So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet the beat
of his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the driving storm of
rain and wind without, Joseph hastened across the hall to the servants'
quarters. There he found his four grooms slumbering deeply, their faces
white and clammy, and their limbs twisted into odd, helpless attitudes.
Vainly did he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could
not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay.
And so, seizing a lanthorn, he passed out to the stables, whence Crispin
had lately taken his best nag, and with his own hands he saddled a
horse. His lips were screwed into a curious smile--a smile that still
lingered upon them when presently he retraced his steps to the room
where his brother sat with Kenneth.
In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had induced him
to take a little wine, and had set him upon a chair, in which he now lay
back, white and exhausted.
“The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” said Joseph coldly, as he
entered.
Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a dream. His
eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's pale, flabby face.
“The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” Joseph repeated in a louder
voice.
Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, passing his hand wearily across
his forehead.
“I understand, sir,” he replied in a low voice. “You mean that I must
go?”
Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then:
“It is past midnight,” he said slowly, “and the weather is wild. You may
lie here until morning, if you are so minded. But go you must then,”
he added sternly. “I need scarce say, sir, that you must have no speech
with Mistress Cynthia, nor that never again must you set foot within
Castle Marleigh.”
“I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with me.”
Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise.
“I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against whom my hand
was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my life for a fault that
was not my own? You, Master Gregory,” he cried, turning passionately to
Cynthia's father, “you are perchance more merciful? You understand my
position--how I was forced into it.”
Gregory opened his heavy eyes.
“A plague on you, Master Stewart,” he groaned. “I understand that you
have given me a wound that will take a month to heal.”
“It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!”
“To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in life,”
growled Gregory for answer. “You had best go; we are not likely to
listen to excuses.”
“Did you rather suggest a remedy,” Joseph put in quietly, “we might hear
you.”
Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes.
“What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show me but the
way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!”
Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard put to
it to dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was silent, making
pretence to ponder. At length:
“Kenneth,” he said, “you may in some measure repair the evil you have
done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight discomfort, I shall be
willing on my side to forget this night.”
“Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!”
He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the
Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they
had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed
his wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess
her. Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account.
“It is but a slight matter,” answered Joseph. “A matter that I might
entrust to one of my grooms.”
That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his
messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding.
“I would, sir,” answered the boy, “that the task were great and
difficult.”
“Yes, yes,” answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, “we are acquainted with
both your courage and your resource.” He sat silent and thoughtful for
some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad:
“You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us,” he said.
Then abruptly he added.
“Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for
London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me
here.”
Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined--partly, at least--what
was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a
glance.
“Go,” Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and
left them.
“What would you do?” asked Gregory when the door had closed.
“Make doubly sure of that ruffian,” answered Joseph coldly. “Colonel
Pride might be absent when he arrives, and he might learn that none
of the name of Lane dwells at the Anchor in Thames Street. It would be
fatal to awaken his suspicions and bring him back to us.”
“But surely Richard or Stephen might carry your errand?”
“They might were they not so drugged that they cannot be aroused. I
might even go myself, but it is better so.” He laughed softly. “There is
even comedy in it. Kenneth shall outride our bloodthirsty knight to warn
Pride of his coming, and when he comes he will walk into the hands of
the hangman. It will be a surprise for him. For the rest I shall keep
my promise concerning his son. He shall have news of him from Pride--but
when too late to be of service.”
Gregory shuddered.
“Fore God, Joseph, 'tis a foul thing you do,” he cried. “Sooner would I
never set eyes on the lad again. Let him go his ways as you intended.”
“I never did intend it. What trustier messenger could I find now that
I have lent him zest by fright? To win Cynthia, we may rely upon him
safely to do that in which another might fail.”
“Joseph, you will roast in hell for it.”
Joseph laughed him to scorn.
“To bed with you, you canting hypocrite; your wound makes you
light-headed.”
It was a half-hour ere Kenneth returned, booted, cloaked, and ready for
his journey. He found Joseph alone, busily writing, and in obedience to
a sign he sat him down to wait.
A few minutes passed, then, with a final scratch and splutter Joseph
flung down his pen. With the sandbox tilted in the air, like a dicer
about to make his throw, he looked at the lad.
“You will spare neither whip nor spur until you arrive in London, Master
Kenneth. You must ride night and day; the matter is of the greatest
urgency.”
Kenneth nodded that he understood, and Joseph sprinkled the sand over
the written page.
“I know not when you should reach London so that you may be in time,
but,” he continued, and as he spoke he creased the paper and poured
the superfluous sand back into the box, “I should say that by midnight
to-morrow your message should be delivered. Aye,” he continued, in
answer to the lad's gasp of surprise, “it is hard riding, I know, but
if you would win Cynthia you must do it. Spare neither money nor
horseflesh, and keep to the saddle until you are in Thames Street.”
He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote the superscription: “This to
Colonel Pride, at the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street.”
He rose and handed the package to Kenneth, to whom the superscription
meant nothing, since he had not seen that borne by the letter which
Crispin had received.
“You will deliver this intact, and with your own hands, to Colonel Pride
in person--none other. Should he be absent from Thames Street upon your
arrival, seek him out instantly, wherever he may be, and give him this.
Upon your faithful observance of these conditions remember that your
future depends. If you are in time, as indeed I trust and think you will
be, you may account yourself Cynthia's husband. Fail and--well, you need
not return here.”
“I shall not fail, sir,” cried Kenneth. “What man can do to accomplish
the journey within twenty-four hours, I will do.”
He would have stopped to thank Joseph for the signal favour of this
chance of rehabilitation, but Joseph cut him short.
“Take this purse,” he cried impatiently. “You will find a horse ready
saddled in the stables. Ride it hard. It will bear you to Norton at
least. There get you a fresh one, and when that is done, another. Now be
off.”