Ten minutes later we stopped before a tall, gabled house of brick and
timber on the near side of Holborn. My companion produced a key from
his person and unlocked a heavy door which opened upon a staircase
leading to the second story. The first floor was occupied by a shop.
Over the window was hung a small stuffed animal, who seemed to be
attempting to climb the front wall as the wind swayed him to and fro.
"Enter, Master Ormerod," said Juggins. "You are right welcome. I
hope you have none of the country gentleman's scorn for the home of
an honest merchant."
"A beggar must not be a chooser," I answered. "But if I were not
indebted to you for my liberty I should still be glad to visit a
Dorset man who knows how to fight and who remembers the woods of
Foxcroft."
"Well spoken," applauded Juggins as he fastened the door behind us
and lit the candle in a lantern which was ready on a shelf in the
vestibule at the foot of the stairs. "So I might have expected your
father's son to speak."
"That is the second time you have called me 'my father's son,'" I
said. "Prithee, Master Juggins, had you acquaintance with my father?"
"Bide, bide," he replied enigmatically. "We shall settle all that
anon. After you, sir."
And he ushered me up the stairs, which were hung with the skins of
many kinds of animals, some of which I did not even know. At
intervals, too, were suspended various savage weapons--bows, arrows
and clubs--gaily painted and decorated with feathers.
The stairs gave upon a large hall, similarly decorated, and through
this we passed into a comfortable chamber which stretched across the
front of the house. At one side blazed a warm fire under a massive
chimney-piece; candelabra shed a soft glow over thick rugs and skins,
polished furniture and well-filled shelves along the walls.
Master Juggins relieved me of my cloak and hat and motioned to a deep
chair in front of the fire.
"Rest yourself, Master Ormerod. Presently we shall have provender
for the inner man as well."
"But your arm!" I suggested, pointing to the bloody stains on his
coat sleeve. "I am not unskilled in such matters, if----"
"I doubt not, sir; but I have one at hand, I make bold to say, has
forgotten more than you ever learned of cures and simples."
He went to the door by which we had entered and clapped his hands.
"Ho, Goody! Art abed after all?"
"Abed! Abed!" answered a thin, old voice that was inexpressibly
sweet, with a Dorset burr that made Master Robert's sound like the
twang of a Londoner. "The lad is mad! Gadding around at all hours
of the night; aye, sparking in his old age, I'll be bound, with never
a thought to his granny at home or the worries he pours on her head.
Abed! says he. When did I ever feel the sheets, and not knowing he
was warm and safe and his posset-cup where it belongs--which is in
his stomach! Abed! Didst ever find----"
She stepped into the room, a quaint little figure in hodden-gray, a
dainty cap perched on her wispy white hair, her brown eyes gleaming
in the candle-light, the criss-crossed wrinkles of her cheeks shining
like a network of fine lace. In her hands she held a tray supporting
a steaming flagon and divers covered dishes of pewterware.
Juggins favored me with a humorous glance.
"Sure, I grow more troublesome year by year, granny," he said as she
paused at sight of me. "Here I am come home later than ever,
bringing a guest with me."
But she made no answer, and as I looked closer at her I saw that she
had perceived the blood on his sleeve. She tottered in her tracks,
and I jumped to take the tray from her hands. But she regained her
self-command, waved me away with a nod of her head and stepped
quickly across the chamber to a table by the fire.
In an instant she was at Master Juggins' side and had stripped the
coat off his arm and shoulder. Then she stepped back with a sigh of
relief, and for the second time looked at me.
"'Tis nothing, after all," she said. "But ever since he came back
from those years amongst the savages when I had thought him dead a
score of times and----"
She broke off to glance swiftly at Juggins' face.
"Who did it! Was it----"
She hesitated, and he answered before she could continue:
"Aye; it was he, granny, or minions hired by him. But enough of that
for the present. You have not spoken to our guest. Who think you he
is?"
"Whoever he may be, if he helped you in danger, Robert, he is a good
lad and we owe him thanks."
She swept me a stately curtsey such as might have graced a court ball
at Versailles.
"No, the boot is on the other leg," I protested. "'Tis I who owe
gratitude to Master Juggins, for he has taken me in out of the cold
and the fog--and worse dangers perhaps."
"Poor young gentleman," she said softly. "For you are gentle, young
sir. I did not live my youth in gentlefolks' houses for naught, and
I can see gentility when it comes before my eyes, old though they be."
"You have not asked his name," suggested Master Juggins.
She looked at us inquiringly.
"'Tis Master Ormerod."
"Ormerod! Not----"
"Aye; Master Harry."
"But he is in France!"
"Nay; he is here."
"But----"
She drew closer, and studied my features under the candles that shone
from the mantel-shelf.
"Is he in danger?" she asked breathlessly.
"The watch were after him when he came to my rescue," replied Juggins.
"Yet he came."
She patted my cheek with her hand.
"That was a deed which you need never be shamed of, Master Ormerod,
and you shall win free to safety, whatever it may be or wherever, if
Robert and I have any wits between us."
"But, granny," protested Juggins, "he is a rebel. He has just landed
from France on a mission against the Crown."
"A rebel! Against the Crown?"
Her eyes flared.
"Tut! A likely tale! And what if he has? Is he not an Ormerod?
His father's son!"
She wheeled around upon me.
"Your father was Sidney Ormerod!"
"Yes," I assented dazedly.
"Are you in truth a rebel!" she demanded without giving me time to
catch my breath.
"Faith, I was one."
"But are you one now!"
"Not in my own heart; but the Bow Street runners think otherwise."
"A fig for them!" she cried. "Men have little enough sense, and when
you place 'em in authority they grow imbecile. Sit yourself down
again, Master Ormerod, the while I set a bandage about this arm of
Robert's, and then you shall have a draft of mulled ale and a dish of
deviled bones and thereafterward a bed with sheets that have lain in
Dorset lavender. Hath it a welcome sound to you!"
The tears came into my eyes.
"I am happier this night than I have been any time since Charles and
I left Foxcroft," I said. "But pray tell me why you two, who are
strangers to me, should be so interested in an outcast?"
"He does not know?" exclaimed the little old lady.
"I have told him nothing," said Juggins, smiling.
"Tut, tut," she rebuked him. "Was it well to be tight-mouthed with
an Ormerod?"
"I found him in the fog out there--or rather he found me," answered
Jugging humorously. "And I did not know he was this side of St.
Germain."
"Well, 'tis time enough he knew he was amongst the right sort of
friends," the little lady said, her fingers all the time busied in
adjusting bandages to the wounded arm. "You are too young, Master
Ormerod, to remember old Peter Juggins----"
A light burst upon my addled wits.
"Why, of course!" I cried. "He was steward under my father, and in
his father's time before him! But you?"
"Peter was my husband," she said simply. "Robert here is our
grandson. As I said, sir, it was all too long ago for you to
remember; but when Peter died your father offered his place to
Robert. Robert would have none of it. He had the wandering bee in
his bonnet. He was young, and he must see the world. He would make
his fortune, too. No life as an estate steward for him."
"And wise I was, too, granny," interjected Master Juggins. "Even you
will grant that now."
"Be not too elevated by your good fortune," she retorted. "Had you
followed your grandfather at Foxcroft your counsel might have
restrained Master Harry and his brother from their madness----"
"I wish it might have," I said bitterly, thinking of Charles' lonely
grave on a mist-draped hillside in the Scotch Highlands.
"But in that case," Master Juggins gravely pointed out, "you would
not have been at hand to rescue me tonight."
"Nor would you have been getting yourself mixed into intrigues which
would place you in fear of assassination," she snapped. "Have done
with your foolery, Robert. Master Ormerod knows naught of his
father's kindness to you."
"He shall have earnest enough of it anon," returned Juggins heartily.
"But do you go on, granny. You make a brave tale-teller."
She tweaked him by the ear as if he had been a small lad, gave a
final pat to the neat bandage she had fastened over his wound and
continued:
"Many a gentleman would have taken in bad part such an answer to an
offer made in kindness, Master Ormerod. But not your father. No,
after trying all he could by fair means to dissuade Robert from his
course, he asked where his fancies drifted, and then supplied him
with money for the voyage to the Western Plantations and to enable
him to secure a start when he entered the wilderness."
"Granny still has the Londoner's idea of New York Province,"
explained Juggins humorously. "'Tis a wilderness in the Western
Plantations. And in New York, which has grown a fine, thriving town
since we wrested it from the Dutch, they regard England as a welcome
market for furs over against the side of Europe."
"'Tis north of the Virginias and this side of the French settlements
in Canada, is it not!" I asked, more in politeness than in interest.
"Aye, Master Ormerod; and you could drop all of England and Scotland
and Wales into it, and then go out and win new lands from the savages
if you felt over-crowded."
"Y'are driving beside the point, Robert," declared the little old
lady with round displeasure. "Would you seek to belittle the
generosity of Master Ormerod's father? No? Then have done."
She turned to me.
"Indeed," she added, "'tis as I have told you, sir; we are greatly
indebted to you. All that you see here we owe to your father's
kindness. 'Twas that permitted Robert to go overseas and to set
himself up as a fur-trader there and afterwards to return and
establish his business down-stairs, which hath grown so that it is
more than he can handle--aye, and to become in good time, as he has,
Warden of the Worshipful Company of Merchant Traders to the Western
Plantations. All of it, I say, we owe to you."
"All of it, granny," reaffirmed Master Juggins himself. "Y'have not
made it one whit too strong for me. But now, look you, Goody, the
hour is late for old folks----"
"You are not so young yourself, Robert," she remarked tartly.
"Nay, granny dear, I do not seek the last word with you," he laughed.
"'Tis only that I would find out before we sleep how I may be of aid
to Master Ormerod."
"Aid?" quoth she. "All that we have in the world is his, if he wants
it; aye, the clothes off our backs."
She swept me another curtsey, deeper than ever--just such a one, I
fancy, as she made to my mother when she brought her the
housekeeper's keys.
"Good night to you, Master Ormerod. And remember, this house, poor
though it be for your father's son, is to be your home until you have
a better."
I rose and bowed my acknowledgments, but I could not speak. My heart
was too full. Here in this bleak, unfriendly London, which had
greeted me with suspicion and persecution, I had found friendship and
assistance. My fortunes, at ebb an hour before, now seemed about to
flow toward a happier future. It was almost too good to believe.
"I have no claim upon you, Master Juggins," I exclaimed as the door
closed behind his grandmother. "Remember that. And let me not
imperil for one moment two friends of my father, who revere his
memory as I had not supposed any did, save myself."
He pushed me down into my chair by the fire.
"There is no question of claim, sir. 'Tis a privilege. Now do you
set this glass to your lips. How tastes it?"
"Most excellent. In France they must spice their mulled drinks to
make them palatable. No need to add aught to good, ripe English ale."
"You have not lost the tongue of an Englishman, Master Ormerod, and
for that let us be thankful. Aye, 'tis a crotchet of mine to drink a
posset of ale, fetched from a brewer in Dorset whose ways are known
to me, each night before I rest. It settles the digestion--although
my friends the savages in North America do protest that naught is
necessary upon retiring save a long drink of clear, cold water."
"You have fought hard for the comfort I see around me?" I suggested.
"Aye, but we shall have time anon to speak of that. Do you tell me
now of your present plight. Fear not to be frank with me, Master
Ormerod. I do not mix in politics. I am none of your red-hot
loyalists who would hang a man because he remarks that our worthy
King is Hanoverian by birth. But on the other hand I'll have naught
to do with these plotters who fume over the exiled Stuarts.
"The Stuarts went, sir, because they over-taxed the forbearance of a
long-suffering people. They might have returned ere this, as you
know, had they possessed the good sense to appreciate what their
whilom people required. But they lacked that good sense, Master
Ormerod, and with all deference I say to you they will never return
unless they learn that lesson--and abjure Popery--very soon."
I leaned forward in my chair and interrupted him, the words bubbling
from my lips.
"I could not have put neater my own feelings, Master Juggins. When I
was a lad not yet of age I risked all I had for the Stuart cause.
What came of it? A life of exile that might have ruined me, as it
has many a better man. My family's estate was sequestrated; my
outlawry was proclaimed. I have no place to lay my head, save it be
by the bounty of a foreigner.
"Have I secured any moral satisfaction by these sacrifices? At first
I thought I had.
"They told me it was all for the Good Cause, the Cause that some day
must triumph. The man you call the Pretender--it irks my lips to
brand him so, despite how I have suffered in his name--took me by the
hand, made me a chamberlain at his trumpery Court. I received a
commission to fight under an English prince in foreign wars, mayhap
against my own land. 'Tis only accident has averted that so far.
"But when I looked closer I found that I had done nothing for my
country. For this prince, whom some men call King and some
Pretender, yes. But for my country, nothing."
"This made me think the harder, Master Juggins. At the beginning I
had taken zest in the plots and plans which were aimed to bring about
his restoration to power.
"But the longer I studied them the more insincere they became. I
found my leader a catspaw of foreigners, used to undermine England's
prestige. His spies were in the pay of Papists. His aims were not
the good of England, but his own aggrandizement, the winning back of
my country to the Pope, the furthering of France's ambitions."
Master Juggins reached over and smote me on the knee.
"Hast learned that, lad? Why, then, there's no more loyal Englishman
in London!"
"So you think," I answered. "So I think. But hear me out. I
brought myself to abandon my friends in France, the only friends I
had. I told my feelings to a certain great gentleman who handles
affairs at St. Germain. He cursed me for a turncoat, would have
ordered his lackeys to flog me from the palace. I left him--in
disgrace. The doors of my friends were closed to me. I thought I
would make my way to England and begin a new life.
"So I applied to the English ambassador for a passport. He laughed
at me. Did I think he was so innocent as to be blinded by such
transparent trickery? Nay, the Pretender must seek otherwhere, for
means to plant a fresh spy in England. In desperation then I sold a
miniature of my mother's----"
Master Juggins held up his hand.
"Where?" he asked eagerly.
"How?" I replied, not understanding.
"Where sold you this miniature? To what dealer!"
"'Twas a Jew named Levy close by the Quai de l'Horloge."
"Good," he said with satisfaction. "It shall be recovered."
"But, Master Juggins----"
"Tush, sir," he brushed my objection aside. "'Tis naught. Some day
you shall refund the money, if you wish. But I would not have you
lose the miniature. I loved your lady mother, if I may say so."
I pressed his hand, and struggled for words to answer. But he would
have none, and insisted that I continue my story.
"So you secured funds?" he said. "And next?"
"I bought passage from a smuggler of Dieppe, who landed me three
weeks since in Sussex. I made my way to Dorset, hoping to find old
friends who would help me to gain a pardon; but in Dorchester High
Street I was recognized by one of my cousins who now hold Foxcroft
House, and he raised a hue and cry after me, fearing no doubt that I
sought to regain the estate.
"Since then I have been hunted like a beast. My last shilling was
spent this morning. Tomorrow, had I escaped so long, I planned to
sell my sword, and if all else failed to seek a press-gang."
"Let us thank God you heard my cries," said Juggins earnestly.
He rose from his chair, a stout, square-built man with a shrewd,
weather-beaten face and a manner of authority, despite the simplicity
of his demeanor and attire.
"I do," I said, "and with no lack of reverence, my friend, I also
thank you."
He gave me a keen look.
"You call me friend. Do you mean the word!"
"Why not?"
"I was your father's servant," he said, and he said it so that the
words were at once proud and humble.