A TRAVELLER FROM NEWMARKET.
"This a fair scene," said the king to himself, as between three and
four o'clock in the afternoon he reached the rising ground which
commanded the familiar prospect of the square battlemented roof and
tall spiral chimney-shaft of the Rye House. "I think," he pondered
on, "if I were not king of England, I would be a maltster, and live
in such a corner of it, as this Master Rumbold does, without a care
to fret me, and with one fair daughter, and my honest friend Farmer
Lee for my nearest neighbour. But yonder," continued Charles, as his
glance caught the gables of the King's Arms, "lies our rendezvous.
Now, may my luck be as good as Master Isaak Walton's, and bring me as
good a supper of fish out of yonder little silver stream, as he used
to find under the old hostelry's roof. 'Tis quite certain at all
events," he went on, smilingly to himself, as he caught sight of the
buxom figure of Mistress Sheppard, who was standing at the porch
expectantly, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked up the
road, "that this present hostess of the King's Arms, is as cleanly
and handsome-looking as her predecessor could be; and as to her
civility, if Master Lee's word is to be taken--"
[Sidenote: Pleasant quarters.]
"Bless the darling!" murmured Mistress Sheppard, making a profound
curtsey to the king, as Stars and Garters stopped of her own sweet
will before the porch, and neighed a greeting.
"Pretty creature!" she murmured on under her breath, hardly knowing
whether the sight of her favourite, or of her favourite's rider, more
originated the agreeable fluttering about her heart; for at the first
glimpse she had recognized the king; and guessed at the consequent
success of Lawrence Lee's mission. "Will your Majesty be pleased to
dismount?" she said in low glad tones, as she laid her hand lightly
on the mare's neck.
"Why, bless my soul!" ejaculated Sheppard, who now made his
appearance in the porch, to receive the new-comer, and rubbing his
eyes to stare at the horse. "Stars and Garters--as I'm alive!"
"You're not alive, man. You're asleep," laughed his wife, a trifle
nervously, and placing her ample figure in such a position as to
intercept his view of the horse, as it disappeared under the ostler's
care in the direction of the stables. "Stars and Garters! What
next, I wonder? 'Tis all Stars and Garters in thy sleepy eyes!
Come, stir about man. Waken up, and take his Ma--take this good
gentleman indoors, an' lay the table, while I see about somethin' for
him to eat."
"Not forgetting a trout. Eh, Mistress?" called the guest after her.
"Ay. I'll warrant your--worship. A right royal one 'tis too,"
answered the beaming hostess.
"One would ha' guessed she'd bin' expectin' of him," muttered
Sheppard, still rubbing the mystification out of his eyes, while he
preceded his guest to the inn parlour, "and him a moighty sort of a
favourite too. Now, there's a many that comes along, as she thinks
naught o' puttin' off with chub; nasty fork-boned watery skelintons
o' things. But my foine old gentleman here, must be havin' his
trout, and his curtseys, and down bobbins into the bargain." And
Master Sheppard, who, as luck would have it, had been a bit put about
all day with one thing and another, having first rather sulkily
flicked a few stray crumbs with his snow-white apron from the bright
oaken table to the floor, proceeded to lay the cloth.
"Any news stirring in these parts?" asked the guest in careless
tones, as he threw himself comfortably among the cushions of a settle
drawn up in the deep bay of the window looking upon the road.
[Sidenote: A surly host.]
Now there was a good deal of news stirring; but Sheppard, contrary to
his garrulous wont, seemed in no mood to impart it; and he only
replied by a shrug of his lean shoulders, and a shake of the head,
casting at the same time uneasy and sheepish glances towards a stout
broad-shouldered man, seated in the embrasure of a distant window
smoking an enormous Dutch pipe, whose hat was drawn low down over his
eyes, which were apparently absorbed in gloomy contemplation of the
huge jack of ale on the table before him.
[Sidenote: Meaning words.]
"Be you from nor'ards, Master Traveller?" said Sheppard to the
new-comer, as if in haste to turn the current of conversation.
"Cambridge," answered the guest, craning his neck towards the window,
as if he expected somebody.
"Eh! be you, now?" said Sheppard, rousing up a little, and a gleam of
intelligence breaking into his eyes. "Then I doubt you can tell me
if 'tis true that May Queen has beat Satan by ten paces, as the talk
goes she has?"
"Quite true."
"An' what," gleefully nodded Sheppard, "what's your notions over
Flatfoot?"
"Oh! safe to win."
"The king's own horse, an't he?"
The traveller nodded.
"Maybe as you've a score on her yourself?" said Sheppard with a
knowing wink.
"Rather a heavy one. Yes," replied the traveller, suppressing a
faint sigh.
"Well, well," consolingly said Sheppard. "An' you'll make a potful,
depend upon't. Trust Old Rowley for tellin' good horseflesh from
carrion."
"Ay. As he's able to tell honest subjects from crop-eared knaves,"
laughed the stranger, drawing close up to the table, and pouring out
a bumper of ruby red wine from the tall silver-lipped flagon which
Mistress Sheppard had just brought in, and placed at his elbow.
"Shall we drink his health, friend?" he added, brimming another
glass, and pushing it toward Sheppard.
A more agonizing expression than the one breaking on Sheppard's face
at this challenge, it would be impossible to conceive. Half-way his
trembling fingers carried the goblet to his lips that quivered with
strange contortions; then as his oblique stolen glances crossed those
of the silent smoker, uplifted towards the shadows cast by the ivy
half covering the lattice, his cheeks turned white as his apron, and
he set down the glass untasted.
"Come man! what ails you?" said the stranger, looking up at the
unhappy Sheppard, and then not without a touch of suspicion at the
flagon. "Or is anything wrong with the wine?"
"No, no," gasped Sheppard, "it's very nice wine indeed;" and he gazed
at the contents of his cup, with affectionate admiration. "Very
nice. But I--I--I'm--ordered not--to--to--" Then he broke down
hopelessly.
[Sidenote: Dinner for a King.]
"Not to touch it, eh?" and laughing heartily at his host's
perturbation, the stranger turned his attention to the trout which
Mistress Sheppard was now setting before him with her own fair hands.
"And who's your medical adviser?" he continued, as he made a deep
incision into the gleaming armour of the fish. "I' faith! if 'tis
yonder gentleman," and he gave a half glance towards the silent
stranger, "I'd seek another opinion if I were you. What is this?" he
went on, turning to inspect the contents of a little cruet-tray which
Mistress Sheppard was handing to him. "Verjuice and vinegar!
Thanks, no. I'll have none of them. For though 'tis said they're
good for the digestion, they always spoil mine," and he pushed away
his plate, almost untasted, and his dark eyes wandered towards the
silent guest. "What have you there?" he went on, as Sheppard with
vast pomp and circumstance, placed on the table a large dish.
"Sirloin," answered Sheppard, flourishing off the silver cover, huge
as Mambrino's helmet. "Sirloin--your worship," he reiterated
obsequiously, as if he was anxious to patch up the appalling hole he
had just now made in his manners. "Prime cut. Fit for a king."
[Sidenote: Dangerous names.]
"I'll have none of it. I cannot wait longer," said Charles,
impatiently looking again towards the window. "I came here by
appointment with a--friend, who does not appear disposed to be
punctual. And yet, by his own tale, he lives not so far off from
here. His name is--"
"Hush!" whispered Mistress Sheppard in his ear, as she bent to
replace his plate with a clean one.
"H'm--No matter," went on Charles. "We--I am not accustomed to be
kept waiting," and he rose, and took up his hat. "Tell the young
gentleman when he does come, that he will find me at Whitehall--"
"Hush--sh!" again whispered Mistress Sheppard.
"H'm--not far from the water stairs. But he knows my address. So
come, Master Landlord, have with you, and find me a fresh horse. And
pray be quick about it, for if I would sleep at home to-night, I must
be brisk. I cry your pardon, Mistress Sheppard. You were about to
speak?" he added in courteous tones, as he perceived his hostess
smoothing her apron, and her lips opening and shutting, and opening
again.
[Sidenote: A fair visitor.]
"So please you, there is one," answered Mistress Sheppard. "Nay,
names matter little. One who earnestly desires an audience--a word
with you, before you go. A young girl--"
"Let her come in," said Charles with animation.