SIR MARMADUKE
A woman’s wits are usually quick to detect intrigue, and are sharpened
all the more keenly when she suspects danger to the one she loves.
The threats Captain Bold had been so indiscreet as to utter afforded an
explanation of much that had hitherto puzzled Alice in the habits and
demeanour of her aunt’s guests. It seemed clear enough now, that the
shrewd, dark-clothed gentleman upstairs, and his friend from the Hill,
were involved in a treasonable plot, of which her abhorred suitor with
the bay mare was a paid instrument. From the hints dropped by the last,
it looked that some signal vengeance was contemplated against Sir George
Hamilton, and worse still, against her own beloved Slap-Jack. Alice was
not the girl to sit still with folded hands and bemoan herself in such
a predicament. Her first impulse was at once to follow Sir George home
and warn him of all she knew, all she suspected; but reflecting how
little there was of the former, and how much of the latter; remembering,
moreover, that one chief conspirator was his fast friend, and then in his
company, she hesitated to oppose her own bare word against the latter’s
influence, and resolved to strike boldly across the moor till she saw
the chimneys of Brentwood, and tell her tale to Sir Marmaduke Umpleby, a
justice of the peace, therefore, in all probability, a loyal subject of
King George.
It was a long walk for a girl accustomed to the needlework and
dish-scouring of an indoor life, but Alice’s legs had been stretched and
her lungs exercised on the south-country downs, till she could trip over
a Yorkshire moor as lightly and as gracefully, if not so swiftly, as
a hind. Leaving word, then, for her aunt, that she should not be back
till after dark, she put on her best shoe-buckles, her lace pinners, her
smartest hat, and tucking her red stuff gown through its pocket-holes,
started boldly on her mission in the teeth of an east wind.
Brentwood was a snug-looking long grey house, lying low amongst tall
trees in a little green nook of the moor, sheltered by brown swelling
undulations that rose all round. A straight road, rough in some places,
swampy in others, and execrable in all, led up to the door, between
two dilapidated stone walls coped with turf. There was no pretence of
porch or other abutment, as in newer residences, nor were there curves
round clumps of plantation, sweeps to coast flower-beds, nor any such
compromise from a direct line in the approach to the house. The inmates
of Brentwood might see their visitors for a perspective of half a mile
from the front windows, and at these windows would take up their position
from dawn till dark.
Dame Umpleby and her five daughters were at their usual station when
Alice appeared in sight. These young ladies, of whom the eldest seemed
barely fifteen, were being educated under their mother’s eye, that is
to say, they were writing out recipes, mending house-linen, reading the
“Pilgrim’s Progress,” and working samplers, according to their several
ages. They had a spinet also, somewhat out of repair, on which the elder
girls occasionally practised, but father would not stand this infliction
within ear-shot, and father was now enjoying his after-dinner slumbers in
their common sitting-room.
Sir Marmaduke did not appear to advantage in the attitude he had chosen.
His wig was off, and hung stately on its own account over a high-backed
chair. His round smooth head was discoloured in patches like the shield
of a tortoise, his heavy features looked the heavier that they were
somewhat swollen after eating, the lower jaw had dropped comfortably to
its rest, and his whole frame was sunk in an attitude of complete and
ungainly repose.
A half-smoked pipe had dropped from his relaxed fingers to the floor, and
a remnant of brown ale stood at his elbow in a plain silver tankard on
the table.
The apartment was their usual family parlour, as it was then called, and
therefore plainly, not to say meanly, furnished. Sir Marmaduke being a
gentleman of ancient blood and considerable possessions, owned flocks and
herds in plenty, fertile corn land under the plough, miles of pasturage
over the hill. He kept good horses in his stable, fleet greyhounds in
his kennel, and a cast of hawks in his mews, only surpassed by those
of Sir George Hamilton; but he could not afford, he said, to waste his
substance on “Frenchified luxuries,” and this opprobrious term seemed to
comprise all such vanities as carpets, curtains, couches, pictures, and
ornaments of every description. For indoors, he argued, why, he didn’t
frequent that side of the house much himself, and what had been good
enough for his mother must be good enough for his wife and the girls.
When hard pressed, as be sure he was by these on the score of certain
damask hanging and gorgeous carpets at Hamilton Hill, he would reply that
Lady Hamilton was the sweetest woman in Europe, whereat his audience
dissented, but that extravagance was her crying fault, only excusable on
the ground of her foreign birth and education, and it couldn’t go on. It
could _not_ go on! He should live to see his neighbour ruined, and sold
up, but he should be sorry for it, prodigiously sorry! for Hamilton was a
good fellow, very strong in the saddle, and took his bottle like a man!
He had spoken to the same effect just before he dropped asleep, and Dame
Umpleby with her daughters had continued the subject in whispers till it
died out of itself just as the far-off figure of Alice, coming direct to
the house, afforded fresh food for conversation.
Margery being the youngest, saw the arrival some half-second before her
sisters, and for one rapturous moment believed her dearest visions were
realised, and little Red Riding Hood was coming to pay them a visit
in person; but this young woman being about five years of age, and of
imaginative temperament, was already accustomed to disillusions, and
felt, therefore, more disgusted than surprised when her eldest sister
Janet suggested the less startling supposition that it was Goody Round’s
grand-daughter on an errand for red salve and flannel, offering, at the
same time, to procure those palliatives in person from the store-room.
Janet, like most elder girls in a large family, was as steady as a
matron, taking charge of the rest with the care of an aunt, and the
authority of a governess. But the mother’s sight was sharper than her
children’s. “Bessie Round’s not half the height of that girl,” said she,
rising for a better look. “See how she skims across the stepping-stones
at the ford! She’s in a hurry, whoever she is! But that is no reason,
Margery, why you shouldn’t learn your spelling, nor that I should have to
unpick the last half-dozen stitches in Marian’s sampler. Hush! my dears,
I pray you! Less noise, or you will wake father.”
Pending this discussion, Alice, whose pace was at least twice as good
as Bessie Round’s, had reached the house. She looked very pretty, all
flushed and tumbled out of the moorland breezes, and Dame Umpleby’s
heart reproached her for the hundredth time that she had allowed her
husband to establish as a rule the administration of justice in his own
room, unhampered by her presence. He had once in their early married
life admitted her assistance to his judicial labours, but such confusion
resulted from this indulgence that the experiment was never repeated.
Though Sir Marmaduke had been married a score of years, and was the model
of a steady-going, middle-aged gentleman, such is the self-tormenting
tendency of the female mind that his wife could not mark without certain
painful twinges, the good looks of this visitor waiting at the hall-door,
lest her errand should prove as usual—“A young woman, if you please,
wants to see Sir Marmaduke on justice business!”
Such twinges are generally prophetic. Long before Margery and Marian had
settled a disputed point as to the identity of the wolf and little Red
Riding Hood’s grandmother in the story-book, a plethoric serving-man, who
had obviously been employing his leisure in the kitchen, like his master
in the parlour, entered with a red shining face, and announced Alice’s
arrival in the very words his mistress knew so well.
Sir Marmaduke woke up with a start, rubbed his eyes, his nose, the whole
of his bald head, and replied as usual—
“Directly, Jacob, directly. Offer the young woman a horn of small ale,
and show her into the justice-room.”
It was a tradition at Brentwood that no visitor, however humble, should
walk six steps within the threshold dry-lipped, and old Jacob, who loved
a gossip only less than a drink, was exceedingly careful not to break
through this hospitable practice.
Sir Marmaduke, blinking like an old owl in the daylight, adjusted his
wig, shook himself to rights, and, ignoring his wife’s uneasiness,
wandered off scarce half-awake, to receive the new arrival in the
justice-room.
There were few eavesdroppers at Brentwood, least of all at that hour of
the day. A general stagnation habitually pervaded the establishment from
dinner-time till dusk. The men slumbered over the fire in the hall, the
women, at least the elder ones, crossed their arms under their aprons,
and dozed in the kitchen; the younger maids stole out to meet their
bachelors in the wood-house of the cattle-sheds. Even Rupert, the old
mastiff, retired to his kennel, and unless the provocation was of an
extraordinary nature, refused to open more than one eye at a time, so
that fear was uncalled-for, which Alice obviously entertained, lest her
communication to Sir Marmaduke should be overheard.
The latter concluding it was the usual grievance, cast a hasty glance
at the girl as he passed on to the leathern arm-chair that formed his
throne, but seating himself thereon, and obtaining a full view of her
face, gave a start of recognition, and exclaimed in surprise—
“Why, it’s Mistress Alice! Take a chair, Mistress Alice, and believe me,
you’re welcome. Heartily welcome, however tangled be the skein you’ve
brought me to unravel.”
Pretty Alice of the “Hamilton Arms” was as well known as the sign of that
hostelry itself to every hard-riding, beer-drinking, cattle-jobbing,
country gentleman within fifty miles. Sir Marmaduke often said, and
sometimes swore, that “he didn’t care how they bred ’em in London and
thereabouts, but to _his_ mind Alice was the likeliest girl he saw north
o’ Trent, be t’other who she might!”
The object of his admiration, standing very near the door, hoped “Lady
Umpleby and the young ladies were well,” a benevolent wish it seemed she
had walked all this distance to express, for she immediately broke down,
and began to adjust plaits in the hem of her pinners with extreme nicety.
Sir Marmaduke, marking her confusion, suspected it _must_ be the old
business after all.
“Take a seat, my dear,” repeated he paternally. “Don’t ye be frightened;
nobody will hear ye here. Take your own time, and tell your own story.”
Thus adjured, Alice still close to the door, looked anxiously round, and
whispered—
“Oh! Sir Marmaduke, are you quite sure nobody can hear us?”
The justice smiled, and pulled his wig straight. It was evident she
had something very secret to confide. He was glad she had come to him
at once, and what a pretty girl she was! Of course, he would stand her
friend. He told her so.
“Oh! Sir Marmaduke,” said Alice, “it’s something dreadful. It’s something
I’ve found out. I know I shall get killed by some of them! It’s a plot,
Sir Marmaduke! That’s what it is. There!”
The justice started. His brow clouded, and his very wig seemed to
come awry. He was a stout-hearted gentleman enough, and feared danger
certainly less than trouble. But a plot! Ever since he could remember in
his own and his father’s time, the word had been synonymous with arrests,
imprisonments, authorised oppression, packed juries, commissions of
inquiry, false witness, hard swearing, and endless trouble to justices of
the peace.
It was, perhaps, the one thing of all others that he most dreaded, so his
first impulse was, of course, to ignore the whole matter.
“Plot! My dear. Pooh! Nonsense! What do you know of plots, except a plot
to get married, you little jade? Hey? Plot! There’s no such thing in
these days. We smothered the whole brood, eggs and all, in Fifteen. We’ll
give you a drop of burnt sherry, and send you home behind Ralph on a
pillion. Don’t ye trouble your pretty head about plots, my dear. If you’d
seen as many as I have, you’d never wish for another.”
Alice thought of Slap-Jack, and collected her ideas. “I’m sure,” said
she, “I wouldn’t have taken the liberty of coming to trouble your
honour, but I thought as you would like to know, Sir Marmaduke, being as
it concerns Sir George Hamilton, who’s aunt’s landlord, you know, Sir
Marmaduke, and his sweet lady; and if they were to come for to be taken
and carried to London town with their feet tied under their horses’
bellies, Sir Marmaduke, why whatever would become of us all?”
The picture that Alice conjured up was too much for her, and she dried
her tears on her apron.
Sir Marmaduke opened his eyes wider than he had done since he closed
them for his afternoon nap. “Sir George Hamilton!” he repeated, in great
astonishment; “how can he be implicated? What d’ye mean, my dear? Dry
your eyes, there’s a good girl, and tell your story from the beginning.”
She had recovered her composure now, and made her statement lucidly and
without reserve. She detailed the whole circumstances of her lover’s
dispute with Captain Bold, and the latter’s threats, from which she
gathered, reasonably enough, that another Jacobite rising was imminent,
in which their party were to be successful, whereby the loyal subjects of
King George, including the Hamiltons, Slap-Jack, her aunt, and herself,
were to be ruined, and utterly put to confusion. She urged Sir Marmaduke
to lay his hands at once on the conspirators within reach. Three of them,
she said, would be together at the “Hamilton Arms” that very evening.
She did not suppose two of the gentlemen would make much resistance, as
they seemed to be priests; and fighting, she thought, could not be their
trade; while as for the red-nosed captain, with his bay mare, though he
talked very big, and said he had served in every country in Europe, why,
she would not be afraid to promise that cook and herself could do his
business, for that matter, with a couple of brooms and a slop-pail.
Sir Marmaduke laughed, but he was listening very attentively now,
altogether changed from the self-indulgent slumberer of half an hour ago.
As she continued her story his interest became more and more excited,
the expression of his face cleared from lazy indifference into shrewd,
penetrating common sense, and denoted the importance he attached to her
communication, of which not a word escaped him.
At the mention of the red-nosed captain with his bay mare, he interrupted
her, dived into a table-drawer, from which he produced a note-book, and
referred to an entry amongst its red-lined pages.
“Stop a moment, Mistress Alice,” said he, turning over the leaves. “Here
it is. Bay mare, fast, well-bred, kicks in the stable, white hind-foot,
star, and snip on muzzle. Owner, middle height, speaks in a shrill voice,
long nose, pale face, and flaxen hair in a club.”
Alice’s eyes kindled with the first part of this description, but she
seemed disappointed when he reached the end.
“That’s not our captain, Sir Marmaduke,” said she. “Our captain’s got
a squeaky voice, sure enough; but his hair is jet-black, and his face,
especially his nose, as red, ay, red as my petticoat. It’s the moral
of the mare, to be sure, and a wicked beast she is,” added Alice,
reflectively.
Sir Marmaduke pondered. “Is your captain, as you call him, a good-looking
man?” said he, slyly.
Alice was indignant. “As ugly as sin!” she exclaimed. “Bloodshot eyes,
scowling eyebrows, and a seam down one cheek that reaches to his
chin. No, Sir Marmaduke, to do him justice, he’s a very hard-featured
gentleman, is the captain.”
Sir Marmaduke, keeping his finger between the leaves of his note-book,
referred once more to the entry.
“Tastes differ, Mistress Alice,” said he, good-humouredly. “I think I
can recognise the gentleman, though I’ve got him described here, and by
one of your sex too, as ‘exceedingly handsome-featured, of commanding
presence, with an air of the highest fashion.’ Never mind. I knew he
was somewhere this side of the Border, but did not guess he was such a
near neighbour. If it’s any satisfaction, I don’t mind telling you, my
dear, he’s likely enough to be in York gaol before the month’s out. In
the meantime, don’t you let anybody know you’ve seen me, and keep your
captain, if you possibly can, at the ‘Hamilton Arms’ till I want him.”
Alice curtsied demurely. She had caught the excitement inseparable from
everything that resembles a pursuit by this time, and had so thoroughly
entered into the spirit of the game, that she felt she could let the
captain make love to her for an hour at a stretch, red nose and all,
rather than he should escape out of their clutches.
“And the other gentleman?” she asked, glancing at the note-book, as if
she thought they too might be inscribed on its well-filled pages. “Him
that sits upstairs writing all day, and him that lives up with Sir George
at the Hill, and only comes down our way about dusk. There can’t be much
harm about that one, Sir Marmaduke, I think. Such a pale, thin, quiet
young gentleman, and for all he seems so unhappy, as meek as a mouse.”
“Let the other gentlemen alone, Alice,” answered the justice. “You’re a
good girl, and a pretty one, and you showed your sense in coming over
here at once without saying a word to anybody. Now, you’ll take my
advice, my dear; I am sure you will. Get home before it’s dark. I’d send
you with Ralph and old Dapple, but that it would make a talk. Never mind,
you’ve a good pair of legs, I know; so make all the use you can of them.
I don’t like such a blooming lass to be tramping about these wild moors
of ours after nightfall. Tell your aunt to brew you a posset the moment
you get home. If she asks any questions, say I told you to come up here
about renewing the license. Above all, don’t tattle. Keep silence for a
week, only a week, and I’ll give you leave after that to chatter till
your tongue aches. And now, Alice, you’re a sensible girl, I believe, and
not easily frightened. Listen to what these two priests say. Hide behind
the window-curtain, under the bed, anywhere, only find out for certain
what they’re at, and come again to me.”
“But they speak French,” objected Alice, whereat her listener’s face
fell, though he smiled well-pleased when she added, modestly; “not but
what I know enough to understand them, if I don’t have to answer.”
“Quite right, quite right, my dear,” assented the justice; “you’re a
clever girl enough. Mind you show your cleverness by keeping your tongue
between your teeth. And now it’s high time you were off. Remember what
I’ve told you. Mum’s the word, my dear; and fare ye well.”
So the justice, opening the door for Alice with all courtesy, imprinted
such a kiss upon her blooming face, as middle-aged gentlemen of those
days distributed liberally without scandal, a kiss that, given in all
honour and kindliness, left the maiden’s cheek no rosier than before.
Then, as soon as the door was shut, Sir Marmaduke pulled his wig off, and
began pacing his chamber to and fro, as was his custom when in unusual
perplexity.
“A plot,” he reflected; “no doubt of it. Another veritable Jacobite plot,
to disturb private comfort and public credit; to make every honest man
suspect his neighbour, and to set the whole country by the ears.”
Though he had wisely concealed from Alice the importance he really
attached to her information, he could not but admit her story was very
like many another that had previously warned him of these risings, in one
of which, long ago, he had himself been concerned on the other side. His
sympathies even to-day were not enthusiastically with his duty. That duty
doubtless was, to warn the executive at once.
He wished heartily that he knew which of his friends and neighbours was
concerned in the business. It would be terrible if some of his intimates
(by no means an unlikely supposition) were at its head. He thought it
extremely probable that Sir George Hamilton was only named as a victim
for a blind, and had really accepted a prominent part in the rising.
Could he not give him a hint he was suspected, in time to get out of the
way? Sir Marmaduke was not very bitter against the Jacobites; and perhaps
it occurred to him, moreover, that if they should get the upper hand,
it would be well to have such an advocate as Sir George on the winning
side. He might tell him what he had heard, under pretence of asking his
assistance and advice.
At all events he thought he had shut Alice’s mouth for the present, by
setting her to watch the conspirators closely in her aunt’s house. “If
she finds _them_ out,” said Sir Marmaduke, rubbing his bald head, “I
shall have timely notice of their doings, and if they find _her_ out,
why, they will probably change the scene of operation with all haste, and
I shall have got an exceedingly awkward job off my hands.”