A WELCOME HOME.
"Past three o' the clock, and a fine starlight night," piped the old
watchman, as he shuffled along, bell and lantern in hand, down
Newmarket High Street. "Past three o' the clock."
"Hullo! Master Diogenes. Have a care where you're running to,"
cried a deep good-humoured voice, as the old fellow came trundling
full-tilt against the tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man dressed
in gray, who was just about to vault on to the back of a fine black
horse standing before the door of the Silver Leopard. "Are you
looking for an honest man?"
"I've found him anyhow, Master Alworth," replied the old man, half
lifting his lantern to the face of the speaker, which was shaded by a
hat of gray felt, whose broad brim almost covered the long iron-gray
locks of his periwig. "'Tis the early bird that catches the worm,
they say," continued he. "But you be astir betimes indeed, Master
Alworth."
"I've a longish journey before me."
[Sidenote: The watchman.]
"Cambridge?" asked the old fellow.
"Nay. Farther by many a mile," answered the other, vaulting into the
saddle.
"The powers alive! You don't say so! Well, you seem in mighty good
trim for the task anyhow! 'Tis many a month,--years not to
say--since I've noticed ye so springy-like about the knees, Master
Alworth."
"H'm," said the traveller, passing his hand across the lower half of
his face and then down his thighs. "But I must mind, or I shall be
paying for my agility."
"Ay, ay. It don't do to be making too free when us is gettin' well
on in our threescore, do it? But happen 'tis some good stroke o'
business as is greasin' the wheels for ye," slyly laughed the old
fellow. "Coin's a rare mender of a man's paces. 'Tis money--"
"Makes the mare to go," laughed the horseman. "Try the recipe
yourself, friend," and he threw a crown-piece upon the ground.
Not without a half-suppressed exclamation of surprise at the
goldsmith's unwonted liberality, albeit Master Alworth was no
skinflint, the old man picked up the coin, and contemplated it with
affectionate admiration. "I never see likenesses of old Rowley ever
pleases me so well as these do," he said. "Eh, Master Alworth?"
"They're well enough," said the horseman, with a preoccupied shrug,
as he stooped to adjust his stirrup.
"Tho', to be sure," continued the old man, "I grant you 'tis mightily
handsomer than ever Charles was, or is like to be. For 'tis few on
us grows comelier as we gets on in the years. And there's no doubt
this here picture makes the best of him. But there, 'tis part o'
kings' trades to be flattered, 'tan't oftentimes as they stumble upon
truth."
"Ods-fish!" laughed the other, "'tis seemingly a deal more likely to
stumble upon them!"
"Ay--Past three o' the clock! and a fine starlight night--you may say
that, for stumblin' 'tis, an no mistake, when you get no heed nor
thanks neither for your pains. Maybe as you've heard--for the tale's
in everybody's mouth by now--that there came one yesterday mornin' to
the king, to warn him o' some fresh plottin's that's hatchin'. And
what does Charles do, but turn on his heel, along with all his
tag-rag an' bobtail o' lords an' ladies, an' leave the young
gentleman to take care o' himself--Past three o' the clock, an' a
starlight night--what d'ye think o' that?"
"I think 'twas mightily ill-bred of him," said the horseman.
[Sidenote: News.]
"Well, pray Heaven the breedin' be the baddest part o't, and keep his
majesty from any worse dangers than this night's," said the old man
fervently.
"The fire, do you mean? But--'twas nothing after all?"
"Just a flash in the pan. An up-an'-ha'-done-wi't piece of business.
Not so much, as far as I can make out, as a hair o' the tails o' one
o' his little spannel dogs scorched."
"And the king?"
"He? oh ha!--near four o' the clock, an'--not to be found high nor
low, so 'tis said. But what won't folks say? He knows where he is,
depend upon't; 'tis not the first time as Charles has bin mislaid.
He'll show up again, safe as the nose on your face. A cat with nine
lives is old Rowley, God bless him!"
"Well, well, adieu, friend!"
"And a safe journey to your worship--Just four o' the clock, an' a
bright sunshiny morning," called out the old man, trudging on and
ringing his bell with such tremendous energy, as if to make up for
any little delays, that it completely drowned the clatter of Stars
and Garters' hoofs as she cantered over the cobble-stones of the High
Street.
[Sidenote: Another horseman.]
Meanwhile Lawrence Lee, only halting to snatch a meal by the way, and
to give his horse half an hour's rest, reached Stanstead Church, just
as the youngsters let loose from morning dame school were pranking
among the gravestones, and plundering the hawthorn hedges. Tired
out, but lighter of heart than he could remember for many a long day,
he threw them a gay quip as he passed. Bang, clash, rattle, went the
churchyard wicket, away all over the dusty road the poor may
blossoms, scattered and trampled under ruthless little feet all
trotting after the big horse's legs. And no marvel neither; for let
alone the merry jokes of Master Lee, who always was the most popular
creature in the world with the young fry of the neighbourhood, there
was a thing to be seen popping its head in and out of the deep pocket
of his doublet in the most strange fashion. Head, forsooth! a bunch
of brown satin ribbons you mean, or some fairing of the sort for
Mistress Ruth Rumbold, that wobbled to and fro with the horse's
movements.
[Sidenote: "'Tis a dog."]
"Naa, 'tes a dog, tell'ee," whispered a five-year-old wiseacre under
his breath.
"Dog!" contemptuously laughed a wise virgin of six, whose canine
circle of acquaintance was limited to huge farm mastiffs and gypsy
curs. "'Tes a silk pincush'n for Madam Lee, cain't you see the brown
and whoite bows to the corners o't."
"Pincush'n! bows! Thems its ears an' its oyes a gogglin'.
Pincush'ns doesn't goggle their oyes; 'tes a dog, ain't it, Marster
Lee?"
"Something of the sort," answered Lee, carefully drawing the little
King Charles from his snug hiding-place, and exhibiting its roly-poly
body to the public gaze; but the shrieks of delight greeting its
appearance, so startled its unaccustomed ears, that terror got the
better of Master Médor's courtly breeding, and sent him scuffling
back into the recesses of his friend's riding-coat; and amidst a
general groan at this disappointing man[oe]uvre, Lee ambled on at a
good round trot, which quickly brought him within sight of the
grass-grown broken tower tops of Nether Hall. It was now close upon
mid-day, and the sun shone hotly, so that the deserted look of the
meadows where the haymakers had just commenced work would have
occasioned their young proprietor small surprise, even could his
preoccupied mind have spared the matter a thought. Just a day it was
for creeping away into the shade of the hedges, or of the alders
overhanging the cool water shallows, to munch your rye-bread and
bacon, and drink your draught of milk or small-beer out of your old
tin can; and one or two old crippled men and women seemed the only
folks in the way to give the master a welcome home.
[Sidenote: A posse comitatus.]
Eager to relieve the anxiety he felt his long and unexpected absence
must be causing his mother, Lawrence Lee had no eyes for the strange
stares full of wonderment and suspicion the old gaffers and goodies
threw after him; but he was startled out of himself as he reached the
last field skirting the lane which led to the house, by a confused
hubbub of voices and angry discussion, as if the whole parish had
collected between its lofty hedgerows. The spot, ordinarily so
peaceful and so silent, save for the singing of the birds in the big
elm boughs overhead, was now a veritable Babel; and breaking through
a gap in the hedge, fresh made by the trampling of a hundred
hobnailed shoes, he leaped the intervening ditch, and alighting in
their very midst, demanded in imperative tones, what they did there?
For one instant, all stood as if confounded by his apparition. A
thunderbolt fallen among them would have startled them less. Here
had they been scouring the country pretty well since daybreak, north,
south, east, west, and all points of the compass between, among
Epping glades, along Hainhault hedgerows, away over Amwell,
Hoddesdon, Wideford, Ware, Waltham--far and wide, the hue and cry had
gone. Deep into oozing ditches, and hollow tree trunks, and
pigsties, and barns, and farmhouse cellars, and gable roofs, and
canal barges, and river craft, pitchforks, and sticks, and cudgels of
all sorts and sizes had prodded and poked in search of farmer
Lawrence Lee.
"What is the meaning of this?" indignantly demanded Lee, as half a
dozen strapping fellows clad in the local militia uniform broke
through the crowd of smock-frocks, and closed round him. "Is this
the way you do your duty, Master Sergeant?" he went on addressing
that officer, who had seized his bridle-rein.
[Sidenote: Arrested for murder.]
"Ay, it be, Master Cap'n," grinned the fellow--for Lee was the head
of their company--"an' a moighty proper pretty way too. You be our
prisoner!"
"Prisoner!"
"Oy, oy, it be all roight, ship-shape. You be arrested."
"On what charge?"
"That be no business o' yourn."
"The murder o' Sheriff Goodenough," shrieked an open-mouthed matron.
"The murder o' Sheriff Goodenough, Master Innocence. Him as lies
dead in the Warder's Room at Master Rumbold's?"
"By whose charge?" said Lee, passing his hand across his eyes, like a
man striving to see the light.
"You want to be knowing more than's good for you," sneeringly replied
the sergeant; "'tis all roight. Him as asks no questions, woan't be
telled no lies. I warrant ya 't be no use kickin'. Eh--yow! yow!
stand still, you brute," yelled the brave Hector, as Lawrence's horse
evinced a decided disposition to make a trial of his heels, and sent
the by-standers to a safer distance. Lee, however, quieted the
animal, and then with a composure of manner that worked everybody up
to an unendurable pitch of exasperation, he again demanded his
accuser's name.
"Colonel Richard Rumsey," answered the spokesman, thinking it wiser
perhaps to comply.
"Very good," said Lawrence dismounting, and consigning his horse to
one of his own stablemen who stood near.
"Come! Quick march, cap'n," said the sergeant, regaining all his
wonted valour, as the sound of the departing horse's hoofs grew
fainter and fainter.
"Where to?" said Lawrence, facing about.
[Sidenote: "To the King's Arms!"]
"The King's Arms, to begin with, and then--" the man chuckled.
"That will do," calmly said Lee. "What do you mean by this?" he
added, a purple red flush of wounded pride suffusing all his face, as
a stout cord was flung over his shoulders from behind, and a dozen
hands secured it.
"Only a little compliment we pay to plotters and suchlike folk,"
laughed the sergeant.
[Sidenote: Mob law.]
Lawrence was about to make a violent resistance; but suddenly his
face changed, a look of deep humiliation came over it, and he stopped
short. "Do I not deserve this?" he said to himself, and then he
submitted quietly; and as if he were in his old position as leader of
these men, and not the led one, he turned and faced about for the
Rye; only delaying for a moment to charge some of the terror-stricken
women-servants of the farm with a cheering message for his mother,
and to bid them conceal the truth from her, as up till now they had
contrived to do--"till he should return," as he said, regardless of
the mocking gibes of the rabble, pressing upon all sides.