs--its trap-doors and sliding panels--every stair and
corner, from cellar to garret. Walford had assured the spies, that the
chamber in which he secreted them was never entered by any one; and that
the glass door communicating with the larger apartment could not be
opened, without breaking it to pieces. Not only was its lock sealed
with the rust of time, but the door itself was nailed fast to the post
and lintels.
There was no fear of their being seen. The cobwebs precluded the
possibility of that. As to their being heard, it would depend upon
their own behaviour; and under the circumstances, neither captain nor
cornet were likely to make any noise that might attract attention.
For the rest the affair had been easy enough. Among a crowd of unknown
guests arriving at the house--even under the supervision of a staff of
regular domestics--it was not likely that a distinction should be made
between the invited and those unasked; much less under the _outre_
circumstances foreseen and well understood by Scarthe and his companion.
Neither Dancey nor Garth were supposed to know the persons of either.
Nor had Oriole ever seen them; though Walford was far more concerned
about the instincts of the Indian, than the observations of his
fellow-helpers.
So far, however, he had succeeded in baffling both.
Scarthe commenced by wiping off enough of the cobwebs, to give him a
clear disc of vision, of about the size of a crown piece.
With his eye close to the glass he commanded a view of the adjoining
apartment, as well as the company it contained.
As to hearing, there was no difficulty about that. Even the ordinary
conversation could be heard plainly through the panes; but, when any one
spoke louder than the rest, every word could be distinguished.
Scarthe had not been very long occupied in his surveillance, before
perceiving that he was playing the spy upon a company of gentlemen.
None present were of the peasant type.
Soon also did he become acquainted with the general tenour of the
discourse, and convinced of the correctness of his conjecture: that the
meeting was an assembly of conspirators. This was the name given to it
by the royalist captain; though rather did it merit to be called a
conference of patriots--perhaps the purest that ever assembled on the
earth.
The subjects discussed were various, but all relating to two matters of
chief moment:--the liberty of the subject, and the encroachments of the
sovereign. Out of doors, or inside, these were the topics of the time.
Three or four of the speakers appeared to be regarded above the rest;
and when one or other of these stood up, an air of silent respect
pervaded the assembly.
Scarthe had no personal knowledge of these distinguished individuals.
He little suspected, when that man of noble mien rose up--he for whom
the hum of conversation became suddenly hushed--and upon whom every eye
was turned with a regard that seemed that of a brotherly affection--
little suspected the sneaking spy of a Court, that he was listening to
the most disinterested patriot England has ever produced--that glorious
hero of the Chilterns--John Hampden.
As little knew he that in the speaker who followed--a man of mature age,
and perhaps of more eloquent tongue--he beheld the future accuser of
Stafford,--the bold prosecutor who successfully brought this notorious
renegade to the block.
Neither did Scarthe recognise in that young but grave gentleman, who
spoke so enthusiastically in favour of a nonconformist religion, the
self-denying nobleman, Sir Harry Vane; nor in him who had a quick answer
for every opponent, and a jest for every occasion, the _elegant_, whose
appearance of superficial dandyism concealed a heart truly devoted to
the interests of English liberty--Harry Martin of Berks.
From his concealment Scarthe saw all these noble and heroic men, without
identifying them. He cared not for one or the other--what they did, or
what they said. His eye was set, and his ear bent, to see one who had
not yet presented himself--to hear one who had not yet spoken.
The host of the house--he who had summoned these guests together--was
the man whom Scarthe desired to see and hear. Though the Royalist spy
felt satisfied, that what had passed already would be proof sufficient
against Holtspur, he wanted one speech from his own mouth--one word that
would more surely convict him.
He was not disappointed. In that congregation Henry Holtspur was not
expected to be silent. Though regarded more in the light of an actor
than an orator, there were those who waited to hear him with that silent
eagerness that tells of a truer appreciation, than the mere ebullition
of a noisy enthusiasm. As the host of the house he had hitherto
modestly remained in the background, until forced to take his turn; and
his turn at length came.
In a speech which occupied more than an hour, Pym had set before the
assembly a full list of the grievances under which the nation groaned--a
sort of epitome of the famous oration that afterwards ushered in the
attainder of Stafford. Its effect upon all, was to strengthen them in
the determination to oppose--with greater energy than ever--the
usurpations of the Court; and many of the gentlemen present declared
their willingness to make any sacrifice, either personal or pecuniary,
rather than longer submit to the illegal exactions of the monarch.
"Why," said Holtspur, rising to his feet and standing conspicuously
before his guests, "why should we continue to talk in enigmas? I, for
one, am tired of keeping up this pretence of hostility towards the
subordinates, whilst the real enemy is allowed to escape all accusations
of criminality. It is not Stafford, nor Laud, nor Finch, nor
Mainwaring, nor Windebank, who are the oppressors of the people. These
are but the tools of the tyrant. Destroy them to-day, and to-morrow
others will be found to supply their place--as fitting and truculent as
they. To what end, then, are our protests and prosecutions? The hydra
of despotism can only be crushed _by, depriving it of its head_. The
poisonous tree of evil is not to be destroyed, by here and there lopping
off a branch. It can be rendered innoxious only by striking at its
roots!
"Some gentlemen here seem to think, that, by surrounding the king with
good counsellors, we may succeed in bringing him to rule with justice.
But good counsellors, under the influence of an unscrupulous Court, may
any day change their character; and then the work will have to be done
over again. Look at Stafford himself! Ten years ago, had we met as we
meet to-night, Thomas Wentworth would have been with us--foremost in our
councils--See the baneful effects of Royal favour! It will ever be so--
as long as men set up an idol, call it a king, and fall down upon their
faces to worship it!
"For my own part I scorn to palter with words. I see but one criminal
worthy our accusations; and he is neither councillor, nor secretary, nor
bishop; but the master of all three. In my mind, gentlemen, it is no
longer a question of whether we are to be ruled by a good king, or a bad
king; _but whether we are to have a king at all_!"
"_My_ sentiments!" cried Henry Martin, and several others of the younger
and bolder spirits; while a general murmur of approbation was heard
throughout the room.
These were wild words--even within that secret assemblage. The question
of _king or no king_, had begun to shape itself in the minds of a few
men; but this was the first time it had risen to the lips of any one.
It was the first _spoken_ summons invoking the dark shadow that hovered
over the head of Charles Stuart, until his neck lay bleeding on the
block!
"Enough!" gasped out Scarthe, in an almost inaudible whisper, as he
recovered his long suspended breath, "enough for _my_ purpose. You
heard it, Stubbs?"
"I did, by Ged!" replied the subordinate spy, taking care to imitate his
superior in the low tone in which he made answer.
"We may go now," said Scarthe. "There's nothing more to be seen or
done--at least nothing I need care for. Ha! who's speaking now? That
voice? Surely I've heard it before?"
As he said this, he placed his eye once more to the disc of cleared
glass.
Suddenly drawing himself back, and clutching his associate by the arm,
he muttered:
"Who do you think is there?"
"Can't guess, captain."
"Listen, then!" and, placing his lips close to the ear of his companion,
he whispered in slow syllables, "Sir Mar-ma-duke Wade."
"Do you say so?"
"Look for yourself: look and listen! Do both well: for the words you
hear, _may yet win you your sweetheart_."
"How, captain?"
"Don't question me now," hurriedly replied the latter, at the same time
returning to his attitude of attention.
It was in truth Sir Marmaduke Wade, who was addressing the assembly.
But his speech was a _very_ short one: for the worthy knight was no
orator; and it was nearly finished by the time Scarthe and the cornet
had succeeded in placing themselves in a position to have heard him.
Enough reached the ears of the former to give him all that he required
for a fell purpose; which even at that moment had commenced taking shape
in his diabolical brain.
In the few words that dropped from the lips of his host, Scarthe could
discover sufficient evidence of disloyalty. Indeed, the presence of Sir
Marmaduke in that place--coupled with, perhaps, something more than
suspicion which the king already entertained towards him--would be proof
enough to satisfy the Star Chamber.
"We may go now," whispered Scarthe, stealing towards the door, and
drawing his subaltern gently after him. "Softly, cornet!" continued he,
as hand-in-hand they retraced the dark passage. "Those boots of yours
creak like a ship in a swell! Fancy you are treading on eggs!"
As he made this facetious remark, they emerged into the open air; and,
whispering mutual congratulations, went skulking onward, like a brace of
felons making their escape from the confinement of a prison.
"If this fellow," said Scarthe, "can only succeed in extricating our
horses, I think we may flatter ourselves, that we have made a successful
job of it. Come on."
And Scarthe led the way along the wall, towards the front of the
dwelling.
They proceeded with as much caution as ever. Though outside, they were
not yet safe from having their presence discovered, and their purpose
suspected. The sky was clearer than when they had last looked upon it:
for the thunderstorm, now over, had scattered the clouds, and deluged
the earth with rain.
At the angle of the building they could make out the figure of a man,
standing under the shadow of a tree. It was Walford. On seeing them,
he stepped forth, and advanced to meet them.
"Theer be nobody by the front door," he muttered, when near enough to be
heard. "Stay by the steps, but don't show yer faces. I'll ha' the
horses round in a twinkle."
Saying this, the traitor left them, and disappeared in the direction of
the stables.
Obedient to his instructions, they took their stand; and, still
conversing in whispers, awaited his return.
True to his promise almost in an instant the two horses were brought
round--one led by himself, the other by Dancey.
The latter was too much occupied by the gold piece, glistening within
his palm, to think of scrutinising the countenance of the giver.
"Odds luck, Wull!" said he, turning to his comrade, after the two
horsemen had ridden off; "stable keepin' appear to be a better bisness
than windin' the woodaxe! If they be all as liberal as these 'uns we
shall ha' a profitable night o't."
Walford assented with a shrug of his shoulders, and a significant grin--
which in the darkness was not noticed by the unsuspicious deer-stealer.
Just then, Gregory Garth coming up armed with a tankard of ale--perhaps
surreptitiously drawn from the cellar--interrupted the conversation, or
rather changed it into a different channel: for it was still carried on
to the accompaniment of a copious imbibing of the homebrew.
Volume Two, Chapter XI.
The two spies moved silently away--neither speaking above his breath,
till they had regained the road, outside the gates of Stone Dean, then,
no longer fearing to be overheard, they talked in louder tone.
"What a grand _coup_ it would be!" observed Scarthe, partly in
soliloquy, and partly addressing himself to his companion.
"What, captain?" inquired Stubbs.
"To capture this whole nest of conspirators."
"It would, by Ged!"
"It would get me that colonelcy--true as a trivet; and you, my worthy
cornet, would become Captain Stubbs!"
"Zounds! why not try to take 'em then?"
"Simply because we can't. By the time we should get our vagabonds in
their saddles, and ride back, every knave of them would be gone. I saw
they were about to break up; and that's why I came so quickly away.
Yes--yes!" continued he, reflectingly, "they'd be scattered to the four
winds, before we could get back. Besides--besides--_he_ might slip off
through the darkness, and give trouble to find him afterwards! What
matters to me about the others? I must make sure of _him_; and that
will be best done in the daylight. To-morrow he shall be mine; the day
after, the lieutenant of the Tower shall have him; and then the Star
Chamber; and then--_the scaffold_!"
"But, captain," said Stubbs, in answer to the soliloquised speech, only
a portion of which he had heard. "What about our worthy host, Sir
Marmaduke? Can't you take _him_?"
"At any time--ha! ha! ha! And hark you, Stubbs! I've a word for you on
that delicate subject. I've promised you promotion. The queen, on my
recommendation, will see that you have it. But you get my endorsement,
only on conditions--on conditions, do you hear?"
"I do. What conditions, captain?"
"That you say nothing--either of where you've been, what you've heard,
or what you've seen this night--till I give you the cue to speak."
"Not a word, by Ged! I promise that."
"Very well. It'll be to your interest, my worthy cornet, to keep your
promise, if you ever expect me to call you _captain_. In time you may
understand my reasons for binding you to secrecy, and in time you shall.
Meanwhile, not a whisper of where we've been to-night--least of all to
Sir Marmaduke Wade. Ah! my noble knight!" continued the captain,
speaking to himself, "I've now got the sun shining that will thaw the
ice of your aristocratic superciliousness! And you, indifferent dame!
If I mistake not your sex and your sort, ere another moon has flung its
mystic influence over your mind, I shall tread your indifference in the
dust, make you open those loving arms, twine them around the neck of
Richard Scarthe, and cry--`Be mine, dearest! mine for ever!'"
The speaker rose exultingly in his stirrups, as if he had already felt
that thrilling embrace; but, in a moment after, sank back into his
saddle, and sate in a cowed and cowering attitude.
It was but the natural revulsion of an over-triumphant feeling--the
reaction that succeeds the indulgence of an unreal and selfish conceit.
His sudden start upward had roused afresh the pain in his wounded arm.
It recalled a series of circumstances calculated to humiliate him;--his
defeat--the finding of the glove--his suspicion of a rival--that
assignation scene, that almost made it a certainty.
All these remembrances, suggested by the sting of the still unhealed
sword-wound, as they came simultaneously rolling over his soul, swept it
clear of every thought of triumph; and, despite the success of his
strategy, he re-entered the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade, as heavy in
heart, and perhaps poorer in hope, than any tramping mendicant that had
ever trodden its tree-shaded avenues.
He knew the situation of Marion's sleeping chamber. He had made it his
business to ascertain that. He gazed upon the window as he rode
forward. He fancied he saw a form receding behind the curtain, like
some white nymph dissolving herself into the world of ether.
He checked his steed; and for a long time kept his eyes fixed upon the
casement: but nothing appeared to impart consolation. There was no
light in the chamber; the cold glitter of the glass was in consonance
with the chill that had crept over his spirits; and he moved on,
convinced that his imagination had been mocking him.
And yet it was not so. It was a real form, and no illusion, that he had
seen receding from the window--the form of Marion Wade, that more than
once had appeared there since his departure.
The lamp, so opportunely extinguished, had not been re-lit. The
cousins, groping their way through the darkness, had betaken themselves
to bed.
What else could they do? Even though what they had seen might forbode
evil to some one, what power had they to avert it?
Had there been a certainty of danger, it is true,--and to him who was
the chief subject of her apprehensions,--Marion Wade could not have gone
tranquilly to sleep.
Neither did she: for, although the midnight excursion of the cuirassier
captain and his comet might have no serious significance, coupled with
the presentiment from which she was already suffering, she could not
help fancying that it had.
The hour was too late for an adventure, either of gaiety or gallantry,
in a rural neighbourhood, where all the world--even the wicked--should
have long ago retired to rest.
For more than an hour the cousins had lain side by side--conferring on
the incident that had so unexpectedly transpired. Of other confidences
they had before unbosomed themselves--though much of what they intended
to have said remained unspoken: on account of the distraction caused to
their thoughts by this new circumstance.
Both had been perplexed,--alike unable to discover a clue to the
mysterious movement of Scarthe and his comet.
After more than an hour spent in shaping conjectures, and building
hypotheses, they had arrived no nearer to a rational belief, than when
commencing their speculations on the subject.
Finally, Lora, less interested in the event or its consequences, laid
her head complacently on the pillow, and fell off into a sleep--
determined, no doubt, to dream of Walter.
For Marion there was no such solace; no rest for her that night--with
the image of Henry Holtspur hovering over her heart; and her bosom
filled with vague apprehensions about his safety.
She had not tried to sleep. She had not even kept to her couch; but
stealing gently from the side of her unconscious cousin, she had
repeatedly sought the window; and gazed forth from it.
After going several times to and fro, she had at length stationed
herself by the casement; and there crouching in its embayment--her form
shrouded by the silken tapestry--had she remained for hours, eagerly
listening to every sound--listening to the rain, as it plashed heavily
on roof, terrace, and trees--watching the lightning's flash--straining
her eyes, while it glared, adown that long arcade between the chestnuts,
that bordered the path by which the nocturnal excursionists might be
expected to reappear.
Her vigil was not unrewarded. They came back at length--as they had
gone--Scarthe and Stubbs, together and by themselves.
"Thank Heaven!" muttered Marion, as she caught sight of the two forms
returning up the avenue, and saw that they were alone. "Thank Heaven!
Their errand, whatever it may have been, is ended. I hope it had no
reference to _him_!"
Holding the curtain, so as to screen her form, she stayed in the window
until the two horsemen had ridden up to the walls. But the darkness
outside--still impenetrable except when the lightning played--prevented
observation; and she only knew by the sound of their horses' hooves,
that they had passed under her window towards the rear of the mansion,
and entered the courtyard--whose heavy gate she could hear closing
behind them.
Then, and not till then, did she consent to surrender herself to that
god, puissant as love itself; and, gently extending her white limbs
alongside those of Lora, she entered upon the enjoyment of a slumber--
perhaps not so innocent, as that of her unconscious cousin--but equally
profound.
Little did Scarthe suspect, that the snow-white vision, so suddenly
fading from his view, was the real form of that splendid woman, now
weirdly woven around his heart. Had he suspected it, he would scarce
have retired to his couch; which he did with embittered spirit, and a
vile vow, instead of a prayer, passing from his lips. It was but the
repetition of that vow, long since conceived to win Marion Wade--to win
and wed her, by fair means or by foul.
He besought his couch, but not with the intention of going to sleep.
With a brain, so fearfully excited, he could not hope to procure repose.
Neither did he wish it. He had not even undressed himself; and his
object in stretching his limbs upon a bed, was that he might the more
effectually concentrate his thoughts upon his scheme of villainy.
In his homeward ride he had already traced out his course of immediate
action; which, in its main features, comprehended the arrest of Henry
Holtspur, and sending him under guard to the Tower of London. It was
only the minor details of this preliminary design that now occupied his
mind.
Before parting with his subaltern, he had given orders for thirty of his
troopers to be ready to take saddle a little before daybreak; the order
being accompanied by cautionary injunctions--that the men were to be
aroused from their slumbers without any noise to disturb the
tranquillity of the mansion--that they were to "boot and saddle" without
the usual signal of the bugle; in short, that they were to get ready for
the route with as much secrecy and silence as possible.
There would be just time for the cornet to have these commands executed;
and, knowing the necessity of obedience to his superior, Stubbs had
promptly proceeded to enforce them.
One by one, the men were awakened with all the secrecy enjoined in the
order; the horses were saddled in silence; and a troop of thirty
cuirassiers, armed _cap-a-pied_, ready to mount, stood in the courtyard,
just as the first streak of grey light--denoting the approach of dawn--
became visible above the eastern horizon.
Meanwhile, Scarthe, stretched along his couch, had been maturing his
plan. He had but little apprehension of failure. It was scarce
probable that his enemy could escape capture. So adroitly had he
managed the matter of the espionage, that Henry Holtspur could have no
suspicion of what had occurred.
Scarthe had become sufficiently familiar with Walford and his ways, to
know that this traitor would be true to the instincts of jealousy and
vengeance. There was no fear that Holtspur would receive warning from
the woodman; and from whom else could he have it? No one.
The arrest would be simple and easy. It would be only necessary to
surround the house, cut off every loophole of escape, and capture the
conspirator--in all probability in his bed. After that the Tower--then
the Star Chamber; and Scarthe knew enough of this iniquitous tribunal,
to feel sure that the sentence it would pass would for ever rid not only
Walford, but himself, of a hated rival. It would also disembarrass the
king of a dangerous enemy; though of all the motives, inspiring Scarthe
to the act, this was perhaps the weakest.
His hostility for Holtspur--though of quick and recent growth--was as
deeply rooted, as if it had existed for years. To be defeated in the
eyes of a multitude--struck down from his horse--compelled to cry
"quarter"--he, Richard Scarthe, captain of the King's cuirassiers--a
_preux chevalier_--a noted champion of the duello--this circumstance was
of itself sufficient to inspire him with an implacable hostility towards
his successful antagonist. But to suffer this humiliation in the
presence of high-born women--under the eye of one whom he now loved with
a fierce, lustful passion--worse still; one whom he had reason to
believe was lovingly inclined towards his adversary--all this had
embittered his heart with more than a common hatred, and filled his
bosom with a wild yearning for more than a common vengeance.
It was in planning this, that he passed the interval upon his couch; and
his actions, at the end of the time, along with his muttered words,
proved that he had succeeded in devising a sure scheme of retaliation.
"By heavens!" he exclaimed aloud, springing to his feet, and measuring
the floor of his chamber with quick, nervous strides; "it will be a
sweet revenge! She shall look upon him in _his_ hour of humiliation.
Stripped of his fine feathers, shall he appear under her window, under
her aristocratic eyes--a prisoner--helpless, bayed, and brow-beaten.
Ha! ha! ha!"
The exulting laugh told how pleasant was his anticipation of the
spectacle his fancy had conjured up.
"Shall he wear _the white gauntlet_ in his beaver?" he continued,
pondering over new modes of humiliating his adversary. "There would be
something sweet in such a sublime mockery? No: better not--he will
appear more ridiculous with his head bare--bound like a felon! Ha! ha!
ha!"
Again he gave way, unchecked, to his exultant laugh, till the room rang
with his fierce cachinnations.
"Zounds!" exclaimed he, after an interval, during which the shadow of
some doubt had stolen over his face. "If she should smile upon him in
that hour, then my triumph would be changed to chagrin! Oh! under her
smile he would be happier than I!"
"Aha!" he ejaculated, after another pause, in which he appeared to have
conceived a thought that chased away the shadow. "Aha! I have it now.
She shall _not_ smile. I shall take precautions against it. Phoebus!
what a splendid conception! He shall appear before her, _not_
bareheaded, but with beaver on--bedecked with a bunch of flowers!"
"Let me see! What sort were those the girl gave him? Red, if I
remember aright,--ragged robin, corn poppies, or something of the kind.
No matter about that, so long as the colour be in correspondence. In
the distance, Marion could scarce have distinguished the species. A
little faded, too, they must be: as if kept since the day of the fete.
_She_ will never suspect the _ruse_. If she smile, after beholding the
flowers, then shall I know that there is nothing between them. A world
to see her smile? To see her do the very thing, which but an instant
ago, I fancied would have filled me with chagrin!"
"Ho!" he again ejaculated, in a tone of increasing triumph. "Another
splendid conception! My brain, so damnably dull all through the night,
brightens with the coming day. As our French queen is accustomed to
exclaim, `_une pensee magnifique_!' 'Twill be a home thrust for
Holtspur. If _he_ love _her_--and who can doubt it--then shall his
heart be wrung, as he has wrung mine. Ha! ha! _The right hand glove
shall triumph over the left_!"
As Scarthe said this, he strode towards the table on which lay his
helmet; and, taking from the breast of his doublet the gauntlet of
Marion Wade--the one she had really lost--he tied it with a piece of
ribbon to the crest;--just under the _panache_ of plumes.
"Something for him to speculate upon, while inside the walls of his
prison! Something to kill time, when he is awake, and dream of, when
asleep! Ha! ha! A sweet revenge 'twill be--one worthy the craft of an
inquisitor!"
A footstep coming along the corridor put a period to his changing
soliloquy.
It was the footstep of Stubbs; and in the next instant the flat face of
the cornet presented itself in the half-opened door.
"Thirty in armour, captain--ready for the road," was the announcement of
the subaltern.
"And I am ready to head them," answered his superior officer--setting
his helmet firmly upon his head, and striding towards the door, "Thirty
will be more than we need. After all, 'tis best to make sure. We don't
want the fox to steal away from his cover; and he might do so, if the
earths be not properly stopped. We're pretty sure to find him in his
swaddling clothes at this hour. Ha! ha! ha! What a ludicrous figure
our fine cavalier will cut in his nightcap! Won't he, Stubbs?"
"Ought to, by Ged!"
And, with this gleeful anticipation, Scarthe, followed by his subaltern,
stepped lightly along the passage leading towards the courtyard--where
thirty troopers, armed _cap-a-pied_--each standing on the near side of
his steed--awaited the order to spring into their saddles.
In two seconds' time the "Mount and forward!" was given--not by
signal-call of the bugle, but by word of command, somewhat quietly
pronounced. Then, with captain and cornet at its head, the troop by
twos, filed out through the arched entrance--directing their march
towards the gateway that opened upon the Oxford Road, treading in the
direction of Beaconsfield.
It was by this same entrance the two officers had come in only a short
while before. They saw the hoof-prints of their horses in the dust--
still saturated with the rain that had fallen. They saw also the track
of a third steed, that had been travelling the same direction: towards
the house.
They found the gate closed. They had left it open. Some less negligent
person had entered the park after them!
"Our host has got safe home!" whispered Scarthe to his subaltern.
"So much the better," he--added with a significant smile, "I don't want
to capture _him_--at least, not now; and if I can make _a captive_ of
his daughter--not at all. If I succeed not in that, why then--then--I
fear Sir Marmaduke will have to accept the hospitality of his Majesty,
and abide some time under the roof of that royal mansion that lies
eastward of Cheap--erst honoured by the residence of so many
distinguished gentlemen. Ha! ha! ha!"
Having delivered himself of this jocular allusion to the Tower, he
passed through the park gate; and at the head of his troopers continued
briskly, but silently, along the king's highway.
On went the glittering phalanx--winding up the road like some destroying
serpent on its way to wickedness--the pattering of their horses' feet,
and the occasional clink of steel scabbards, striking against stirrups
and _cuisses_, were the only sounds that broke upon the still air of the
morning--to proclaim the passage of armed and mounted men.
Volume Two, Chapter XII.
Shortly after the spies had taken their departure from Stone Dean, the
conspirators might have been seen, emerging from the house, mounting
their horses, and riding off. They went, much after the fashion in
which they had come--in silence, alone, or in small groups; and, after
clearing the gate entrance, along different roads. Some half dozen
stayed later than the rest; but before the daylight could have disclosed
their identity, these had also bidden adieu to Stone Dean; and were
journeying far beyond the precincts of its secluded park.
When the last guest had gone, two of Holtspur's improvised grooms--for
whose services there was no further occasion--also took their departure
from the place. There remained only three individuals in the old
mansion--its owner, his Indian attendant, and Gregory Garth.
Of these, the last mentioned, and only he, had yielded his spirit to the
embrace of the drowsy god.
On perceiving that his services as stable-helper were no longer in
requisition, the ex-footpad,--having no other lodging to which he might
betake himself,--had stretched his tired limbs along the beechwood
bench; which, as on a former occasion, he had drawn up close to the
kitchen fire. In five minutes after, not only the ample kitchen itself,
but the contiguous apartments of pantry and wash-house,--with the
various passages between,--were resonant of his snores.
Holtspur was still in the apartment in which the meeting had been held--
the library it was--where, seated in front of a writing table, with pen
in hand, he appeared to busy himself in the composition of some document
of more than ordinary importance.
Oriole was the only one of the household who seemed to have no
occupation: since he was neither sleeping, nor acting.
He was not inside the house, nor yet outside, but part of both: since he
stood in the doorway, on the top step of the front entrance,--the door
being still open.
He was in his habitual attitude of perfect repose,--silent and
_statuesque_. This he had maintained for some length of time--having
lingered, vaguely gazing after the last guest who had gone away--or,
rather, the two woodmen, Walford and Dancey: for they had been the
latest to take their departure.
It is difficult to say what may have been occupying the thoughts of the
young savage. Perhaps they were dwelling upon scenes of the past--
memories of his forest home, thousands of miles away--memories of his
early years--of his tawny companions, and their sports--memories,
perhaps more tender, of sister or mother? Whether or no, they stirred
him not from his silent attitude; and for a long half hour he remained
motionless, wrapped in speechless reverie.
It was only on seeing the first streaks of the dawn, stealing over the
beech-clad crests of the hills, that he began to arouse himself; and
then only in his eyes were exhibited signs of activity.
These, instead of being directed towards the sky, were turned towards
the ground--scrutinising a space in front of the door-step, where the
close crowding of hoof-prints told of the many horsemen who had late
made their departure from the place.
For some time the Indian kept his eyes upon the ground, without
exhibiting any apparent interest in the tracks. And yet he appeared to
be tracing them: perhaps only in obedience to a habit learnt, and
indulged in, from earliest childhood.
After a while, his glance wandered to a wider range; and something,
observed at a few paces distance, appeared more seriously to engage his
attention.
His statuesque attitude became at once disarranged; and, gliding down
from the steps, he walked rapidly along the gravelled walk, leading to
the left side of the house.
On arriving at the angle of the wall, he stooped downward--as if to
examine some object at his feet.
After remaining motionless for a few seconds, he continued on--still
with body bent--towards the back part of the dwelling.
He proceeded slowly, but without making a stop--till he had arrived near
the rear of the mansion. There a narrow doorway, opening into the
eastern wing, was before his eyes; and into this he stood gazing--
evidently in some surprise. It could not be at seeing the door: for he
knew of it already. It was its being open that elicited that look of
astonishment.
During his stay at Stone Dean he had never known that side door to be
otherwise than shut, and locked too. As there was only himself, and his
master, who had the right to unlock it, he was naturally surprised at
finding it ajar.
He might not have heeded the circumstance but for another, which seemed
to connect itself with the open door. He had observed the footprints of
two men, plainly impressed in the damp dust. They ran all along the
wall, parallel to, and a few paces from it. Near the angle of the
building, they were joined by a third set of footmarks; and from that
point the three proceeded together till lost among the horse-tracks
around the entrance in front.
It was these footmarks that had first attracted the Indian from his
stand upon the steps; and, in tracing them, he had been conducted to the
side doorway.
To examine the tracks, either of man or animal, and wherever seen, is a
habit--indeed almost an instinct--with an Indian; and, ruled by this
peculiarity of his people, Oriole had hastened to scrutinise the "sign."
The act was not altogether unaccompanied by a process of ratiocination.
Slightly as he understood the bearings of those political schemes, in
which his master was engaged, the faithful follower knew that there was
reason for secrecy, as well as suspicion in regard to the men, with whom
he was brought in contact. It was some vague thought of this kind, that
had caused him to take notice of the tracks.
He remembered having conducted all the gentlemen outward by the front
door, on their departure, as he had conducted them inward on their
arrival. He remembered that all had ridden directly away. Which of
them, then, had gone round to the rear of the building, without his
having observed them?
There were three distinct sets of footprints, not going towards the
back, but returning towards the front. One set had been made by
hobnailed shoes. These might be the tracks of one of the three helpers;
but the other two were those of gentlemen.
Almost intuitively had the Indian arrived at this conclusion, when his
analysis was interrupted by seeing the side door standing open--a
circumstance which strengthened his incipient suspicion that there was
something in the "sign."
Without waiting to examine the tracks any further, he glided forward to
the doorway; and, stepping inside, traversed the narrow passage which
conducted to the antechamber--where Scarthe and his cornet had so
silently assisted at the ceremony of the nocturnal assemblage.
The keen eye of the American aboriginal--even under the sombre light of
the unused apartment--at once detected evidences of its late occupancy.
The unshut doors afforded this; but the deep dust, that for years had
been accumulating on the floors, showed traces of having been recently
stirred by shuffling feet--leaving no doubt upon the mind of Oriole,
that men had been in that room, and had gone out of it, only an hour or
two before.
The disturbed spider webs upon the glazed partition did not escape his
observation; nor the little spot upon the pane of glass that had been
rubbed clean.
Oriole placed his eye to it. He could see the whole of the apartment,
late occupied by his master's guests. He could see that master, now
alone--seated before his writing table--utterly unconscious of being
observed.
The Indian was about to tap upon the glass, and communicate the
discovery he had made; but, remembering his own misfortune, and that he
could only speak by signs, he glided back through the passage, with the
intention of reaching the library by the front entrance.
Daylight had come down--sufficiently clear to enable him to make
scrutiny of the tracks with more exactness; and he lingered awhile
retracing them--in the hope of finding some solution of the mystery of
their existence. The sun had not yet risen; but the red rays of the
aurora already encrimsoned the crests of the surrounding ridges, tinting
also the tops of the tall trees that overhung the old dwelling of Stone
Dean. The light, falling upon the roosts of the rooks, had set the
birds astart, and caused them to commence the utterance of their
cheerful cawing.
Whether it was the clamour of the crows, or the rustling of the riotous
rats--as they chased one another along the empty shelves, and behind the
decayed wainscotting of the old kitchen--or whether the circumstance was
due to some other, and less explicable cause, certain it is that the
slumbers of Gregory Garth were at that crisis interrupted.
His snoring suddenly came to a termination; and he awoke with a start.
It was a start, moreover, that led to a more serious disturbance: for,
having destroyed his equilibrium on the beechwood bench--which chanced
to be of somewhat slender dimensions--his body came down upon the hard
stone flags of the floor, with a concussion, that for several seconds
completely deprived him of breath.
On recovering his wind--and along with it his senses--which had for a
while remained in a state of obfuscation--the ex-footpad soon
comprehended the nature of the mishap that had befallen him.
But the unpleasant tumble upon the flagged floor, had cured him of all
inclination to return to his treacherous couch; and, instead, he
strolled out into the open air, to consult the sun--his unfailing
monitor--as to the time of day.
Only the morning before, Gregory had been the proprietor of a watch--
whether honestly so need not be said; but this timepiece was now ticking
within the pigeon-hole depository of an Uxbridge pawnbroker; and the
duplicate which the ex-footpad carried in his fob could give him no
information about the hour.
In reality, he had not been asleep more than twenty minutes; but his
dreams--drawn from a wide range of actual experiences--led him to
believe that he had been slumbering for a much longer time.
He was rather surprised--though not too well pleased--when, on reaching
the door, and "squinting" outside, he perceived by the sky that it was
still only the earliest hour of the day; and that, after all his
dreaming, he had not had the advantage of over half an hour's sleep.
He was contemplating a return to his bench-bedstead; when, on casting a
stray glance outwards, his eye fell upon the figure of a man moving
slowly around one of the angles of the mansion. He saw it was Oriole.
As Gregory knew that Oriole was the proper butler of the establishment--
or at all events carried the key of the wine-cellar--it occurred to him
that, through the intervention of the Indian, he might obtain a morning
dram, to refresh him after his uneasy slumber.
He was proceeding outside--intending to make known his wish--when he
perceived that Oriole was engaged in a peculiar occupation. With his
body half bent, and his eyes keenly scrutinising the ground, the Indian
was moving slowly along the side of the house, parallel to the direction
of the wall.
Seeing this strange action Garth did not attempt to interrupt it; but,
taking his stand by the angle of the building, silently watched the
movement.
Somewhat to the surprise of the footpad, he saw the redskin crouch
cautiously forward to a door, which stood open; and, with all the silent
stealth, that might have been observed by the most accomplished
cracksman, Garth saw him creep inside--as if afraid of being detected in
the act!
"Humph!" muttered Gregory, with a portentous shake of his shaggy
occiput; "I shouldn't wonder if Master Henry ha' got a treetor in his
own camp. What he be about, I shud like to know--a goodish bit I shud
like it. Can't a be wittels, or drink, the dummy's after? No--can't a
be neyther: seein' he ha' got charge o' the keys, and may cram his gut
whensomever he pleezes. It be somethin' o' more consarn than eatin' or
drinkin'. That be it, sureish. But what the Ole Scratch kin it be?"
As Gregory put this last interrogatory, he inserted his thick, knotty
digits into the mazes of his matted mop, and commenced pulling the hair
over his forehead, as if by that means to elicit an answer.
After tossing his coarse curly locks into a state of woolly frowsiness,
he seemed to have arrived no nearer to an elucidation of the Indian's
mysterious conduct; as was evinced by another string of muttered
interrogatories that proceeded from his lips.
"Be the redskin a playin' spy? They be ticklish times for Master Henry,
I knows that. But surely a tongueless Indyen lad, as ha' followed him
from tother side o' the world, and been faithful to him most the whole
o' his life--he ha' told me so--surely sich a thing as that an't goin'
to turn treetor to him now? Beside, what kin a Indyen know o' our
polyticks? A spy,--pish! It can't a be that! It may be a stealin'.
That's more likelyish; but whatsomdever it do be, heear go to find out."
Garth was about moving towards the side door--into which Oriole had made
his stealthy entrance--when he saw the latter coming out again.
As the Indian was seen to return towards the front, in the same cautious
manner in which he had gone from it--that is, with body stooped, and
eyes eagerly scrutinising the path--Garth also turned his glance towards
the ground.
Though no match for the American in reading the "sign"--either of the
heavens or the earth--the ex-footpad was not altogether unpractised in
the translating of tracks.
It had been long--alas! too long--a branch of his peculiar calling; and
the footpad's experience now enabled him to perceive, that such was the
occupation in which Oriole was engaged.
He saw the footprints which the Indian was following up,--not now as
before in a backward direction; but in that by which they who had made
them must have gone.
All at once a new light flashed into the brain of the retired robber.
He no longer suspected the Indian of being a spy; but, on the contrary,
perceived that he was in the act of tracking some individual, or
individuals, more amenable to this suspicion. He remembered certain
circumstances that had transpired during the night: odd expressions and
actions that had signalised the behaviour of his fellow-helper, Walford.
He had remarked the absence of the latter at a particular time; and
also on the occasion of Walford's taking two horses from the stable--the
first led out--that he had used some arguments, to dissuade both Dancey
and himself from giving him assistance.
Garth supposed at the time, that Walford had been actuated simply by a
desire to secure the perquisites; but now, that he looked upon the
tracks--which Oriole was in the act of scrutinising--a new thought
rushed into his mind: a suspicion that, during that eventful night,
treason had been stalking around the dwelling of Stone Dean.
Excited by this thought, the ex-footpad threw himself alongside the
Indian, and endeavoured by signs to convey the intelligence he had
obtained by conjecture--as well as to possess himself of that which the
redskin might have arrived at, by some more trustworthy process of
reasoning.
Unfortunately Gregory Garth was but a poor pantomimist. His grimaces
and gestures were rather ludicrous, than explanatory of his thoughts; so
much so, that the Indian, after vainly endeavouring to comprehend them,
answered with an ambiguous shake of the head. Then, gliding silently
past, he ascended the steps, and hurried on towards the apartment--in
which he proposed to hold more intelligible communion with his master.
Volume Two, Chapter XIII.
On the departure of his fellow conspirators--patriots we should rather
call them--Holtspur, as we have already said, had passed the remainder
of the night engaged at his writing table.
The time was spent in the performance of a duty, entrusted to him by his
friends, Pym and Hampden; with whom, and a few others, he had held
secret conference beyond the hours allotted to the more public business
of the meeting. It was a duty no less important, than the drawing up of
a charge of attainder against Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford.
It was one which Holtspur could perform with all the ardour of a zealous
enthusiasm--springing from his natural indignation against this gigantic
wrongdoer.
A true hater of kings, he felt triumphant. His republican sentiments,
uttered in the assembly just separated--so loudly applauded by those who
listened to them--could not fail to find echo in every honest English
heart; and the patriot felt that the time was nigh, when such sentiments
need be no longer spoken in the conclave of a secret conference, but
boldly and openly in the tribune of a nation.
The king had been once more compelled to call his "Commons" together.
In a few days the Parliament was to meet--that splendid Parliament
afterwards known as the "Long"--and, from the election returns already
received, Holtspur knew the character of most of the statesmen who were
to compose it. With such men as Pym and Hampden at its head--with
Hollis, Hazlerig, Vane, Martin, Cromwell, and a host of other popular
patriots, taking part in its councils--it would be strange if something
should not be effected, to stem the tide of tyranny, so long flowing
over the land--submerging under its infamous waves every landmark of
English liberty.
Swayed by thoughts like these, did Henry Holtspur enter upon the task
assigned him.
For over an hour had he been occupied in its performance--with scarce a
moment's intermission; and then only, when the soft dream of love,
stealing over his spirit, chased from it the sterner thoughts of
statecraft and war, which had been the habitual themes of his later
life.
He had well-nigh finished his work, when interrupted by the entrance of
the Indian.
"Eh, Oriole?" demanded he, in some surprise, as, glancing up from his
papers, he remarked the agitated mien of his attendant. "Anything the
matter? You look as if something was amiss. I hope that you and Garth
have not been quarrelling over your perquisites?"
The Indian made sign of a negative to this imputation--which he knew was
only spoken in jest.
"Nothing about him, then? What is it, my brave?"
This question was answered by Oriole raising one of his feet--with the
sole turned upwards, at the same time glancing to the ground with an
angry ejaculation.
"Ha!" said Holtspur, who read those signs as easily as if they had been
a written language--"An enemy upon the trail?"
Oriole held up three of his fingers--pointing perpendicularly towards
the ceiling of the room.
"Three instead of one! and three _men_! Well, perhaps they will be
easier to deal with than if it was a _trio_ of _women_."
The cavalier, as he made this half-jesting remark, seemed to give way
for a moment to some reflection, altogether unconnected with the
intelligence conveyed by his attendant.
"What is it, Oriole? What have you seen?" asked he, returning to the
subject of the Indian's communication.
Oriole's answer to this was a sign for his master to follow him. At the
same time, turning on his heel, he led the way out of the apartment, out
of the front door, and round by the left wing of the house. Thither he
was followed by Holtspur and Gregory Garth, when all three commenced
re-examining the tracks.
These were again traced in a backward direction to the side doorway.
It could not be doubted that two of the men who made them had issued
thence. The third--he who wore the hobnailed shoes--had met these on
their coming out; and afterwards walked along with them to the front--
where the footmarks were lost among the hoof-prints of the horses.
There were no tracks leading _towards_ the side entrance; but, as there
was no other way by which the room could have been entered--except by
the glass door, and that had certainly not been unclosed--it was evident
that the two men who had come out by the side passage must have gone in
by it.
The absence of any footmarks leading inward had a signification of
another kind. It proved that they, who had so intruded, must have
passed inside before the coming on of the rain-storm, and gone out,
after it had ceased. In other words, two men must have tenanted that
chamber during most, if not all, of the time that the conference
continued.
Other signs pointed out by the Indian--the disturbance of the dust upon
the floor, and the removal of the cerements from the glass--left no
doubt as to the object of their presence in the unused apartment.
Spies, to a certainty!
Holtspur's countenance became clouded, as this conviction forced itself
upon him.
The hobnails told who was the traitor that had guided them thither.
There were plenty of like tracks on the other side of the house, leading
to the stable yard. Oriole easily identified the footmarks as made by
Will Walford.
"It but crowns my suspicions of the knave," said Holtspur, as with gloom
upon his brow he walked back into the house.
"Dang seize the white-livered loon!" cried the ex-footpad. "He shall
answer for this night's dirty doin's. That shall be sureish sartin, or
my name arn't Gregory Garth."
On re-entering the library, Holtspur did not resume his seat; but
commenced pacing the floor with quick, excited steps.
What had arisen was matter to make him serious. Spies had been
present--he could not doubt it--and the fact was full of significance.
It concerned not only his own safety, but that of many others--gentlemen
of rank and position in the county, with several Members of Parliament
from other counties: among them Pym, Hollis, Hazlerig, Henry Martin, and
the younger Sir Harry Vane.
Sir Marmaduke Wade, too, must have been seen by the spies!
In regard to the latter, Holtspur felt a special apprehension. It was
by invitation--his own--that Sir Marmaduke had been present at the
meeting; and Holtspur knew that the knight would now be compromised
beyond redemption--even to the danger of losing his life.
Whoever had occupied that antechamber must have overheard not only all
that had been spoken, but have seen each speaker in turn--in short,
every individual present, and under a light clear enough to have
rendered sure their identification.
It needed very little reflection to point out who had been the chief
spy. The despatch, taken by Garth from the king's messenger, rendered
it easy to tell that Richard Scarthe had been in that chamber--either in
person, or by deputy.
All this knowledge flashed upon the mind of the patriot conspirator,
with a distinctness painfully vivid.
Unfortunately, the course, proper for him to pursue, was far from being
so clear; and for some minutes he remained in a state of indecision as
to how he should act.
With such evidence as Scarthe possessed against him, he felt keenly
conscious of danger--a danger threatening not only his liberty, but his
life.
If taken before the Star Chamber--after what he had that night said and
done--he could not expect any other verdict than a conviction; and his
would not be the first head, during that weak tyrant's reign, that had
tumbled untimely from the block.
It was of no use upbraiding himself, with the negligence that had led to
the unfortunate situation. Nor was there any time to indulge in
self-reproach: for the longer he reflected, the more proximate would be
the danger he had to dread.
Henry Holtspur was a man of ready determination. A life partly spent
amidst dangers of flood and field--under the shadows of primeval
American forests--on the war-path of the hostile Mohawk--had habituated
him to the forming of quick resolves, and as quickly carrying them into
execution.
But no man is gifted with omniscience; and there are occasions when the
wisest in thought, and quickest in action, may be overtaken.
It was so in Holtspur's case at this particular crisis. He felt that he
had been outwitted. In the fair field of fight he had defeated an
adversary, who, in the dark diplomacy of intrigue, was likely to triumph
over him.
There was not much time to be lost. Was there any? They, who had made
that stealthy visit to Stone Dean, would be sure to repeat it; and
soon--not secretly as before, but openly, and in force.
Why had they not returned already? This was the only question that
appeared difficult to answer.
Why the arrest had not been made at once--a wholesale capture of the
conspirators--could be more easily answered. The spies might not have
been prepared for a _coup_ so sudden, or extensive.