SCARLET HANGINGS
Barbara's prison was an old house in a narrow street of Dorchester, the
ground floor of which had been turned into temporary barracks for
soldiers and militiamen. The prisoner passed to rooms on the upper floor
through a rough, gaping crowd, and in some faces pity shone through
brutality for a moment. Something worse than death might await so fair a
traitor.
The rooms to which she was taken were sparsely furnished and rather
dark, the windows looking out upon a blank wall, two rooms
communicating, but with only a single entrance from the passage without.
The most hopeful would have seen little prospect of escape, and the most
spirited might wonder if depression could be successfully conquered in
such surroundings. Half a dozen soldiers had followed them up the
stairs, but only Watson, whose stentorian voice seemed to fit him to
command a troop of ruffians, entered the room with them.
"There are so many prisoners in Dorchester that we have to make shift to
find room for them," he said, as though to make apology for the
accommodation.
"Indeed, I might be much worse lodged," Barbara answered.
Harriet Payne looked round the rooms in dismay, but said nothing.
"May I know what charge is brought against me?" asked Barbara.
"With that I have naught to do," Watson answered. "I'm a soldier, not a
lawyer, madam. My orders are to keep you in safe custody until your
presence is required, and I am told to see that you have everything in
reason to make you comfortable."
"It would appear that I have friends in Dorchester."
"It is not unlikely, madam; as for this young person," he went on,
looking at Harriet, "she will see to your wants and may pass in and out.
I suppose, therefore, that nothing is known against her beyond the fact
that she is found in your company."
"Your temporary mistress is evidently a dangerous person, Harriet,"
Barbara said with a smile. "Had I not forced you to make this perilous
journey with me, you would have been better off."
This deliberate attempt to dissociate her from any treasonable intention
rather startled Harriet Payne.
"At least you shall find the comfort of having a maid with you, madam,"
she said quickly.
"If the young person will come with me, I will show her where certain
things you may require can be found," said Watson. "There will be a
sentry constantly in the passage, madam, so if you hear footsteps in the
night you need not fear."
Barbara made no answer to this indirect warning that any thought of
flight was hopeless, and Harriet followed Watson out of the room.
"It was well done," he whispered as they went down the passage, leaving
a sentry by the locked door.
"I was not looking for your praise."
"It is given gratis," the man answered, "and in the same spirit I'll
give you a warning: don't attempt the impossible, whatever happens. A
woman like her yonder might succeed in wheedling any man, or woman."
"I want neither your praise nor your warning," said Harriet.
"And I'm not looking for another clout on the ear, mistress, such as you
gave me at Witley, though, for that matter, I like a woman of spirit. If
you're in want of a comforter later on, you may reckon on Sam Watson."
"And Sam Watson had best be careful, or he may find himself in hot water
with his master," Harriet answered with a toss of her head.
For herself, Barbara Lanison had little thought, but her fears for
others troubled her. As a prisoner her power to help Gilbert Crosby was
grievously lessened. Doubtless she herself was to be accused of treason,
and Judge Marriott might be afraid to say a word at her bidding, or
perchance he would refuse if the power to make the sacrifice she
intended were taken from her. Death might be her punishment for treason,
and if so, where was Judge Marriott's reward? There was another
contingency: he might be able to save her, and he would certainly use
his efforts to this end instead of troubling about Crosby, no matter
what pleading she might use. As a prisoner she was, indeed, of little
use to Gilbert Crosby. She must see Judge Marriott and do her best, but
her hope of success was small. Who had brought this disaster upon her?
Surely her guardian, and Barbara's hands clenched in impotent rage to
think that he had outwitted her. Yet he could not be alone in the
matter, for it was not probable that he had openly accused her himself.
Had Rosmore anything to do with it? It was a new thought to Barbara. She
knew her uncle for a villain, but about Lord Rosmore she was undecided.
True, he had threatened her, but he also loved her, she could not doubt
that in his own fashion he did so. Would a man place the woman he loved
in such jeopardy as that in which she was placed? Barbara could not
believe it possible; besides, how should Lord Rosmore know that she was
on her way to Dorchester? The coming of Harriet Payne to Aylingford had
aroused Sir John's suspicions, but there was no circumstance which would
lead Rosmore to suppose that she intended journeying to the West.
Martin Fairley also troubled her. Had he made good his escape, or had he
been retaken and confined somewhere else in the town? She had asked the
man Watson as the cavalcade had started again, and his gruff reply was
that the fool would be left dead in the ditch by the roadside. She did
not believe Martin was dead; in fact, Martin puzzled her. He could not
have had a hand in her betrayal, yet, at the very moment when courage
was most needed, he had been a coward. Probably he had saved himself,
but he had deserted her. The one person upon whose fidelity she would
have staked her honour had utterly forsaken her at a supreme moment.
Full as her mind was of Gilbert Crosby, the failure of this half-witted
companion depressed her as, perhaps, nothing else could have done.
Had he really deserted her? The question came through the long, wakeful
hours of the night. It came with the memory of that little cadence of
notes, the same notes in which his fiddle laughed. He had sung them in a
foolish fashion when the men surrounded the coach; had he meant to speak
to her by them? The thought brought hope and sleep, sleep giving
strength, hope bringing new courage when the day came.
"To help Mr. Crosby I must Speak with Judge Marriott, who is in
Dorchester," she told Harriet Payne. "You must find him and ask him to
come to me."
"Will he come, madam?"
"I think so."
"Alas, you have need of help yourself now."
"Perhaps not such need as may appear. To arrest me does not prove me
guilty of treason."
"It is not only the guilty who are suffering."
"Out upon you, girl, for whining so easily," said Barbara. "Courage
lends help against every ill, even against death itself. You will find
where Judge Marriott is lodged, and tell him where I am."
"They may not let me have speech with the judge."
"You must contrive, use art, use--Ah, you are a woman, and need no
lesson from me."
So Harriet Payne went upon her mission, and Barbara was impatient until
her return. Disappointment was upon the girl's face when she came back.
It had been easy to find out the judge's lodgings, but impossible to get
speech with him. He was too engaged to see anyone that day.
"I must try again to-morrow," said the girl.
"Yes, and the next day and the next," said Barbara. "Did anyone carry a
message for you?"
"I contrived so far, but whether it came to the judge's ears or not I
cannot tell."
"I'll ask this man Watson to take a message," said Barbara.
"Not yet," said the girl. "That might be dangerous. Wait until I have
entirely failed"; and, to prove how dangerous it might be, she began to
tell her mistress some of the gloomy forebodings which were whispered
about the town.
Dorchester was in terror, and spoke its fears with bated breath. There
were three hundred prisoners awaiting judgment, and the dreaded Jeffreys
was coming; the cruel, the brutal, the malignant judge whose fame, like
an evil angel, came before him, speaking of death. There was to be no
pity, no mercy. If Alice Lisle, for no greater fault than compassion for
two fugitives, was condemned with all the barbarity that the inhuman law
could render possible; if the appeal of clergy, of ladies of high
degree, of counsellors at Whitehall, of Feversham himself, could only
move the King to grant that she should be beheaded instead of burned
alive, what hope for the prisoners in Dorchester who would have no such
powerful appeal made in their favour?
The Court was already prepared, its hangings of scarlet. Judge Marriott,
busily awaiting his learned brother, chuckled at the innovation. It was
like Jeffreys--an original thing, a stroke of genius. Men quaked because
of those scarlet hangings; this was to be no ordinary assizes, but a
marked occasion which should put fear into the souls of all who should
even think upon rebellion. Some man, in an awed undertone, spoke of it
as a bloody assizes, and the name passed from lip to lip until it
reached Judge Marriott's lodging. He chuckled still more, and said to
those about him that Jeffreys would act up to the name, here and
wherever else in this cursed West Country there were prisoners to be
punished.
Bloody Assizes! It was almost the first articulate sound that Lord
Rosmore heard as he galloped into the town, a troop of men about him,
and those who watched him pass knew that the judge must be on his way
from Winchester. Rosmore laughed, but his thoughts were complex, schemes
ran riot in his brain. Immediately upon entering his lodging he sent for
Watson and Sayers, and was restless until they came.
He looked quickly towards the door as it opened.
"The lady is safe in Dorchester," said Watson.
"And the fugitive?"
"We followed him to Witley. We should have run him to earth, only your
orders were not to go beyond Witley."
"This cursed fellow Crosby, what of him?"
"He was with this fugitive."
"And you let him go!" exclaimed Rosmore, stamping his foot passionately.
"We obeyed orders, sir, and it is well we did so. We, Sayers and I, were
in Witley when the coach arrived. I had speech with Mistress Payne."
A grim smile overspread Sayers' face as he remembered the box on the ear
his companion had received, but he saw that Lord Rosmore was in no mood
to relish such a tale just now, and held his tongue.
"I told her something of what was to happen, and the place," said
Watson, "but had I not known at what hour the coach was to start, and
when we might expect it at the spot chosen, we should have been
outwitted. In the morning that fiddler from Aylingford caught the coach,
and in some manner had got wind that a trap was set. He persuaded the
lady to take a by-road. I waited, and then, marvelling at the delay,
ordered the troop to ride forward to meet the coach. At the corner where
this by-way turns from the high road, we found a handkerchief lying on
the grass--Mistress Payne's handkerchief. Had it not been for such a
signal we had ridden past, and might have failed to catch them."
"Fairley! Then you have him too?"
"We had, sir, but he escaped."
"Escaped!"
"I have the two men who let him go under arrest," Watson answered. "One
so badly hurt by the fall from his horse that it will be weeks before he
can fling his leg across saddle again."
"You fools! The girl has more sense in her finger than you can muster in
the whole of your carcasses. How did he get away?"
"By a trick," said Sayers. "He was taken to the rear to keep him from
his mistress, and, on pretence of losing his stirrups, got the men
beside him to come close, when he spurred their horses, striking the men
at the same time. He was round in a minute and galloping back upon the
road. Half a dozen of us went in pursuit, when the shots fired after him
failed to stop him. We went the whole way back to Witley, and there, at
the inn, found the horse lathered with foam. The animal had entered the
yard riderless!"
"What fools I have to serve me!" said Rosmore, laughing derisively.
"Apart from the woman, it would have been failure from beginning to
end."
The derision hurt Watson.
"Care must be taken even of her, my lord."
"What do you mean?"
"There is generally a tender spot in a woman somewhere, and Mistress
Lanison may chance to find it in Harriet Payne."
"Mistress Payne is to be trusted, Watson. I'll see to that."
"She would turn her wits against you, my lord, if she thought she were
deceived. That's as sure as the coming of the Sabbath."
"Do you suppose, Watson, I throw away the skin before I have used all
the fruit? Send the girl to me to-night."
The men saluted and turned.
"And Watson, you might put a little misery into your face and
commiserate with Mistress Lanison on her position. It might interest her
to hear the story of Alice Lisle of Winchester. She is high-spirited,
and I would have that spirit broken."
"I will play Jeremiah, sir, like any Puritan."
"And Sayers, keep your eyes open in Dorchester. Crosby and this fiddler
are too cunning not to be dangerous. I warrant they are not far away
from Mistress Lanison. By Heaven! if you let her slip through your
fingers now, you shall suffer for it!"
Bloody Assizes! Along West Street the name travelled to the "Anchor
Inn," that hostelry of mean repute in Dorchester, and to a small upper
room where three men sat. They leaned towards each other as they spoke.
"I have failed to find out where they have taken her." said one. "It
must have been dark when they entered Dorchester; I can find no one who
remembers such a cavalcade in the streets. I am at a loss how to
discover her prison."
"Think, Martin."
"I have never been so barren of schemes as I am how. Have you no
suggestion, Crosby?"
"I want to kill Rosmore."
"And you, Mr. Fellowes?"
"Here I may be of service. I am known as a soldier and a King's man," he
answered. "My presence in Dorchester will not be called in question, and
I may learn what is the real plot on foot. Until we know it, we can
hardly scheme to prevent it."
"An excellent plan," said Martin. "There is another scheme half-born
within me. I will let it mature to-night. Courage, comrades. Three
honest men are worth many scoundrels. Three lovers of one woman, for so
we are in our different fashions."
"That is true," said Crosby.
"Quite true," murmured Fellowes.
"And we strive together," said Martin, letting his hand fall on the
table. It was covered immediately by the other men's hands.
"Heart and soul for Mistress Lanison," said Fellowes.
"Heart and soul," said Crosby.
"Three honest and true men," murmured Fairley, and tears were in his
eyes. "A triple alliance."