TELLS HOW I REACH BRISTOL, AND IN WHAT
STRANGE GUISE I GO TO MEET MY FRIEND.
At length, then, I was fairly started on my way to Bristol. For my
direction over this first stage of my journey I had made inquiries of
Elmscott, and I rode westwards towards the village of Knightsbridge,
thanking Providence most heartily for that the city still slept. For
what with my disordered dress, my oak cudgel, and the weedy screw
which I bestrode--I scruple to dignify her with the name of mare, for
I have owned mares since which I loved, and would not willingly
affront them--I could not hope to pass unnoticed were any one abroad,
and, indeed, should esteem myself well-used to be counted no worse
than a mountebank. Thus I crossed Hounslow Heath and reached Brentford
without misadventure. There I joyfully parted with my Rosinante, and
hiring a horse, rode post. The way, however, was ill-suited for speedy
travelling, and my hope of seeing Julian that night dwindled with my
shadow as the sun rose higher and higher behind my shoulders. Ruts
deep and broad as new furrows trenched the road, and here and there
some slough would make a wide miry gap, wherein my horse sank over the
fetlocks. Some blame, moreover, must attach to me, for I chose a false
turn at the hamlet of Colnbrook, and journeyed ten miles clean from my
path to Datchet; so that in the end night found me blundering on the
edge of Wickham Heath, some sixty-one miles from London. I had changed
horses at Newbury, and I determined to press on at least so far as
Hungerford. But I had not counted with myself. I was indeed
overwrought with want of sleep, and the last few stages I had ridden
with dulled senses in a lethargy of fatigue. At what point exactly I
wandered from the road I could not tell. But the darkness had closed
in before I began to notice a welcome ease and restfulness in the
motion of the gallop. I was wondering idly at the change, when of a
sudden my horse pops his foot into a hole. The reins were hanging
loose on his neck; I myself was rocking in the saddle, so that I shot
clean over his shoulder, turned a somersault in mid-air, and came down
flat on my back in the centre of the Heath. For a while I lay there
without an effort or desire to move. I felt as if Mother Earth had
taken pity on my weariness, and had thus unceremoniously put me to
bed. The trample of hoofs, however, somewhat too close to my legs,
roused me to wakefulness, and I started up and prepared to remount. To
my dismay I found that my horse was badly lamed; he could barely set
his foreleg to the ground. The accident was the climax of my
misfortunes. I looked eagerly about me. The night was moonless, but
very clear and soft with the light of the stars. I could see the
common stretching away on every side empty and desolate; here a
cluster of trees, there a patch of bushes, but never a house, never
the kindly twinkle of a lamp, never a sign of a living thing. What it
behoved me to do, I could not come at, think as hard as I might. But
whatever that might have been, what I did, alas! was far different.
For I plumped myself down on the grass and cried like a child. It
seemed to me that God's hand was indeed turned against my friend and
his deliverance.
But somehow into the midst of my lament there slipped a remembrance of
Jack Larke. On the instant his face took shape and life before me,
shining out as it were from a frame of darkness. I saw an honest scorn
kindle in his eyes, and his lips shot "woman" at me. The visionary
picture of him braced me like the cut of a whip. At all events, I
thought, I would make a pretence of manhood, and I ceased from my
blubbering, and laying hold of the horse by the bridle, led him
forward over the Heath.
I kept a sharp watch about me as I walked, but it must have been a
full two hours afterwards when I caught a glimpse of a light far away
on my left hand, glimmering in a little thicket upon a swell of the
turf. At first I was minded to reckon it a star, for the Heath at that
point was ridged up against the sky. But it shone with a beam too warm
and homely to match the silver radiance of the planets. I turned
joyfully in its direction, and quickening my pace, came at length to
the back of a house. The light shone from a window on the ground floor
facing me. I looked into it over a little paling, and saw that it was
furnished as a kitchen. Plates and pewter-pots gleamed orderly upon
the shelves, and a row of noble hams hung from the rafters.
I hurried round the side of the house and found myself, to my great
satisfaction, on a bank which overlooked the road. I scrambled down
the side of it and knocked loudly at the door. It was opened by an
elderly man, who stared at me in some surprise.
"You travel late, young sir," said he, holding the door ajar.
"I have need to," I replied. "I should have been in Bristol long ere
this."
"'Tis strange," he went on, eyeing me a thought suspiciously. "I
caught no sound of your horse's hoofs upon the road."
"'Twould have been stranger if you had," said I. "For I missed my way
soon after sundown, and have been wandering since on the Heath. I saw
the light of your house some half an hour agone over yonder," and I
pointed in the direction whence I had come.
"Then you are main lucky, sir," he returned, but in a more civil tone.
"This is the 'Half-way House,' and it has no neighbours. In another
hour we should have gone to bed--for we have no guests to-night--and
you might have wandered until dawn."
With that he set the door back against the wall, and stood aside for
me to pass.
"You must pardon my surliness," he said. "But few honest travellers
cross Wickham Heath by dark, and at first I mistook you. I have never
held truck with the gentry of the road, though, indeed, my pockets
suffer for the ease of my conscience. However, if you will step
within, my wife will get you supper while I lead your horse to the
stables."
"The beast is lame," said I, "and I would fain continue my way
to-night. Have you a horse for hire?"
"Nay, sir," said he, shaking his head. "I have but one horse here
besides your own, and that is not mine."
"I need it only for a day," I urged eagerly; "for less than a day. I
could reach Bristol in the morning, and would send it you back
forthwith."
I plunged my hand into my fob, and pulled out a handful of money as I
spoke.
"It is no use," he declared. "The horse is not mine. 'Twas left here
for a purpose, and I may not part with it."
"It would be with you again to-morrow," I repeated.
"It may be needed in the meanwhile," said he. "It may be needed in an
hour. I know not."
I let the coins run from my right hand into the palm of my left, so
that they fell clinking one on the top of the other. For a second he
stood undecided; then he spoke in a low voice like a man arguing with
himself.
"I will not do it. The horse was left with me in trust--in trust.
Moreover, I was well paid for the trust." And he turned to me.
"Put up your money, sir," said he stubbornly. "You should think shame
to tempt poor folk. You will get no horse 'twixt here and Hungerford."
I slipped the money back into my pocket while he moved away with the
horse. It limped worse than ever, and he stopped and picked up its
foreleg.
"It is no more than a strain, I think," he called out. "The wife shall
make a poultice for it to-night, and you can start betimes in the
morning."
It was a poor consolation, but the only one. So I made the best of it,
and, taking my supper in the kitchen, went forthwith to bed. I was
indeed so spent and tired that I fell asleep in the corner by the fire
while my ham was being fried, and after it, was almost carried
upstairs in the arms of my landlord. I had not lain in a bed since I
left Leyden, and few sights, I think, have ever affected me with
so pleasant a sense of rest and comfort as that of the little
inn-chamber, with its white dimity curtains and lavender-scented
sheets. I have, in truth, always loved the scent of lavender since.
The next morning I was early afoot, and, despatching a hasty
breakfast, made my way to the stables. The innkeeper had preceded me
in order to have all ready for my start; but he stood in the yard with
the horse unsaddled.
"'Tis no use, sir," he said. "You must e'en walk to Hungerford."
I had but to see the horse take one step to realise the truth of his
words, for it limped yet worse than the evening before. The foot,
moreover, was exceeding hot and inflamed.
"Take it back," said I. "The poor beast must bide here till I return."
I followed him into the stable, and inquired of the road.
"You go straight," he said, "till you come to Barton Court, opposite
the village of Kintbury--" when of a sudden I stopped him. There were
but two stalls in the building, and I had just caught a glimpse of the
horse which was tied up in the second. It was of a light chestnut in
colour, with white stockings, and a fleck of white in its coat at the
joint of the hip. The patch was like a star in shape, and very
unusual.
"Why, this is Sir Julian Harnwood's horse," I cried, leaping towards
it--"his favourite horse!"
"Yes," he said, looking at me with some surprise, "that was the
name--Sir Julian Harnwood. 'Tis the horse I told you of last night."
And in a flash the truth came upon me.
"It waits for me," I said. "Quick, man, saddle it! Sir Julian's life
hangs upon your speed."
But he planted himself sturdily before me.
"Not so fast, young master," he said. "That trick will not serve your
turn. 'Tis Sir Julian's horse, sure enough, and it waits its rider,
sure enough; but that you are he, I must have some better warrant than
your word."
"My name may prove it," I replied. "It is Buckler--Morrice Buckler.
Sir Julian's servant came to me in Holland."
"Buckler!" the man repeated, as though he heard it for the first time.
"Morrice Buckler! Yes, sir, that may be your name. I have nothing
against it beyond that it is unfamiliar in these parts. But a strange
name is a poor thing to persuade a man to forego his trust."
I looked at the man. Though elderly and somewhat bent, he was of a
large frame, and the sinews stood out in knots upon his bared arms.
Plainly I was no match for him if it came to a struggle; and a
sickening feeling of impotence and futility surged up within me. At
every turn of the road destiny had built up its barrier. I understood
that the clue to the matter lay hidden in that untold message which
had been vainly conveyed to Leyden; that Swasfield had some pass-word,
some token to impart whereby I might make myself known along the road.
"The horse waits for me," I cried, my voice rising as I beseeched him.
"In very truth it waits for me. Doubtless I should have some proof of
that. But the man that bid me come fell in a swoon or ever he could
hand it me."
The innkeeper smiled, and sat him down on a corn-bin. Indeed, the
explanation sounded weak enough to me, who was witness of its truth. I
should hardly have credited it from another's lips.
"Oh, can't you see," I entreated, in an extremity of despair, "can't
you feel that I am telling you God's truth?"
"No, master," he answered slowly, shaking his head, "I feel nought of
that sort."
His words and stolid bumpkin air threw me into a frenzy of rage.
"Then," cried I, "may the devil's curse light on you and yours! That
horse was left with you in trust. You have dinned the word into my
ears; there's no gainsaying it. And I claim the fulfilment of your
trust. Understand, fellow!" I went on, shaking my hand at him, for I
saw his mouth open and his whole face broaden out into a laugh. "It's
not a horse you are stealing; it is a life--a man's innocent life!"
Thereupon he broke in upon my passion with a great gust of mirth that
shook him from head to foot.
"Lord, master!" said he, "that be mighty fine play-acting. I don't
know that I ever saw better in Newberry Market"--and he slapped a
great fist upon his thigh. "No, I'll be danged if I did. Go on! go on!
Lord, I could sit here and laugh till dinner." And he thrust his feet
forward, plunged his hands in his breeches pockets, and rolled back
against the wall. I watched him in an utter vacancy of mind. For his
stupid laughter had quenched me like a pailful of cold water. I
searched for some device by which I might outwit his stubbornness. Not
the smallest seed of a plan could I discover. I sent my thoughts back
to the morning of the fourteenth, and cudgelled my memory in the hope
that Swasfield might have dropped some hint which had passed
unnoticed. But he had said so little, and I remembered his every word.
Then in a twinkling I recollected the charms which I had found upon
his person. Perchance one of them was the needed token. No idea was
too extravagant for me to grasp at it. What had I done with them? I
thought. I clapped my hand into the pocket of my coat, and my fingers
closed, not on the charms, but on the barrel of the pistol which Larke
had handed to me at the moment of my setting out. In an instant my
mind was made up. I must have that horse, cost what it might. 'Twas
useless to argue with my landlord. Money I had made trial of the night
before. And here were the minutes running by, and each one of them, it
might be, a drop of Julian's blood!
I walked quickly to the door, at once to disengage the pistol secretly
and to hide any change in my countenance. But the cock must needs
catch in the flap of my pocket as I drew the weapon out. I heard a
startled cry behind me, a rattle of the corn-bin, and a clatter of
heavy shoes on the ground. I took one spring out of the stable,
turned, and levelled the barrel through the doorway. For a moment we
stood watching one another, he crouched for a leap, I covering his
eyes with the pistol.
"Saddle that horse," I commanded, "and bring it out into the road!"
It was his turn now to argue and entreat, but I had no taste at the
moment for "play-acting."
"Be quick, man!" I said. "You have wasted time enough. Be quick, else
I'll splatter your head against the wall!"
The fellow rose erect and did as I bid, while I stood in the doorway
and railed at him. For, alas! I was never over-generous by nature.
"Hurry, you potatoe!" I exclaimed. Why that word above all other and
more definite terms of abuse should have pained him I know not. But so
it was; "Potatoe" grieved him immeasurably, and noting that, I
repeated it more often, I fear me, than fitted my dignity. At length
the horse was saddled.
"Lead it out!" I said, and walked backwards to the road with my pistol
still levelled.
He followed me with the horse, and I bade him go back into the stable
and close the door. Then I put up my pistol, sprang into the saddle,
and started at a gallop past the inn. I had ridden little more than a
hundred yards when I chanced to look back. My host was standing in the
centre of the way, his legs firmly apart, and a huge blunderbuss at
his shoulder. I flung my body forward on the neck of the horse, and a
shower of slugs whistled through the air above my head. I felt for my
pistol to return the compliment, but 'twould have been mere waste of
the shot; I should never have hit him. So I just curved my hand about
my mouth and bawled "Potatoe" at the top of my voice. It could have
done no less hurt than his slugs.
The horse, fresh from its long confinement, answered gladly to my call
upon its speed, and settled into a steady gallop. But for all that,
though I pressed on quickly through Marlborough and Chippenham, the
nearer I came to Bristol the more lively did my anxieties become. I
began to ponder with an increasing apprehension on the business which
Julian might have in store for me. The urgency of his need had been
proved yet more clearly that morning. The horse which I bestrode was a
fresh and convincing evidence; and I could not but believe that
similar relays were waiting behind me the whole length of the road
from London.
At the same time, as Elmscott had urged, I could bring him no solace
of help in the matter of his trial. It would need greater authority
than mine to rescue him from Jeffries' clutches. I realised that there
must be some secret trouble at the back, and the more earnestly I
groped after a hint of its nature, the more dark and awesome the
riddle grew.
For, to my lasting shame I own it, Elmscott's forebodings recurred to
me with the mystical force of a prophecy:
"There is God's hand in all this. He doth not mean you should go."
The warning seemed traced in black letters on the air before me; fear
whispered it at my heart, and the very hoofs of the horse beat it out
in a ringing menace from the ground.
At last, when I was well-nigh in the grips of a panic, over the brow
of a hill I saw a cluster of church-spires traced like needles against
the sun, and in a sudden impulse to outstrip my cowardice I drove my
heels into my horse's flanks, and an hour later rode through Lawford's
Gate into Bristol town. I inquired of the first person I met where the
Court was sitting. At the Guildhall, he told me, and pointed out the
way. A clock struck four as he spoke, and I hurriedly thanked him and
hastened on.
About the Guildhall a great rabble of people swung and pressed, and I
reined up on the farther side of the street, but as nearly opposite to
the entrance as I could force my way. In front of the building stood a
carriage very magnificently equipped, with four horses, and footmen in
powdered wigs and glistening liveries.
From such converse as went on about me, I sought to learn what
prisoners had been tried that day. But so great was the confusion of
voices, curses, lamentations, and rejoicings being mixed and blended
in a common uproar, that I could gather no knowledge that was
particular to my purpose. Then from the shadow of the vestibule shot a
gleam of scarlet and white, and at once a deep hush fell upon the
crowd. Preceded by his officers, my lord Jeffries stepped out to his
carriage, a man of a royal mien, with wonderfully dark and piercing
eyes, though the beauty of his face was much marred by spots and
blotches, and an evil smile that played incessantly about his lips. He
seemed in truth in high good-humour, and laughed boisterously with
those that attended him; and bethinking me of his savage cruelty, and
the unholy lustfulness wherewith he was wont to indulge it, my heart
sank in fear for Julian.
The departure of his carriage seemed to lift a weight from every
tongue, and the clamour recommenced. I cast about for some one to
approach, when I beheld a little man with a face as wrinkled and
withered as a dry pippin, pressing through the throng in my direction.
I thought at first that he intended speech with me, for he looked me
over with some care. But he came straight on to the horse's head, and
without pausing walked briskly along its side to my right hand and
disappeared behind me. A minute after I heard the noise of a dispute
on my left. There was my little friend again. He had turned on his
steps, and moving in the contrary direction had come up with me once
more. In the hurry of his movements he had knocked up against a
passer-by, and the pair straightway fell loudly to argument, each one
accusing the other of clumsiness. I turned in my saddle to watch the
quarrel, and immediately the little man, with profuse apologies, took
the blame upon himself and continued his way. I followed him with my
eyes. He had proceeded but ten yards when his pace began to slacken,
then he dropped into a saunter, and finally stood still in a musing
attitude with his eyes on the ground, as though he was debating some
newly-remembered question. Of a sudden he raised his head, shot one
quick glance towards me, and resumed his walk. The street was thinning
rapidly, and I was able to pursue him without difficulty. For half a
mile we went on, keeping the same distance between us, when he sharply
turned a corner and dived into a narrow side-street. I checked my
horse, thinking that I had mistaken his look; for he had never so much
as turned round since. But the next minute he reappeared, and stood
loitering in his former attitude of reflection. There could be no
doubt of the man's intention, and I gathered up the reins again and
followed him. This side-street was narrow and exceeding dark, for the
storeys of the houses on each side projected one above the other until
the gables nearly met at the top. The little man was waiting for me
about twenty yards from the entrance, in an angle of the wall.
"It is Mr. Buckler?" he asked shortly.
"Yes," I answered. "What news of Julian?"
"You have but just arrived?"
"The clock struck four as I rode through Law-ford's Gate. What news of
Julian?"
He gave a sharp, sneering laugh.
"Ay, ay," he said. "No one so flustered as your loiterer." And he
stepped out from the shadow of the house. "Sir Julian?" he cried
hastily. "Sir Julian will be hanged at noon to-morrow."
I swayed in the saddle; the houses spun round me. I felt the man's arm
catch at and steady me.
"It is my fault?" I whispered.
"No, lad!" he returned, with a new touch of kindliness in his tone.
"Nothing could have saved him. I should know; I am his attorney. Maybe
I spoke too harshly, but this last week he has been eating his heart
out for the sight of you, and your tardiness plagued me. There, there!
Lay hold of your pluck! It is a man your friend needs, not a weak
girl."
There was a pitying contempt in the tone of these last words which
stung me inexpressibly. I sat up erect, and said, with such firmness
as I could force into my voice:
"Where does Sir Julian lie?"
"In the Bridewell to-night. But you must not go there in this plight,"
he added quickly, for I was already turning the horse. "You would ruin
all."
He glanced sharply up and down the lane, and went on:
"We have been together over-long as it is." Then he tapped with his
foot for a moment on the pavement. "I have it," said he. "Go to the
'Thatched House Tavern,' in Lime Kiln Lane. I will seek you there.
Wait for me; and, mind this, let no one else have talk with you! Tell
the people of the house I sent you--Mr. Joseph Vincott. It will
commend you to their care."
With that he turned on his heel, ran up to the opening of the street,
and after a cautious look this side and that, strolled carelessly
away. I gave him a few moments' grace, and then hurried with all
despatch to the tavern, asking my direction as I went. There I ordered
a private room, and planting myself at the window, waited impatiently
for Vincott's coming.
It must have been an hour afterwards that I saw him turn into the lane
from a passage almost opposite to where I stood. I expected him to
cross the road, but he cast not so much as a glance towards the inn,
and walked slowly past on the further side. I flung up the window,
thinking that he had forgotten his errand, and leaned out to call him.
But or ever I could speak he banged his stick angrily on the ground,
raised it with a quick jerk and pointed twice over his shoulder behind
him. The movement was full of significance, and I drew back into the
shadow of the curtain. Mr. Vincott mounted the steps of a house,
knocked at the door, and was admitted. No sooner had he entered than a
man stepped out from the passage. He was of a large, heavy build, and
yet, as I surmised from the litheness of his walk, very close-knit.
His face was swarthy and bronzed, and he wore ear-rings in his ears. I
should have taken him for an English sailor but that there was a
singular compactness in his bearing, and his gait was that of a man
perfectly balanced. For awhile he stood loitering at the entrance to
the passage, and then noticing the inn, crossed quickly over and
passed through the door beneath me.
My senses were now strained into activity, and I watched with a
quivering eagerness for the end of this strange game of hide-and-seek.
I had not long to wait. The little lawyer came down the steps, stopped
at the bottom, took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation, and
blowing his nose with unnecessary noise and vehemence, walked down the
street. He had nearly reached the end of it before his pursuer lounged
out of the inn and strolled in the same direction. The moment Vincott
turned the corner, however, he lengthened his stride; I saw him pause
at the last house and peep round the angle, draw back for a few
seconds, and then follow stealthily on the trail.
The incident reawakened all my perplexed conjectures as to the
business on which I was engaged. Why should the fact of my arrival in
the town be so studiously concealed? Or again, what reason could there
be for any one to suspect or fear it? The questions circled through my
mind in an endless repetition. There was but one man who could answer
them, and he lay helpless in his cell, adding to the torture of his
last hours the belief that his friend had played him false. The
thought stung me like Ino's gadfly. I paced up and down the room with
my eyes ever on the street for Vincott's return. My heart rose on each
sound of a nearing step, only to sink giddily with its dying
reverberation. The daylight fell, a fog rolled up from the river in
billows of white smoke, and still Vincott did not come. The very clock
by the chimney seemed to tick off the seconds faster and faster until
I began to fancy that the sounds would catch one another and run by in
one continuous note. At last I heard a quick pattering noise of feet
on the pavement below, and Vincott dashed up the stairs and burst into
the room.
"I have shaken the rascal off," he gasped, falling into a chair; "but
curse me if it's lawyer's work. We live too sedentary a life to go
dragging herrings across a scent with any profit to our bodies."
"Then we can go," said I, taking my hat. But he struck it from my
hands with his cane.
"And you!" he blazed out at me. "You must poke your stupid yellow head
out of the window as if you wanted all Bristol to notice it! Sit
down!"
"Mr. Vincott!" I exclaimed angrily.
"Mr. Buckler!" he returned, mimicking my tone, and pulling a grimace.
There was indeed no dignity about the man. "It may not have escaped
your perceptions that I have some desire to conceal your visit to this
town. Would it be too much to ask you to believe that there are
reasons for that desire?"
He spoke with a mocking politeness, and waited for me to answer him.
"I suppose there are," I replied; "but I am in the dark as to their
nature."
"The chief of them," said he, "is your own security."
"I will risk that," said I, stooping for my hat. "'Tis not worth the
suffering which it costs Julian."
"Dear, dear!" he gibed. "Tis strange that so much heart should tarry
so long. Let me see! It must be full eight days since Swasfield came
to you at Leyden." And he struck my hat once more out of my grasp.
"Mr. Vincott," said I--and my voice trembled as I spoke--"if you have
a mind to quarrel with me, I will endeavour to gratify you at a more
seasonable time. But I cannot wrangle over the body of my friend. I
came hither with all the speed that God vouchsafed me." And I informed
him of my journey, and the hindrances which had beset my path.
"Well, well," he said, when I had done, "I perceive that my thoughts
have done you some injustice. And, after all, I am not sure but what
your late coming is for the best. It has caused your friend no small
anxiety, I admit. But against that we may set a gain of greater
secrecy."
He picked up my hat from the floor, and placed it on the table.
"So," he continued, "you will pardon my roughness, but I have formed
some affection for Sir Julian. 'Tis an unbusinesslike quality, and I
trust to be well ashamed of it in a week's time. At the present,
however, it angered me against you." He held out his hand with a
genuine cordiality, and we made our peace.
"Now," said he, "the gist of the matter is this. It is all-essential
that you be not observed and marked as a visitor to Sir Julian.
Therefore 'twere best to wait until it is quite dark; and meanwhile we
must think of some disguise."
"A disguise?" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said he. "You must have noticed from that window that there are
others awake beside ourselves."
I stood silent for a moment, reluctantly considering a plan which
had just flashed into my head. Vincott drew a flint and steel from
his pocket, and lighted the candles--for the dusk was filling the
room--and drew the curtains close. All at once the dizzy faintness
which had come over me in the side-street near the Guildhall returned,
and set the room spinning about me. I clutched at a chair to save
myself from falling. Vincott snatched up a candle, and looked shrewdly
into my face.
"When did you dine?" he asked.
"At breakfast-time," said I.
He opened the door, and rang a bell which stood on a side-table.
"Lucy!" he bawled over the bannisters.
A great buxom wench with a cheery face answered the summons, and he
bade her cook what meats they had with all celerity.
"Meantime," said he, "we will while away the interval over a posset of
Bristol milk. You have never tasted that, Mr. Buckler? I would that I
could say the same. I envy you the pleasure of your first acquaintance
with its merit."
The "milk," as he termed it, was a strong brewage of Spanish wine,
singularly luxurious and palatable. Mr. Vincott held up his glass to
the light, and the liquid sparkled like a clear ruby.
"'Tis a generous drink," he said. "It gives nimbleness to the body,
wealth to the blood, and lightness to the heart. The true Promethean
fire!" And he drained the glass, and smacked his lips.
"That is a fine strapping wench," said I. "She must be of my height,
or thereabouts."
The lawyer cocked his head at me. "Ah!" said he drily, "a wonderful
thing is Bristol milk."
But I was thinking of something totally different.
The girl fetched in a stew of beef, steaming hot, and we sat down to
it, though indeed I had little inclination for the meal.
"Now, Mr. Vincott," said I, "I will pray you, while we are eating, to
help me to the history of Julian's calamities." I think that my voice
broke somewhat on the word, for he laid his hand gently upon my arm.
"I know nothing of it myself beyond what you have told me, and a
rumour that came to me in London."
The lawyer sat silent for a time, drumming with his fingers on the
table.
"Your story," I urged, "will save much valuable time when I visit
Julian."
"I was thinking," he replied, "how much I should tell you. You see,
merely the facts are known to me. Of what lies underneath them--I mean
the motives and passions which have ordered their sequence--I may have
surmised something" (here his eyes twinkled cunningly), "but I have no
certitude. That part of the business concerns you, not me. 'Twere
best, then, that I show you no more than the plain face of the
matter."
He pushed away his plate, leaned both arms upon the table, and, with a
certain wariness in his manner, told me the following tale:
"In the spring of the year, Miss Enid Marston fell sick at Court. The
air of St. James's is hardly the best tonic for invalids, and she came
with her uncle and guardian to the family house at Bristol to recruit.
Sir Julian Harnwood must, of course, follow her; and, in order that he
may enjoy her company without encroaching upon her hospitality, he
hires him a house in the suburbs, upon Brandon Hill. One night, during
the second week of August, came two fugitives from Sedgemoor to his
door. Sir Julian had some knowledge of the men, and the story of their
sufferings so worked upon his pity that he promised to shelter them
until such time as he could discover means of conveying them out of
the country. To that end he hid them in one of his cellars, brought
their food with his own hands, and generally used such precautions as
he thought must avert suspicion. But on the morning of the 10th
September he was arrested, his house searched, and the rebels
discovered. The rest you know. Sir Julian was tried this afternoon
with the two fugitives, and pays the penalty to-morrow. 'Tis the only
result that could have been looked for. His best friends despaired
from the outset--even Miss Marston."
"I had not thought of her," I broke in. "Poor girl!"
"Poor girl!" he repeated, gazing intently at the ceiling. "She was
indeed so put back in her health, that her physician advised her
instant removal to a less afflicting neighbourhood."
As he ended, he glanced sideways at me from under half-closed lids;
but I chanced to be watching him, and our eyes crossed. It seemed to
me that he coloured slightly, and sent his gaze travelling idly about
the room, anywhere, in short, but in my direction, the while he hummed
the refrain of a song.
"You mean she has deserted Julian?" I exclaimed.
"I have no recollection that I suggested that, or indeed anything
whatsoever," he returned blandly. "As I mentioned to you before, I
merely relate the facts."
"There is one fact," said I, after a moment's thought, "on which you
have not touched."
"There are two," he replied; "but specify if you please. I will
satisfy you to the limit of my powers."
"The part which I shall play in this business."
He wagged his head sorrowfully at me.
"I perceive," says he, "with great regret that they teach you no logic
at the University of Leyden. You are speaking, not of a fact, but of
an hypothesis. The part which you will play, indeed! You ask me to
read the future, and I am not qualified for the task."
It became plain to me that I should win no profit out of my
questioning; there could be but one result to a quibbling match with
an attorney; so I bade him roughly tell me what he would.
"There are two facts," he resumed, "which are perhaps of interest. But
I would premise that they are in no way connected. I would have you
bear that in mind, Mr. Buckler. The first is this: it has never been
disclosed whence the information came which led to the discovery of
the fugitives. Sir Julian, as I told you, used great precautions. His
loyalty, moreover, had never been suspected up till then."
"From his servants, most like," I interposed.
"Most like!" he sneered. "The remark does scanty credit to your
perspicacity, and hardly flatters me. I examined them with some care,
and satisfied myself on the score of their devotion to their master.
'Tis doubtful even whether they were aware of Sir Julian's folly. 'Tis
most certain that they never betrayed him. Besides, my lord Jeffries
rated them all most unmercifully this afternoon. He would not have
done that had they helped the prosecution. No, the secret must have
leaked out if the information had come from them."
"And you could gather no clue?"
"Say, rather, that I did gather no clue. For my client forbad me to
pursue my inquiries. 'Tis strange that, eh? 'Tis passing strange. It
points, I think, beyond the servants."
"Then Julian himself must know," I cried.
"Tis a simple thought," said he. "If you will pardon the hint, you
discover what is obvious with a singular freshness."
I understood that I had brought the rejoinder upon myself by my
interruption, and so digested it in silence.
"The second point," he continued, "is interesting as a----" he made
the slightest possible pause--"a coincidence. Sir Julian Harnwood was
arrested at six o'clock in the morning, not in his house, but
something like a mile away, on the King's down. 'Tis a quaint fancy
for a gentleman to take it into his head to stroll about the King's
down in the rain at six o'clock of the morning; almost as quaint as
for an officer to go thither at that hour to search for him."
An idea sprang through my mind, and was up to the tip of my tongue.
But I remembered the fate of my previous suggestions, and checked it
on the verge of utterance.
"You were about to proffer a remark," said Mr. Vincott very politely.
"No!" said I, in a tone of indifference, and he smiled.
Then his manner changed, and he began to speak quickly, rapping with
his fist upon the table as though to drive home his words.
"The truth of the matter is, Mr. Buckler, Sir Julian went out that
morning to fight a duel, and his antagonist was Count Lukstein, who
came over to England six months ago in the train of the Emperor
Leopold's ambassador. Ah! you know him!"
"No!" I replied. "I know of him from Julian."
"They were friends, it appears."
"Julian made the Count's acquaintance some while ago in Paris, and
has, I believe, visited his home in the Tyrol."
"However that may be, they quarrelled in Bristol. Count Lukstein came
down from London to take the waters at the Hotwell, by St. Vincent's
rock, and has resided there for the last three months. 'Twas a
trumpery dispute, but nought would content Sir Julian but that they
must settle it with swords. He was on the way to the trysting-place
when he was taken."
And with a final rap on the table, Mr. Vincott leaned back in his
chair, and froze again to a cold deliberation.
"That," said he, "is the second fact I have to bring to your notice."
"And the first," I cried, pressing the point on him, "the first is
that no one knows who gave the information!"
"I observed, I believe," he replied, returning my gaze with a mild
rebuke, "that between those two facts there is no connection."
At the time it seemed to me that he was bent on fobbing me off. But I
have since thought that he was answering after his fashion the
innuendo which my words wrapped up. He took out his snuff-box as he
spoke, and inhaled a great pinch. The action suddenly recalled to me
the man[oe]uvres which I had watched from the window.
"It was a foreigner," I said, starting up in my excitement, "it was a
foreigner who dogged your steps this afternoon."
"I like the ornaments of the ceiling," says he (for thither had his
eyes returned); and, as though he were continuing the sentence: "I may
tell you, Mr. Buckler, that Count Lukstein left Bristol eleven days
ago."
"Did he take his servants with him?" I asked; and then, a new thought
striking me: "Eleven days ago! That is, Mr. Vincott, the day after
Julian's arrest."
"Mr. Buckler," says he, "you appear to me to lack discretion."
"I only re-state your facts," I answered, with some heat.
"The facts themselves are perhaps a trifle indiscreet," he admitted.
"I shall certainly have that ceiling copied in my own house." And with
that he rose from his chair. "'Tis close on eight by the clock, and we
must hit upon some disguise. But, Lord! how it is to be contrived with
that canary poll of yours I know not, unless you shave your head and
wear my peruke."
"I have a better device than that," said I.
"Well, man, out with it!"
For I spoke with hesitation, fearing his irony.
"You can trust the people of the inn?"
He nodded his head.
"Else I should not have sent you hither. They are bound to me in
gratitude. I saved them last year from some pother with the Excise."
"And Lucy--what of her?"
"She is the landlord's daughter."
Thus assured, I delivered to him my plan--that I would mask my person
beneath one of Lucy's gowns.
Vincott leapt at the notion, "'Od rabbit me!" he cried, "I misliked
your face at first, but I begin to love it dearly now. For I see 'twas
given you for some purpose."
Once more he summoned Lucy, invented some story of a jest to be
played, and bound her to the straitest secrecy. She gained no inkling
from him, you may be sure, of the business which we had in hand. I
stripped off my coat, and with much lacing and compressing, much
exercise of vigour on Vincott's part, much panting on mine, and more
roguish giggling upon Lucy's, I was at last squeezed into the girl's
Sunday frock. It had a yellow bodice bedecked with red ribbons, and a
red canvas skirt.
"But, la!" she exclaimed, "your feet! Sure you must have a long cloak
to hide them." And she whipped out of the room and fetched one. My
feet did indeed but poorly match the dress, which descended no lower
than my ankles.
By good fortune the cloak had a hood attached, which could be drawn
well forward, and blurred my features in its shadow.
"So!" said I. "I am ready." And I strode quickly to the door. For
Lucy's glee and my masquerading weighed with equal heaviness upon me.
I was full-charged with sorrow for the coming interview. The old days
in Cumberland lived and beat within my heart; the old dreams of a
linked future voiced themselves again with a very bitter irony. 'Twas
the last time my eyes were to be gladdened with the sight of my loved
friend and playmate. I looked upon this visit as the sacred visit to a
death-bed; nay, as something yet more sad than that, for Julian lay
a-dying in the very bloom of health and youth, and the grotesque guise
in which I went forth to him seemed to mock and flout the solemnity of
the occasion.
"Stop, lad!" said Vincott. "You must never walk like that. Your first
step would betray you. Watch me!"
With a peacock air, which at another time would have appeared to me
inimitably ludicrous, the little attorney minced across the room on
the tips of his toes. Lucy leaned against the wall holding her sides,
and fairly screamed with delight.
"What ails you, lass?" said he very sternly.
"La, Mr. Vincott," she gulped out between bubbles of laughter, "I
think you have but few honest women among your clients."
Mr. Vincott rebuked her at some length for her sauciness, and would
have prolonged his lecture yet further, but that my impatience
mastered me and I haled him from the room. The girl let us out by a
small door which gave on to an alley at the back of the house. The
night was pitch-dark, and the streets deserted; not even a lamp swung
from a porch.
"Stay here for a moment," whispered Vincott. "I will move ahead and
reconnoitre."
His feet echoed on the cobbles with a strange lonely sound. In a
minute or so a low whistle reached my ears, and I followed him.
"All's clear," he said. "I little thought the time would ever come
when I should bless his late Majesty King Charles for forbidding the
citizens of Bristol to light their streets."
We stepped quickly forward, threading the quiet roads as noiselessly
as we could, until Vincott stopped before a large building. Lights
streamed from the windows, piercing the mirk of the night with
brownish rays, and a dull muffled clamour rang through the gateway.
"The Bridewell," whispered Vincott. "Keep your face well shrouded, and
for God's sake hide your feet!"
He drew a long breath. I did the same, and we crossed the road and
passed beneath the arch.