THE ESCAPE.
But in these cases
We still have judgment that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague th' inventor; this evil-handed justice
Commends th' ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips.
SHAKESPEAKE.
When Eustace delivered his charges into the hands of the chamberlain
at Ashby his task was ended, and he had no further responsibility in
the matter.
The rest afforded him by the journey had the effect of refreshing John
Manners to a considerable degree, and when he stood before Sir Henry's
deputy he felt well able to take care of himself and quite capable of
resisting any unwarrantable liberties that they might attempt to take
with him.
Simon Greenwood, the chamberlain of Ashby Castle, was a fit person
to represent his lord. Indeed, had Sir Henry searched throughout
the length and breadth of the land, he would probably never have
discovered a man more after his own heart, or a servant who would have
so faithfully aided him in the many questionable transactions in which
he was from time to time engaged. He had grown up on the estate. His
father had served the former lord of the manor, and entering into
his master's service when quite a youth, Simon had flourished on the
success of his numerous petty stratagems; he had supplanted those who
had been above him, and now, as the right hand of his lord, he was
ever eager to distinguish himself in Sir Henry's eyes.
He glanced at the two prisoners with an air of haughty contempt which
would have done credit to De la Zouch himself.
"So you are John Manners, eh?" he drawled out at length.
Manners looked at him disdainfully, but returned no answer.
"And you be Miss Dorothy, I suspect," he went on with a most
unprepossessing leer.
"You will remember my lord's instructions, Simon," interrupted the
page.
"Yes, yes, of course; be off, I know. I am not going to hurt her,"
replied the chamberlain. "Well, Mistress Dorothy, I have got to take
particular care of you," he continued, ironically.
"And of Master Manners, too, I hope," she fearlessly replied, not
noticing the hidden meaning of his remark. "Remember that he is a
gentleman."
"Yes, oh yes," returned the man, with a hideous grin, "we have got
to take particular care of him as well. He will sleep downstairs
for awhile," and he laughed with a coarse guffaw, again and again
repeated, at his own joke.
"Enough of this, sirrah," broke in Manners, sternly.
"We are not here to amuse you. There will be a host of our friends
here soon to deliver us, so thou had'st best beware of what thou
do'st."
Simon scowled darkly, but Manners's threat had its effect, and he
restrained his temper.
"I care not," he replied, "so long as Sir Henry be here. I shall but
obey my instructions nor more nor less."
"And what are they?"
"You shall find that out for yourself in good time."
"And remember that though I am within your power, I am the nephew of
an earl, and have friends at Court who will avenge me on your lord,"
Manners pursued.
"Then I shall put you in a safe place."
The man was longing to assert his authority, but the bearing of the
prisoner thoroughly cowed him, and he felt helplessly bound to be more
civil to him than he wished.
"And what about this lady?" asked Manners.
"Sir Henry's instructions apply equally to her as to you," he replied.
"If she is treated ill you shall answer for it," said Manners,
fiercely, "so I bid you look to it that you treat her well."
"Teach me not," Simon hastily broke in. "I know what is expected
of me, and, mark me, I shall do it. Captives ought not to be too
conceited, mark that, too, an it please you."
"Enough, sirrah, cease thy prating. I am no fool."
"Take him away; take him to the old dungeon," cried Simon, whose
wrath was fast gaining mastery over him; "and mind you double lock the
door."
"The dungeon!" shrieked Dorothy. "No, not the dungeon."
Manners looked round, but there was no chance of escape, nor would he
have cared to have left Dorothy in such a position, even had the way
been clear.
"Sir Henry said he was to be kept in the North Tower," ventured
Eustace.
"Did he, indeed," sneeringly retorted the chamberlain. "You had better
be off or I will have you whipped;" and smarting under the rejoinder,
Eustace, who considered prudence the better part of valour, took the
hint so broadly given and retired.
An hour later, as Manners sat brooding in his deep and lonely dungeon,
he was startled by hearing the key turn slowly in the lock, and a
moment later Eustace slipped into the cell and the door was closed and
locked again.
"Oh, Master Manners," he cried, as he dropped on his knees, "this is
a shameful thing; what can I do, I would help thee if I might? I am
disgusted with my lord; I loathe him and I shall flee from him."
"'Tis no fault of thine, thou art young," kindly responded Manners,
"but canst thou tell me aught of Mistress Dorothy Vernon?"
"She is safe in the topmost room of the tower," he replied.
"Is she in danger yet?"
"Nay, she is safe, and will be treated well. Simon Greenwood's dame
says my lord left strange commands about her comfort, and she has
already rated Simon soundly for his rudeness to the maiden."
"Hist," whispered a voice through the keyhole, "Simon is coming."
Eustace threw up his hands in blank despair. "O, Master Manners," he
ejaculated, "I am lost; Simon, would kill me if he finds me here."
"Creep under there," replied the prisoner, quickly; "it is dark, and I
will befriend thee."
The page obeyed, and he was not a moment too soon; before he could
comfortably ensconce himself in the damp and fusty hole under the
stone bench, the door opened and the chamberlain entered.
He was flushed with wine, and not at all the same cool, calculated man
who had stood before the captive an hour before.
"Well, my hearty," he exclaimed, as he seated himself upon the stone
bench just over the gasping page, "things are rather bad, eh?"
"Begone," said Manners, curtly.
"Nay, now, that's hardly polite," he replied. "We will tame you down
with the chains; 'tis many a year since I saw them used, and it would
be quite a treat to see them on somebody once again," and he kicked
the rusty manacles which lay upon the ground.
"You dare not, and you know it," retorted Manners fiercely; and, drunk
as the man was, he cowered back beneath the glance.
"Ah, well, you are safe enough as you are, I reckon," he returned,
"and I am taking care of Doll for you," he added with a sickening
grin.
Dorothy's lover started forward as the name of the maiden was
pronounced.
"Scoundrel!" he cried, "weak as I am I would thrash thee well for such
presumption, were I sure you would not visit your displeasure upon
her."
"Do as you list," was the coarse reply, "but I swear Doll is a pretty
lass."
"Come here, you lout," exclaimed a shrill voice, as the door opened
and admitted a buxom woman of forty or thereabouts. "I have found you
at last; come out with you," and she emphasised the command by a smart
clout on his head.
Simon turned quickly round and prepared to retaliate, but quailing
under the stern glance of his better half, he obeyed her will, and
meekly slunk out through the open door.
"I'll teach him, sir, how to behave to his betters," said the woman,
turning to Manners. "He shall have a thrashing for this."
Much amused, the captive esquire thanked her warmly for her kindness.
"But I have another favour to seek at your hands," he said. "I have
had naught to eat as yet, and it is now evening."
"The dial only points to three as yet, sir knight," replied the dame,
who was not quite certain of the quality of the prisoner, "but you
shall have some food."
"Only three! Ah, well. And Mistress Dorothy?" he anxiously inquired.
"She is doing well. She has had a meal already. I have her under my
own care, the sweet creature; heaven bless her! I had come to thee at
her request to bid thee be of good cheer."
"Aye, heaven bless her, for she is in a sorry fix," assented Manners.
"Tend her well, and I will well reward thee. Thou shalt have such
gauds as thy neighbours shall turn green with envy at the sight of
thee."
"I want them not," was the short reply, and Simon Greenwood's dame
passed out of the dungeon, leaving Manners alone with the page.
The door had barely closed before Eustace emerged from his
uncomfortable retreat, covered with insects of many kinds.
"Ha, ha!" he laughed. "Simon boasts that he cares for no man, save his
lord; but he has to care for Dame Greenwood, though, ha, ha! I would
even venture in that vile hole once more to see him thwacked again."
"Thank heaven Mistress Vernon is safe," said Manners. "Simon will not
disturb her, think you?"
"Not he, sir, never fear. Simon Greenwood knows better than that; and,
see, I have brought thee this," and the page pulled out a dagger and
offered it to him.
"Nay, put it back," said Manners kindly. "I would not kill my gaoler,
he is but performing his commands."
"But if it were for Sir Henry De la Zouch?"
"Ha! then I might, perchance."
"You have much to forgive me," continued the page, "for I have done
thee grievous wrong."
"How? Thou art but a lad, and I have seen thee only once before?"
"It was then, at the hawking party, when Sir Henry slew the pedlar. It
has haunted me ever since."
Manners was intensely surprised at this announcement. It was, indeed,
startling and important news. The mystery was solved at last.
"It was Sir Henry, then!" he exclaimed. "I might have guessed as
much."
"It was Sir Henry, and I witnessed it, but I will tell thee
afterwards. Listen, for time is short. Pierce this corner with the
dagger; do it quickly, for the wall is thick. There is a passage on
the other side, of which none knows save my master and myself. The
wall is softest here, and I will help thee from the other side: but
I must make thy gaoler drunk. He is full fond of ale, so you may be
assured that you will be unmolested, and I will have horses saddled
at a distance. Adieu until to-night," and not heeding the thanks which
Manners poured out from his grateful heart, he rapped at the door so
that he might pass out.
The meal arrived in good time. A tankard of ale and a slice of bacon
with wheaten bread, more than he could eat.
It was not long before Manners had satisfied his hunger, and in his
feverish anxiety he could barely wait to hear Eustace's cheery voice
exclaim to the gaoler, "Mat, I have brought thee some ale for letting
me in to see the prisoner."
"Welcome it is," was the reply, and very soon a stentorian snore
announced to the captive that his guardian had fallen into a drunken
slumber, and told him that he might venture to set about his work with
safety.
An hour's labour proved very unsatisfactory, for the wall was much
harder than he had anticipated, and in spite of the goodwill with
which he worked, the injuries he had received the day before seriously
retarded his efforts.
Eustace, however, was working with more success on the other side, and
in a couple more hours a hole, sufficiently wide for Manners to creep
through, had been made, and in a few more minutes Dorothy's betrothed
was a free man again, urging his steed to the utmost, to fetch help
from Haddon, and to capture the miscreant knight who had effected so
much evil.