A VISIT TO NOTTINGHAM.
One sole desire, one passion now remains,
To keep life's fever still within his veins.
Vengeance, dire vengeance, on the wretch who cast
On him and all he had the ruinous blast.
MOORE.
It was upon the third day after the occurrences narrated in the last
chapter had taken place that a lonely traveller might have been seen
urging his way across the fields just outside the town of Nottingham.
The gates closed at dusk: it was now past sunset, and he hastened
forward to gain admittance.
It was the man known at Haddon by the name of Nathan Grene, the
locksmith, whose actions had ever been at variance with his character,
and whose nature had always seemed to have been unequally yoked with
the common occupation of a smith.
Nathan, in fact, was no true smith. He was a brother-in-law of
Sir Ronald Bury, and having taken up the practice of astrology and
alchemy, this fact had been seized upon by his foes, and he had
been obliged to fly in disguise to save himself from one of those
persecutions which were so readily and frequently levelled against the
followers of the "black arts."
In the character of a locksmith he had lived for some months in an
uneasy state of security at Haddon. The lack of comfort which he was
compelled to experience in his new position being compensated for in
some small degree by the kind attentions he had received at the hands
of the widow Durden, which began directly upon his arrival, and which
soon rapidly ripened into a sincere regard for each other, and from
that eventually progressed into love.
Being well born, Nathan Grene--or rather Edmund Wynne, for such was
his proper name--had never taken kindly to the conditions imposed upon
him by the disguise he had chosen to assume. He had never sought for
work, and had done as little of it as he possibly could, and he
had held aloof from the people around him, treating them with a
supercilious indifference which they were not slow to resent. Under
such conditions it was by no means surprising that he was decidedly
unpopular in the neighbourhood, and the dislike to him was heightened
by the intimacy which grew up between himself and the woman who was
regarded as a witch.
It was for his vigorous defence of Mary Durden that he had been placed
in the stocks. His whole spirit revolted from such a degradation; he
had pleaded and had raged, but all in vain, and even Dorothy's appeal
on his behalf had failed to save him from the bitter humiliation.
The ordeal, again, had been a very trying scene for him, and his
annoyance was more than doubled when he saw how his beloved was
being persecuted by her neighbours and oppressed by the baron. As she
escaped through the gateway he made up his mind to strike Sir George
down, but in spite of his resistance he was carried out beyond the
limits of the Hall in the wild rush that took place when the first
moment of surprise and terror had passed away.
All night long he lay upon the floor of his little smithy pondering
schemes of revenge, but when he ventured out on the following morning
all his ideas were dispelled by the sight which met his gaze, for
there was Mary Durden hanging from the branch of a tree at the foot of
the slope which led up to the gateway of the Hall.
He rubbed his eyes in sheer astonishment and looked again, but the
second view only confirmed the vision of the first. His worst fears
were realised; his Mary was dead!
Mechanically he walked to the tree; there was a paper fastened to it
upon which was some writing in the hand of the baron. He read it:--
MARY DURDEN.
THE STORM AVAILED HER NAUGHT.
Impatiently he snatched it down, and tearing it into a hundred
fragments, cast them down upon the ground, and slowly turning on his
heels, he walked homewards, utterly dejected and cast down, and with a
bitter heart. The last tie which bound him to Haddon was now severed,
and he longed to get away.
In melancholy silence he dug a grave in the little garden behind
his lowly cottage, and then, with all the coolness which is lent by
desperation, he proceeded again to where the body was hanging, and cut
it down. He had brought another paper with him, and this he affixed in
exactly the same place as the one he had destroyed. It was laconical
enough, for it had but one word, and that was
REVENGE!
He laid the body in the grave, and put some plants upon the top, and
then, after watering them with the tears which copiously ran down his
cheeks, he turned his back on Haddon, and started for Nottingham with
few regrets, leaving behind him little enough to love, and much to be
revenged.
Footsore and weary he hastened to the Chapel Bar, glad indeed to
find himself so near the end of his journey; but before he had quite
reached it he had the mortification to hear the sound of the closing
bell, and when he arrived there the gates were shut.
"Ho, ho, there, porter!" he cried, and he violently kicked the iron
post by way of emphasis to the call.
"Aye, aye, there; steady now, thou'rt over late," replied the burly
porter as he tantalisingly rattled the heavy keys in his hand.
"Yes, but only a minute," Edmund replied; "you can let me in, and you
will."
"Nay, master, not till next sunrise," he returned. Edmund groaned.
"But I cannot stay outside all night," he said. "Come, open the gate,
there's a good fellow."
"I were like to lose my position if I did," answered the other. "I
cannot unless--," and he significantly jingled some coins in his
pocket.
"Unless what?"
The gatekeeper thought Edmund Wynne uncommonly dull of comprehension,
and with a little hesitation he suggested that it were surely worth a
trifle if he did break through the rule.
"Here, here's a groat then," exclaimed the smith, bringing out his
last coin as he saw the other moving away.
"Pooh, a sorry groat!" said the keeper, "Make it two, and then!"
"But I must get in to-night," expostulated Edmund, "I have urgent
business with Sir Ronald Bury. It is important, it is a matter of the
State."
At the mention of Sir Ronald's name the key was inserted in the lock,
and by the time the sentence was completed the great gate was swung
open, and the visitor found himself, to his great satisfaction, beyond
the barrier.
"I was but jesting," humbly said the man as he re-locked the gate;
"for you must well know that we are not allowed to take bribes, though
where the harm of it would be, I confess I cannot see."
Having succeeded in passing the barrier, Edmund did not stay to argue
the question with the gatekeeper. He turned his steps towards the
Castle, and in a very few minutes found himself at its embattled
entrance.
The gates, of course, were fastened, but the bell-rope was hanging
down, so seizing hold of that he gave it a vigorous pull.
"Holloa, my hearty, what's amiss?" asked a stentorian voice. "That's
the third summons to-night."
"I want to see the constable of the Castle," replied the traveller.
"Well, thou hadst better hie thee to London, and happen, if you're
lucky, you may find him there."
"Sir Ronald at London!" exclaimed Edmund, in blank dismay.
"Sir Ronald!" repeated the other. "No, the Earl of Rutland."
"But Sir Ronald Bury?"
"He's the deputy-constable."
"Well, I would see him. Is he here?"
"Yes, he is here," responded a gruff voice. "I am Sir Ronald; who art
thou? What dost thou require at this time o' night?"
"I want to see thee privately, upon a matter of much importance,"
answered the pseudo smith, somewhat annoyed not to be recognised by
his brother-in-law.
"See if he has any weapons on him, Wilton," said the knight, "and let
him enter if there is no suspicion of foul play. It will go badly with
him, though, I trow, has he ventured here on no sufficient reason."
Wilton approached him to obey his master's commands, but Edmund waved
him back by an imperious gesture of the arm.
"Nay, cousin Ronald," he exclaimed in high dudgeon. "It is beyond a
joke to take matters so far. Ellice might well expect that a little
kinder treatment would have been extended to her brother at the hands
of her husband."
"Eh, what! Are you Edmund; risen from the grave?" asked the knight in
high surprise.
"I am Edmund, sure enough," was the reply, "but I have not risen
from the grave. I am not astrologer enough for that. This is a sorry
welcome, and no mistake."
"Faith, man, how could I tell it were thee? We thought thee dead
twelve months agone. Come in, man, come in; there's no occasion for
thee to tarry there now. Let him in, Wilton, and be sure the gates are
well fastened to-night. Robert and Lucy will be right glad to see you
again," he said, "especially Little Robert, who has never forgotten
those little iron toys that you made for him two years ago."
Edmund Wynne needed no second invitation. He hurried through the open
portals and the two walked up together towards the inhabited part of
the building.
"This is indeed a strange surprise," began Sir Ronald, as soon as they
were out of danger of being overheard. "We felt sure that thou wast
dead, and have often thought of thee. Where hast thou been?"
"Hiding in the country. I have been a village smith."
"A smith!" cried the knight. "Then that fancy of yours for working
with metals has stood thee in good stead for once?"
"It has indeed; but it was a base use withal."
"Thou has been well hidden, for Her Majesty's servants have scoured
the country to discover your where-about."
"I have been at Haddon in the Peak," he replied.
"Haddon: phew! Do you know that arrogant knight, Sir George Vernon?"
"Do I know him?" echoed Edmund. "Would to heaven I had never cast my
eyes upon him."
"Ah! he has stung thee too, I perceive?" exclaimed Sir Ronald. "I hate
him like poison. It should go ill with him did I ever have the power.
I hear he is a Papist; cannot we prove aught against him on that
score?" and the excited knight wistfully regarded his companion's
face, waiting for a favourable reply.
"I should like some supper first," drily suggested the toil-worn
traveller, "and then," he added, "I may satisfy your eagerness to the
fullest extent. I have a score of my own against him to clear off yet,
and, what is more to the point, Ronald, I have the power. It was for
that I came to visit you."
"Ha!" ejaculated the knight, expectantly. "He can satisfy my craving
to the fullest extent," he mused. "This is fortunate."
"Yes," continued Edmund, "we shall have him cited to London; he is
surely within our power. He hath grievously broken the law, and will
have to answer to the charge of murder and treason; and if we cannot
compass his ruin, then, between us, I have other ways, of which no man
knows."
"Hush," said Sir Ronald. "That led thee into trouble aforetime. Here
is Lettice coming down the steps."
"That is not Nicholas with her, surely?" exclaimed Edmund.
"No, Nicholas has discarded us and turned monk, I hear, but where
he is I cannot tell. That is John Manners, the nephew of the Earl of
Rutland. He is after my Lucy, I trow."
"Manners, Manners, John Manners," murmured Edmund; "I have heard that
name before. I have met him somewhere I am sure."
"Well, hither he comes," said the knight; "now do you remember him?"
As soon as Edmund caught sight of the young man's face he recognised
him.
"Why," he exclaimed, "that's--I know him well enough: I have seen him
at Haddon."
"At Haddon!"
"Yes, let me hide myself; I would rather not meet him here; it were
better so for both of us. Where shall I go, tell me; quick?"
"Steady, ho! steady, man," said the knight. "Hie thee back again to
the lodge and wait for me there. Wilton shall let you share his supper
if thou wilt. I will tell them you are a gardener if they ask aught
about thee," and in answer to the beckoning of his wife, Sir Ronald
left his newly-discovered relation and hastened across the green.