THE HALT AT THE MOORHEN
Patience herself would have been quite unable to explain why she
mistrusted, almost feared, Sir Humphrey Challoner.
The fact that the Squire of Hartington had openly declared his
admiration for her, surely gave her no cause for suspecting him of
enmity towards her brother. She knew that Sir Humphrey hoped to win her
hand in marriage--this he had intimated to her on more than one
occasion, and had spoken of his love for her in no measured terms.
Lady Patience Gascoyne was one of the richest gentlewomen in the
Midlands, having inherited vast wealth from her mother, who was sister
and co-heiress of the rich Grantham of Grantham Priory. No doubt her
rent-roll added considerably to her attractions in the eyes of Sir
Humphrey; that she was more than beautiful only helped to enhance the
ardour of his suit.
Women as a rule--women of all times and of every nation--keep a kindly
feeling in their heart for the suitor whom they reject. A certain
regard for his sense of discrimination, an admiration for his
constancy--if he be constant--make up a sum of friendship for him
tempered with a gentle pity.
But in most women too there is a subtle sense which for want of a more
scientific term has been called an instinct: the sense of protection
over those whom they love.
In Patience Gascoyne that sense was abnormally developed: Philip was so
boyish, so young, she so much older in wisdom and prudence. It made her
fear Sir Humphrey, not for herself but for her brother: her baby, as in
her tender motherly heart she loved to call him.
She feared and suspected him, she scarce could tell of what. Not open
enmity towards Philip, since her reason told her that the Squire of
Hartington had nothing to gain by actively endangering her brother's
life, let alone by doing him a grievous wrong.
Yet she could not understand Sir Humphrey Challoner's motive in
counselling Philip to play so cowardly and foolish a part, as the boy
had done in the late rebellion. Vaguely she trembled at the idea that
he should know of her journey to London, or worse still, guess its
purpose. Philip, she feared, might have confided in him unbeknown to
her: Sir Humphrey, for aught she knew, might know of the existence of
the letters which would go to prove the boy's innocence.
Well! and what then? Surely the Squire could have no object in wishing
those letters to be suppressed: he could but desire that Philip's
innocence _should_ be proved.
Thus reason and instinct fought their battle in her brain as the heavy
coach went lumbering along the muddy road to the little wayside inn,
which stood midway between the cross-roads and the village of Aldwark.
Here her man Timothy made arrangements for the resting and feeding of
himself, the horses and Thomas, the driver, whilst Lady Patience asked
for a private room wherein she and her maid, Betty, could get something
to eat and perhaps an hour's sleep before re-starting on their way.
The small bar-parlour at the Moorhen was full to overflowing when her
ladyship's coach drove up. Already there had been a general air of
excitement there throughout the day, for the Corporal in his red coat,
followed by his little squad, had halted at the inn, and there once more
read aloud the Proclamation of His Majesty's Parliament.
The soldiers had stayed half an hour or so, consuming large quantities
of ale the while, then they had marched up to the village, read the
Proclamation out on the green, and finally tramped along the bridle-path
back to Brassington.
And now here was the quality putting up at the Moorhen. A most
unheard-of, unexpected event. Mistress Pottage, the sad-faced,
weary-eyed landlady, had never known such a thing to happen before,
although she had been mistress of the Moorhen for nigh on twenty years.
Usually the quality from Stretton Hall or from Hartington, or even Lady
Rounce from the Pike, preferred to drive a long way round to get to
Derby, sooner than trust to the lonely Heath, with its roads almost
impassable four days out of five.
Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law, who had ridden over from Wirksworth
with his clerk, Master Duffy, recognised her ladyship as she stepped out
of her coach.
"Sir Humphrey will be astonished," he whispered to Master Duffy, as he
rubbed his ill-shaven chin with his long bony fingers.
"He! he! he!" echoed the clerk, submissively.
Master Mittachip, who transacted business for the Squire of Hartington,
and also for old Lady Rounce and Squire West, knew the exact shade of
deference due to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne. He stood at
the door of the parlour and had the honour of bowing to her as she
followed Mistress Pottage quickly along the passage to the inner room
beyond, her long cloak flying out behind her, owing to the draught
caused by the open doors.
Alone in the small, dingy room, Patience almost fell upon the sofa in a
stupor of intense fatigue. When Mistress Pottage brought the meagre,
ill-cooked food, she felt at first quite unable to eat. She lay back
against the hard pillows with eyes closed, and hands tightly clutching
that bundle of precious letters.
Betty tried to make her comfortable. She took off her mistress's shoes
and stockings and began rubbing the cold, numb feet between her warm
hands.
But by-and-by youth and health reasserted themselves. Patience,
realising all the time how much depended upon her own strength and
energy, roused herself with an effort of will. She tried to eat some of
the food, "the mess of pottage" as she smilingly termed it, but her eyes
were for ever wandering to the clock which ticked the hours--oh! so
slowly!--that separated her from her journey.
As for buxom little Betty, she had fallen to with the vigorous appetite
of youth and a happy heart, and presently, like a tired child, she
curled herself up at the foot of the couch and soon dropped peacefully
to sleep.
After awhile, Patience too, feeling numb and drowsy with the weariness
of this long afternoon, closed her eyes and fell into a kind of stupor.
She lay on the sofa like a log, tired out, dreamless, her senses numbed,
in a kind of wakeful sleep.
How long she lay there she could not have told, but all of a sudden she
sat up, her eyes dilated, her heart beating fast; she was fully awake
now.
Something had suddenly roused her. What was it? She glanced at the
clock; it was just half-past three. She must have slept nearly half an
hour. Betty, on the floor beside her, still slumbered peacefully.
Then all her senses woke. She knew what had aroused her: the rumbling
of wheels, a coach pulling up, the shouts of the driver. And now she
could hear men running, more shouting, the jingle of harness and horses
being led round the house to the shed beyond.
The small lattice window gave upon the side of the house, she could not
see the coach or who this latest arrival at the Moorhen was; but what
mattered that? she knew well enough.
For a moment she stopped to think; forcibly conquering excitement and
alarm, she called to her reason to tell her what to do.
Sir Humphrey Challoner's presence here might be a coincidence, she had
no cause to suspect that he was purposely following her. But in any
case she wished to avoid him. How could that best be done?
Mittachip, the lawyer, had seen and recognised her. Within the next few
moments the Squire would hear of her presence at the inn. He too,
obviously, had come to rest his horses here. How long would he stay?
She roused Betty.
"Betty! child!" she whispered. "Wake up! We must leave this place at
once."
Betty opened her eyes: she saw her mistress's pale, excited face bending
over her, and she jumped to her feet.
"Listen, Betty," continued Patience. "Sir Humphrey Challoner has just
come by coach. I want to leave this place before he knows that I am
here."
"But the horses are not put to, my lady."
"Sh! don't talk so loud, child. I am going to slip out along the
passage, there is a door at the end of it which must give upon the back
of the house. As soon as I am gone, do you go to the parlour and tell
Thomas to have the horses put to directly they have had sufficient rest,
and to let the coach be at the cross-roads as soon as may be after
that."
"Yes, my lady."
"Then as quickly as you can, slip out of the house and follow the road
that leads to the forge. I'll be on the lookout for you. I'll not have
gone far. You quite understand?"
"Oh, yes! my lady!"
"You are not afraid?"
Mistress Betty shrugged her plump shoulders.
"In broad daylight? Oh, no, my lady! and the forge is but a mile."
Even as she spoke Patience had wrapped her dark cloak and hood round
her. She listened intently for a few seconds. The sound of voices
seemed to come from the more remote bar-parlour: moreover, the narrow
passage at this end was quite dark: she had every chance of slipping out
unperceived.
"Sh! sh!" she whispered to Betty as she opened the door.
The passage was deserted: almost holding her breath, lest it should
betray her, Patience reached the door at the further end of it, Betty
anxiously watching her from the inner room. Quickly she slipped the
bolt, and the next instant she found herself looking out upon a dingy
unfenced yard, which for the moment was hopelessly encumbered with the
two huge travelling coaches: beyond these was a long wooden shed whence
proceeded the noise of voices and laughter, and the stamping and
snorting of horses: and far away the Moor to the right and left of her
stretched out in all the majesty of its awesome loneliness.
The wind caught her cloak as she stepped out into the yard: she clutched
it tightly and held it close to her. She hoped the two coaches, which
stood between her and the shed, would effectively hide her from view
until she was past the house. The next moment, however, she heard an
exclamation behind her, then the sound of firm steps upon the
flagstones, and a second or two later she stood face to face with Sir
Humphrey Challoner.