THE CAPTAIN FORSWEARS SWAGGERING.
"My follies and my fancies have an end here."--_Wit without Money._
When Ravenshaw came to his senses, after losing them on the floor
of the hall, he gazed around in wonder. He was in a soft bed, in a
handsome room which he had never seen before. Bright sunlight streamed
through an open casement which let in also the music of birds. Beside
his bed lay his clothes, neatly arranged; his sword and dagger; and
Master Holyday's puppet-play, which he had carried in his doublet. At
sight of the manuscript, full remembrance rushed upon his mind. Though
his bodily craving was to sink back on his pillow, and a fierce ache
was in his head, he leaped out of bed. There was too much to be learned
and done.
He pounced upon the ewer and basin he saw at hand, and speedily soused
himself into a more live and less fevered state. While putting on his
clothes, wondering where on earth he was, he looked out of the window
upon a sweet prospect of green hills, fields, a few distant sun-touched
roofs, and a far-off steeple among trees. It was plain that he looked
from a house on a low hill, and that noontime had arrived.
A door opened, and in was thrust the head of a man whose blue coat
betokened a servant, and whose manner declared a rustic.
"Dod, then your worship be up!" said this fellow, awkwardly entering.
"Young mistress did vow she heard somewhat stirring. I ask your
worship's pardon. If your worship had called--" He set about trussing
the points of the captain's doublet and hose.
"Who art thou?" asked Ravenshaw.
"Your servant, sir. To tell truth, sir, Master Etheridge's servant,
sir; but yours while you be here, your worship."
"Master Etheridge? Master Bartlemy Etheridge, meanest thou?"
"Yes, sir, by your leave, sir. He bade me attend in the gallery here,
sir, to serve your worship an you called."
"This is his house, then?"
"Yes, sir; his country-seat, your worship,--not that he hath any town
house, begging your pardon."
"How came I here?"
"Dod, upon a stable door we found loose at Marshleigh Grange last
night. I'fecks, I'll never forget such rain; and to be roused out of
bed in the black o' the night, too! But as to fetching your worship
hither, the young mistress wouldn't come if you were left; so master
must needs bid us seek somewhat to bear you hither upon. And never once
you woke, e'en when me and Dick took off your clothes and put you to
bed."
A strange warmth glowed in the captain's soul. Lost in his thoughts,
he passed out to the gallery as soon as he was dressed. It was a wide,
airy gallery, with doors along the sides, and a window at each end. In
one of the windows sat a figure, which rose the instant he appeared.
It was Millicent. For a second he paused, fearing she would meet him
with her old scorn, or flee down the stairs. But she stood motionless,
returning his look with some timidity, blushing and pensive.
"So," said he, quietly, "you would not come if I were left."
"I was much your debtor," she faltered.
"And you, watching here, heard me stirring, and sent the manservant?"
"Why, I was watching here," she replied, confusedly, "lest my father
should come unawares. We were seen and followed, Master Holyday and I,
and my uncle thinks my father would go first to Master Holyday's house,
and then come hither. But let him come what way he will, I can see him
afar from this window."
"And how if you see him?"
"There is an old chest in my aunt's chamber that my uncle hath made
ready, with holes bored in it for air. They will lock me in, and feign
that the key is lost, and that the chest hath not been opened this
year."
"Your uncle hath stood your friend indeed in this."
"Yes, he and--others,--more than I deserve. My uncle is no coward, in
truth,--save to his wife, and when he is in London against her will and
knowledge." She smiled faintly.
"He must have shown courage enough to Master Jerningham to fetch you
off safe--and me, too, when I was o'erthrown at last by their drug."
"Why, of a truth, my uncle came to that place with so many men--every
Jack on the estate, and all that could be roused quickly in the
village--that Master Jerningham would have done ill to contest. The
heart was taken out of him, I think; four of his men were killed, and
of the rest, those that had come with me fled when they saw their
leader slain."
"Four men killed, troth!" said Ravenshaw, "of whom I shall be asked to
give account."
"But you will not be asked," she replied, quickly. "'Twas in
self-defence--and in defence of me. But there will be no question made
of the affair. Master Jerningham seemed as much to desire that as--as
my uncle. He hath his own reasons; he said he and his men would keep
silence. So my uncle agreed to say nothing; those drunken beggars and
the rascals that betrayed me will hold their tongues for their own
sake; and Master Jerningham said he would dispose of the slain."
"But the slain have friends,--that gentleman will surely be inquired
after."
"Master Jerningham said he could explain his disappearance, and the
other men's. I know not how, but I would warrant he spoke in good
faith."
"More false dealing, belike. I'll go and see."
"Nay! whither would you go?" Her face showed alarm.
"Back to that house. I must see how matters stand there. I must seek
out the knaves that betrayed you, and learn what hath befallen Master
Holyday. Where did they leave him?"
"Alas! I know not where 'twas. They beat him down in the wood, and left
him,--tied to a tree, one said; and they robbed him of his clothes. I
should not know where to look for the place."
"Be of good cheer. I'll find him, though I search the forest through;
and, if he be alive, I'll not eat or sleep till you are wed."
"Then 'twas indeed your planning?" she queried, looking not too well
pleased. "I had begun to think as much, after last night."
"Why, troth, I--ah--did give the plan my countenance," admitted the
captain. "But we durst not let you know I was privy to it; you thought
so ill of me--and rightly. But the bringing you to Marshleigh Grange
was pure treason against us. I was too trustful; but I will undo my
error if Holyday be alive."
"I marvel why you should have plotted so for me."
"To save you from wedding Sir Peregrine Medway; and to put you out of
Master Jerningham's ken, as well. You said any husband was better--"
"But why chose you Master Holyday?"
"Faith, is he not young, and a gentleman, and comely? And he will
be well provided for upon his marriage, e'en though he bring a wife
without dowry. And then I was pleased at the chance of benefiting him,
too. I could think of no better remedy than a husband, and no better
husband than he."
Millicent was silent a moment, her brows a little bent as if she would
say something she knew not how to say; then seeing him move, as if to
depart, she resumed:
"You spoke of Master Jerningham as well as Sir Peregrine."
"Yes; I knew of his intent toward you. What I said last night was true.
He employed me to--what will you think of me?"
"But you did not," she said, holding his glance.
"No," he answered, in a low voice.
"Why did you not?"
"Faith, I cannot tell--I was formerly a gentleman--and you were--troth,
when I talked with you in the garden, I could not. And when I came
again, though I kept my false name, knowing how people held my true
one, 'twas indeed to plan your escape from that old knight."
"I know not how I can ever prove my gratitude,--and for last night."
She paused, and dropped her eyes; her heart beat fast while she awaited
his answer.
"You have put the debt on my side," he said. "You would not come from
that place if I were left. And but now you were attentive to my waking."
Evidently the answer fell short of her hopes.
"Oh," she said, a little pettishly, "I am on the watch here lest my
father come, as I told you. As for your waking, yonder clodpate is a
stupid fool. My uncle thought, being drugged, you might sleep all day
and longer; but I said you were no ordinary man."
"Troth," said Ravenshaw, smiling, "I somewhat broke the drug's power by
resisting till your uncle came. And now that I am so soon awake, the
sooner may I seek your husband that shall be." He turned toward the
stair-head.
"But hear me, I pray! If you go back there, you hazard your life again."
He touched his sword and dagger, which he had girded on in the
bedchamber. "I still carry these," quoth he; "and I must thank you for
recovering them."
"Nay," said she, blushing again; "the sword never left your hand. There
was but your dagger to seek. But go not back there, I beg of you!" She
could scarce conceal the depth of her solicitude.
"Why, why, mistress, fear not for me. There is no danger."
"I entreat you not to go."
"Nay, the more you concern yourself for my safety, the more am I bound
to go and serve you."
"Take men with you, then."
"Nay, your uncle must keep his men here to protect you. But one
to show me the way,--the old beggar that summoned your uncle last
night,--perchance he came hither with us."
"No, he stayed with his comrades; my uncle paid him for his service."
"I must e'en thank your uncle for that; and for his care of me."
"I will take you to him, and my aunt," she replied, eagerly, seeing a
chance of delaying his departure and gaining time for dissuasions.
But he seemed to read her thought; he took a sudden resolution, and
said: "Nay, I'll thank him when I return. Farewell, and--"
"You will return--soon?" she said, with quivering lip.
"Ay, with Master Holyday--or news of him," he answered, and turned to
the servant: "Show me the way to Marshleigh Grange, and make haste."
Avoiding her glance, he hurried down the stairs ere she could frame a
further objection. The servant, wonder-eyed, followed him. When he was
out of the house, he shook his head, and said within himself: "Another
minute in her presence, and 'twould have been she that bade me go, I
that begged to stay."
He dared not look back; had he done so, as he hastened down the
hillside, he might have seen that she had changed her window for one
which looked toward his road. When he disappeared in the lane to which
his man conducted him, she dropped her face upon her arms.
The lonely plain whereon the Grange stood was nearer than he had
supposed. When he reached the house, there was no sign of life about
it. He called and knocked; and finally was admitted to the hall by
Jeremy. The old man was its only occupant, living or dead. He was
engaged in washing out sundry stains that reddened the floor.
"Hath your master taken them away?" asked Ravenshaw, bluntly, nodding
toward the stained places.
"Ay, but a short while since," said the old man, unconcernedly. "I trow
they are to have sea burial. He came and had them carried aboard a
ship. He and they are e'en now bound seaward."
"That is strange. Where is the woman, Mistress Meg?"
"He hath ta'en her along on the ship. Troth, she swore she would not
stay another night under this roof. There was much talk atwixt 'em. She
is to be a queen on an island where 'tis always summer."
Wondering if the old man had lost his wits, the captain asked, "And you
are alone here?"
"Ay, and well enough, too. I have no mind to go a-voyaging. I shall
have all the milk, now, and all the eggs; and no foolish woman prating
ever of ghosts and witches. I'll have some peace and quiet now."
"The beggars have gone, then?"
"Ay; when they came sober, and saw slain men upon the floor, they
fled as if the hangman were after 'em. Ha! I knew enough to hide the
chickens over night." The old man chuckled triumphantly.
From what further information he could draw, the captain made out that
Jerningham's own men had embarked with him, and that Cutting Tom's
followers had gone their way unheeded. Not till days afterward was he
assured that Jerningham had indeed set sail for some far country. To
the bishop and others, the voyager had accounted for the absence of
Ermsby and Gregory by a tale of their having preceded the vessel to
Gravesend, where they were to come aboard. He and his ship were never
heard of again.
The captain left the Grange, thinking next to inquire of Sir Nicholas
the vicar. If Holyday had not contrived to find his way to his old
friend's abode, the parson would doubtless help search the woods for
him. Ravenshaw's attendant knew where Sir Nicholas lived. The way
passed near his master's house. The captain made him lead at a rapid
pace. It was when they were emerging from a lane into the road that
Ravenshaw came upon Master Holyday, attired in the loose-hanging garb
of the keeper's wife.
The captain, after the briefest salutations, grasped the scholar's
arm, and ran with him up the hill toward Master Etheridge's house.
Millicent, seeing them coming, and recognising only Ravenshaw, made
haste to join her aunt and uncle, who had gone to discuss her situation
out of her presence. She found them in the orchard at the rear of the
house.
To that place, having inquired of the first servant he met, the captain
dragged the breathless and protesting scholar. Millicent's wonder, at
sight of Holyday's distressed face, was almost equal to that of her
portly uncle and his stately, angular spouse.
"Good-morrow, madam," said Ravenshaw, with a bow which at once
surprised the dame's severity into fluttering graciousness. "And to
you, sir." He then turned to Millicent. "Know you not Master Holyday,
mistress? I met him by chance; he was hastening hither for news of you."
But Millicent's astonishment at the poor scholar's appearance had given
place to a look of decided disapproval. Holyday himself stood red-faced
and sullen.
"You are welcome, sir," said Master Bartlemy Etheridge, in an uneasy
voice. His countenance was worked into a painful attempt to convey
something to the captain's mind privately; in his concern upon that
score, he paid no heed to Master Holyday, whom his wife greeted with a
curtsey.
"I am much bounden to you, sir," said Ravenshaw. "For your care of me,
and your hospitality, my gratitude shall balance my want of desert. At
our last meeting--"
"Meeting, sir?" broke in Uncle Bartlemy, in despair at the evident
failure of his facial exertions. "I'll take oath I never met you
before; it must have been some other gentleman of my appearance."
"Our meeting last night, sir, I meant," said Ravenshaw, with a smile;
"though, indeed, 'twas a brief matter on my part."
"Oh, last night, forsooth; oh, yes, yes, yes," said the old gentleman,
with a look of infinite relief. "Troth, yes, certainly, indeed. And
you, Master Holyday, God save you. 'Tis long since I have seen you; you
have changed much."
As Uncle Bartlemy's gaze was upon the scholar's dress, Holyday's
assumption was that the remark was concerned therewith.
"Faith, sir," said he, resentfully, "'tis fine manners in you to jeer;
my wearing this gown comes of my willingness to marry your niece."
"Oh, indeed!" quoth Millicent.
"Troth," went on the poet, miserably, "it hath been ill upon ill, e'er
since I ran away with her. If such a night be the beginning of our
marriage, what shall be the end of it, in God's name?"
"There shall be no end of it," retorted Millicent; "and no beginning,
either. Last night, say you? Ay, you showed bravely then. You are well
suited in a woman's gown, I think. A fine husband you would be, to
protect a wife!"
The scholar's face cleared somewhat; turning to Ravenshaw, he said:
"Give me my puppet-play. I'll go back to London. You see she will not
have me."
"Softly, softly!" cried the captain. "Would you mar all at the last,
mistress? Reflect, I pray; your only true safety lies in marriage ere
your father finds you. You will not bring all my plans to nothing? I do
entreat you--"
He stopped at a sudden parting of her lips; he looked around to see
what alarmed her. There, coming from the house to the orchard, were
Master Etheridge the goldsmith, Sir Peregrine Medway, and a ruddy,
irascible-looking country gentleman.
"Plague take it!" muttered Uncle Bartlemy to Millicent; "this comes of
not watching."
As Sir Peregrine was the embodiment of lagging weariness, and the
goldsmith was himself well fagged, their companion was first within
speaking distance. With scant greeting for the elderly couple, he
turned fierce eyes on the scholar.
"How now?" he burst out. "Thou unthrift! thou ne'er-do-well! thou
good-for-naught! Wouldst run away with my old friend's daughter? I'll
teach thee, knave!"
But the captain stepped between the elder Holyday and the son, for he
felt the quarrel to be his own, and saw his painfully reared structure
of events ready to fall about him.
"Sir," he said, "he did it for your behoof; he marries to perpetuate
your stock."
"Sir," replied Holyday the father, "I can attend to that myself. I am
taking a wife next Thursday; my rascal son would not seek one when I
bade him; so I sent him packing; but now he shall come home and be kept
out of mischief."
The goldsmith, coming up, ignored his brother, bowed stiffly to the
latter's wife, and stood before Millicent, his hands open as if he
would fain clutch her.
"Thou baggage, thou'rt caught in time! Thou shalt not sleep till
thou'rt tied in marriage to Sir Peregrine." He made to grasp her by the
arm.
"Touch me not!" she cried, with a sudden thought. "You have no power
over me; I am married!"
Her father stared. Master Holyday, taken by surprise, said,
emphatically:
"Not to me, that I'll take oath; so I am a free man, of a surety!"
Ravenshaw could have struck him down. But Millicent, after one
crestfallen moment, said, quietly:
"Not to Master Holyday, certainly; but to this gentleman." And she went
to the captain's side.
There was a moment's general silence, during which Sir Peregrine,
overcome by his long exertion, leaned limply against a tree.
"To this villain?" cried the goldsmith; "this cozener, this notable
rascal, this tavern-cheat. 'Tis not possible; there hath not been time;
not even for a license."
Millicent looked up at Ravenshaw's face, whereby he knew she desired
him to take up the ruse.
"Sir," quoth he, "there hath been more time than you wot of; we have
all been in the plot together for three days now."
"A pack of knaves!" shouted the goldsmith. "An there hath been a
marriage, 'twill not hold. She was bound by pre-contract."
"'Tis not true," cried Millicent. "Sir Peregrine knows I would not
receive his tokens."
"Oh, good lack!" quoth the old knight, faint of voice; "'tis all as
well. I am glad your daughter hath released me, Master Etheridge. She
is much inclined to jealousy, I see that; belike I should give her
cause, too. I thank her for my liberty."
The goldsmith cast on the old knight a look of wrathful disgust, and
walked precipitately from the place, breathing out plagues, murrains,
and poxes. Sir Peregrine laboriously followed him. But Holyday's father
dragged the scholar aside to talk with him privily.
Ravenshaw turned to Millicent. "The device served well. But the truth
must out in time. Your father will have his revenge then."
"Alas, I have told a great falsehood," said she, braving her blushes.
"I know not how to clear my soul of it--unless you--" She hesitated.
"I, mistress? What can I do?"
"Make it the truth," she faltered, dropping her eyes.
For a time he could not speak.
"Oh, mistress!" he said, at last, with unsteady voice; "would to God I
might--But think you of my reputation."
"You will amend that; 'tis no great matter."
"I am no worthy mate for you."
"You have fought for me."
"You will learn to hate me again; you hated me but yesterday."
"'Twas because I had loved you the day before; else I should not have
heeded."
"You are a world too good for me."
"Troth, I am not good in all eyes. Sir Peregrine is glad to be rid of
me, and Master Holyday will not have me."
"I am penniless."
"My uncle hath said he would provide for me."
Ravenshaw looked at Uncle Bartlemy, who had been calming his wife's
wonder. The old gentleman, with a fine attempt at hidden meaning, thus
delivered himself:
"Sir, I owe you much upon the score of our first meeting--whereof you
spoke awhile ago. If you can be content here in the country, with a
wing of our poor house, while we live--'twill all be Millicent's when
we are buried--"
Ravenshaw felt her hand steal into his; he turned and took her gently
in his arms.
Master Holyday, having come to an adjustment with his father, callously
interrupted this embrace with the words, "Give me back my puppet-play
now, and I'll wish you joy, and pardon all my calamities, even this
dress."
Ravenshaw drew forth the manuscript from his doublet, saying: "If you
return to your father's house, we are like to be your neighbours. And
your friend Sir Nicholas shall earn a fee in spite of you."
"Troth, then, I'll write your nuptial hymn," said the poet, tenderly
handling his puppet-play. "'Twill have a rare sound,--'Epithalamium to
the Beauteous Maid of Cheapside and the Roaring Captain.'"
"Nay, the roaring captain is no more," said Ravenshaw. "I am a
gentleman again. Believe it, sweet."
"I care not what you are only that you are mine," quoth Millicent.
THE END.
Works of
ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
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An Enemy to the King (Thirty-fifth Thousand)
The Continental Dragoon (Twenty-fifth Thousand)
The Road to Paris (Twenty-first Thousand)
A Gentleman Player (Thirty-fifth Thousand)
Philip Winwood (Seventieth Thousand)
To be published Sept. 1.
Captain Ravenshaw; or, The Maid of Cheapside
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pomposities of the usual historical novel, has caught something of the
spirit of wide-eyed wonder that held men spellbound at the tales of
this new world when it was indeed new and marvellous--of the longing
for freedom that drove them beyond seas and into the savage West, there
to carve out new realms from the shaggy wilderness. 'The Frisians shall
be free as long as the wind shall blow in the clouds and as long as
the world shall endure' is the keynote of the story; for its scene is
New Amsterdam and its characters the sturdy Frisians of that colony.
The hero is one of the errant adventurers from the Lowlands; and the
account of his love for the wilful Antonia, as difficult and capricious
as she is charming, and his slow winning of her through the tangle of
misunderstandings and adventures that beset him, makes a story of vivid
and unhackneyed interest. In short, 'Antonia' is romance of the kind
that it is a delight to find."
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Transcriber's Notes:
All Small Caps converted to ALL CAPS (except when =By= is used, to
distinguish it from author names in final ad pages.)
Single occurrence of "in-doors" changed to "indoors" to be consistent
with other usage in original.
Single occurrence of "upturned" changed to "up-turned" to be consistent
with other usage.
Several other words appear twice, once hyphenated and once not. All of
these were left as in the original.
End of Project Gutenberg's Captain Ravenshaw, by Robert Neilson Stephens