Don Manuel took an early opportunity of finding out, as he imagined,
what were his daughter's feelings. He asked her without preamble how
she liked Sir Nicholas. God knows what the poor gentleman thought to
get from her.
"Very ill, señor," said she.
"I fear me," said Don Manuel, closely watching her, "that he likes you
too well, child."
Dominica perceived that she was being tested, and achieved a scornful
laugh. "Unhappy man! But it's an impertinence."
Don Manuel was entirely satisfied. Liking Beauvallet well enough
himself he could even be sorry that his daughter had conceived so
vehement a distaste for him. "I am sorry that he is what he is," he
said. "I could find it in me to like a man of his mettle."
"A boaster," said Dominica, softly scornful.
"One would say so indeed. But before we set sail, Dominica, methought
you made some sort of a hero of him in your mind. You were always eager
to hear tell of his deeds."
"I had not met him then, señor," Dominica answered primly.
Don Manuel smiled. "Well, he is a wild fellow. I am glad you have sense
enough to see it. But use him gently, child, for we stand somewhat
beholden to him. He swears to set us ashore in Spain, and _madre de
dios_! I believe he will do it, though how I know not."
The upshot of all this was to make Dominica curious to know
Beauvallet's plans. She tackled Master Dangerfield about it that very
evening as he played at cards with her in the stateroom, and demanded
to know what his general had in mind. Master Dangerfield professed
ignorance, and was not believed. "What!" said my lady, incredulous. "I
am not to suppose you are not in his confidence, señor, surely! It is
just that you will not tell me."
"Upon my oath, señora, no!" Dangerfield assured her. "Sir Nicholas
keeps his counsel. Ask your question of him: he will tell you, I doubt
not."
"Oh, I desire to have no traffic with him," said my lady, and applied
herself to the cards again.
There came soon enough what she had hoped to hear: a bluff voice, a
brisk tread, a laugh echoing along the alleyway. The door was flung
open; Beauvallet came in, with a word tossed over his shoulder for
someone outside. "Save you, lady!" quoth he. "Diccon, there is a trifle
of business calls you. Give me your cards; I will endeavour."
Dangerfield gave up his cards at once, and bowed excuses to the lady.
As always, Beauvallet left her without a word to say. Truth to tell she
was glad to have him in Dangerfield's stead, but why could he not ask
her permission?
He sat down in Dangerfield's chair; Dangerfield, with his hand on the
door, paused to say, smiling: "Doña Dominica hath all the luck, sir, as
you shall find."
"And you none, Diccon. I may believe it. But I will back myself against
her. Away with you." He flicked a card out from his hand, and smiled
across the table at Dominica. "To the death, lady!"
Doña Dominica played to his lead in silence. He won the encounter at
length. She bit her lip, but took it with a good grace. "Yes, señor,
you win." She watched him playing with the cards, and folded her hands.
"I shall not pit my skill against yours."
Sir Nicholas put down the pack. "Then let us talk a little," he said.
"It likes me much better. How does Don Manuel find himself?"
A shadow crossed her face. "I think him very sick, señor. I have to
thank you for sending your surgeon to visit him."
"No need of that."
"My father tells me," Dominica said, "that you have sworn to set us
ashore in Spain. Pray, how may you accomplish that?"
"Very simply," Sir Nicholas replied. He held his pomander to his nose,
and over it his eyes twinkled at her.
"Well, señor, and how?" She was impatient. "I've no desire to witness
another fight at sea."
"Nor shall you, fondling. What, do you suppose that Nick Beauvallet
would expose you to the risks Narvaez courted? Shame on you!"
"Señor, are you so mad as to suppose that you can sail into a Spanish
port without a shot being fired?"
"By no means, child. If I did so foolish a thing I might expect a
veritable hailstorm of shot about my head." He threw one leg over the
other, and continued to sniff at his pomander.
"I see, señor, you have no mind to confide in me," said Dominica
stiffly.
His shoulders shook. "Do I not answer your questions? You would know
more? Then ask me prettily, O my Lady Disdain!"
Her eyes fell; she tried a change of front to see what might come of
it. "You have the right to flout me, señor. I am aware that I stand
beholden to you. Yet I think you might use me kindlier."
The pomander fell. "Good lack!" said Beauvallet, startled. "What's
this?" He uncrossed his legs and stretched a hand to her across the
table. "Let there be no such talk betwixt us two, child. Ye stand in
no way beholden to me. Say that I do what I do to please myself, and
cry a truce!" The smile crept into his eyes. "Do I flout you? Now I had
thought that was your part."
"I am helpless in your hands, señor," said Dominica mournfully. "If it
pleases you to make a mock of me you may do so without hindrance."
This failed somewhat of its purpose. "Child, in a little I shall be
constrained to set you on my knee and kiss you," said Beauvallet.
"I am helpless," she repeated, and would not look up.
A quick frown came. He rose from his chair and came to kneel beside
hers. "Now what's your meaning, Dominica? Are you so cowed, so
submissive?" He caught a glimpse of the flash in her eyes and laughed.
"Oh, pretty cheat!" he said softly. "If I dared to touch you you would
be swift to strike."
Her lip quivered irrepressibly; she looked through her lashes. He took
her hand and kissed it. "Well, what is it you would have me tell you?"
he asked.
"If you please," she said meekly, "where will you set us ashore?"
"Some few miles to the west of Santander, sweetheart. There is a
smuggling village there will receive us peaceably."
"Smugglers!" She looked up. "Oh, so you are that, too? I might have
known."
"Nay, nay, acquit me," he smiled. "Look scorn instead upon my fat
boatswain. His is the blame. He was for many years in the trade, and
I believe knows every smuggling port in Europe. We may sail softly in
under cover of night, set you ashore, and be gone again before dawn."
There was a pause. Dominica looked up at the arms on the wall, and said
slowly: "And so ends the adventure."
Sir Nicholas rose to his feet again. "Do you think so indeed?"
She was grave. "In spite of brave words, señor, I think so. Once in
Spain I shall be free--free of you!"
He set his hand on his hip; his other hand played with his beard. She
should have been wary, but she did not know him so well as did his men.
"Lady," said Beauvallet, and she jumped at the note of strong purpose
in his voice, "the first of my name, the founder of my house, had, so
we read, another watchword than that." His hand flew out and pointed
to the scroll beneath his arms. "There is an old chronicle writ by one
Alan, afterwards Earl of Montlice, wherein we learn that Simon, the
first Baron of Beauvallet, took as his motto these words: '_I have not,
but still I hold_.'" His voice rang out, and died again.
"Well, señor?" faltered Dominica.
"I have you not yet, but be sure I hold you," said Beauvallet.
She rallied. "This is folly."
"Sweet folly."
"I do not believe that you would dare set foot in Spain."
"God's Death, do you not? But if I dare, indeed?"
She looked down at her clasped hands.
"Come! If I dare? If I reach to you in Spain, and claim you then? What
answer shall I have?"
She was flushed, and her breast rose and fell fast. "Ah, if there were
a man brave enough to dare so much for love----!"
"He stands before you. What will you give him?"
She got up, a hand at her bosom. "If he dared so much--I should have to
give--myself, señor."
"Remember that promise!" he warned her. "You shall be called upon to
redeem it before a year is out."
She looked fearfully at him. "But how? how?"
"Dear heart," said Beauvallet frankly, "I do not know, but I shall
certainly find a way."
"Oh, an idle boast!" she cried, and went quickly to the door. His voice
stayed her; she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "Well, señor,
what more?"
"My pledge," Beauvallet said, and slipped a ring from his finger. "Keep
Beauvallet's ring until Beauvallet comes to claim it."
She took it, half unwilling. "What need of this?"
"No need, but to remind you, maybe. Keep it close."
It had his arms engraven upon it, a gold piece, heavy and cunningly
wrought. "I will keep it always," she said, "to remind me of--a madman."
He smiled. "Oh, not always, sweetheart! A pledge is sometimes
redeemed--even by a madman."
"Not this one," she said on a sigh, and went out.
It seemed to her in the days that followed that Spain drew near all too
soon. They had fair weather, and for the most part a favourable wind to
bear them home. The Canaries were reached in good time, and Dominica
saw adventure's end in sight. She was gentler now with her impetuous
wooer, but aloof still, refusing to believe him. She let him teach
her English words, and lisped them after him prettily. She forbore
to entangle Master Dangerfield in her wiles: time was too short and
romance too sweet. Maybe she would have been glad enough, saving only
her father's presence, to be borne off to England, a conqueror's prize,
but if she had doubted Beauvallet's good faith at first these doubts
were soon lulled. He meant certainly to take her to Spain. She had both
a sigh and a smile for that, but it is certain that she honoured him
for it. For the rest she might not know what to believe. The man talked
in a heroic vein, and seemed to be undisturbed by any doubt of his own
omnipotence. He would have a poor maid believe him little less than
God. Well, one was not so poor a maid as that. Maybe it pleased his
strange, braggart fancy to cut a fine figure; surely he would forget
just so soon as he set foot on English soil.
Doña Dominica had to admit her heart assailed dangerously. A certain
smile haunted her dreams, and would not be banished. Yet he was a
hardy rogue, surely. She could not say what there was in him to seize
her fancy; he used no courtier tricks, no elegant subtleties. You
would have no dropped knee, no sighs, no fashionable languishings from
Beauvallet. He would have an arm about a maid's waist before she was
aware, snatch a kiss, and be off again on his adventures. Oh, merry
ruffler! He was too direct, thought my lady, too swift, employed no
gentle arts in his wooing. She played with the idea that he was like a
strong wind, vigorous, salt-tanged. He had no repose; he must be here
and there, restless, so charged with vitality that it almost seemed to
brim over. See, too, his challenging eyes, wickedly inviting under the
down-dropped lids! Shame! Shame that one should know an answering leap
of the heart! He would swing past along the deck, a hand on his hip,
careless, heedless; one was bound to watch him, willy-nilly. He might
stop beside his Master a brief while; his quick, gay speech would be
borne back to one in snatches on the wind; one would see him fling out
a pointing hand, give a decisive shake to his neat black head, crack
some jest to set the Master chuckling, and be off down the companion to
mingle amongst his men.
It seemed they held him in some esteem, no little awe. No good came
of an attempt to trifle with Sir Nicholas Beauvallet. He was a
leader to love, but one to fear withal. Doña Dominica, catching at
new-learned English words, heard stray comments, enough to show her
what Beauvallet's men thought of him. They thought him a rare jest, she
gathered, and pondered over the strange mentality of these English, who
spent their time in laughing. They did not behave thus in Spain.
And Spain, with its courtly propriety, its etiquette, and its solemn
grandeur, grew nearer and ever nearer. Mad days at sea were nearly done
now, and adventure was coming to an end. Don Manuel, reclining on his
pillows, spoke of duennas; my lady hid a shudder and turned wistful
eyes towards Beauvallet. To one reared in the freedom of the New World
trammels of the Old would not be welcome. Don Manuel said severely that
he had permitted his daughter too great a license. Faith, the girl
thought for herself, was pert, he doubted, and certainly head-strong.
As witness her behaviour on board the _Santa Maria_. A maid surprised
by piratical marauders should have stood passive, a frozen statue of
martyrdom. A daughter of Spain had no business to kick, and bite, and
scratch, or to brandish daggers and spit venom upon her captors. Don
Manuel had been shocked indeed, but knew her well enough to forbear
comment. He trusted that his sister would find a strict duenna to
govern her. He had marriage plans in mind, too, and hinted as much to
her. He would see her safely bestowed, he said, and drew a fine picture
of her future life. Doña Dominica listened in growing horror, and
escaped from her father's cabin to the free air above.
"Oh!" cried she, "are English ladies so hedged about, and guarded, and
confined, as we poor Spaniards?"
They were in colder latitudes, and the wind bit shrewdly. Beauvallet
loosened the cloak about his shoulders, and clipped it fast about my
lady, so that it fell all about her. "Nay, I'll not confine you, sweet,
but I shall know how to guard my treasure, don't doubt it."
She drew the cloak about her, and looked up, wide-eyed. "Do you in
England set vile duennas to watch your wives?" she asked.
He shook his head. "We trust them, rather!"
Her dimples quivered. "Oh, almost you persuade me, Sir Nicholas!" She
frowned a warning as his hand flew out towards her. "Fie, before your
men? I said 'almost,' señor. Know that my father plans my marriage."
"A careful gentleman," said Beauvallet. "So, faith, do I."
"If you came, indeed, into Spain you might haply find me wed, señor."
A gleam came into his eyes, like a sword, she thought. "Might I so?" he
said, and the words demanded an answer.
She looked away, trembled a little, smiled, frowned, and blushed.
"N-no," she said.
Too soon the day came that saw Spanish shores to the southward. Don
Manuel braved the cold air on deck for a while, and followed the
direction of Beauvallet's pointing finger. "Thereabouts lies Santander,
señor. I shall set you ashore to-night."
The day wore swiftly to its close. Dusk came, and my lady watched
Maria pack her chests. Maria stowed jewels away in a gold-bound box,
and jealously counted each trinket. She could never be at ease amongst
these English, but must always suspect darkly.
My lady was seized by an odd fancy, and demanded to stow her jewels
with her own hands. She took the casket to the light, and laid its
contents out on the table, and debated over them with a look half
rueful, half tender. In the end she chose a thumb ring of gold, too
large for her little hand, too heavy for a lady's taste. She hid it in
her handkerchief and quickly locked up the case that Maria might not
discover the loss of one significant piece.
In the soft darkness of the evening she flitted up on deck, a cloak
wrapped about her, and her oval face pale in the dim lamplight. The
ship made slow way now, the dark water lapping gently at her oaken
sides. There was a little bustle on the deck; she heard the Master's
voice raised: "Steady your helm!" She saw Beauvallet standing under the
light of a swinging lamp, with his boatswain beside him. The boatswain
held a lantern, and was peering into the darkness. Far away to the
south Dominica could see the little glow of lights, and knew that Spain
was reached at last.
She stole up to Beauvallet unseen and laid a timid hand on his arm. He
looked quickly round, and at once his hand covered hers where it lay on
his latticed sleeve. "Why, child!"
"I came--I wanted--I came to speak with you a minute," she said
uncertainly.
He drew her apart, and stood looking down at her quizzically. "Speak,
child, I am listening."
Her hand came out from the shelter of her cloak; in it she held the
golden ring. "Señor, you gave me a ring of yours to keep. I--I think
you will never see me again, and so--and so I would have you take this
ring of mine in memory of me."
The ring and the hand that held it were alike caught in a strong hold.
She was swept out of the circle of light cast by the lamp above, and
stood face to face with Beauvallet in the friendly darkness. She felt
his arms go round her, and stood still, with her hands clasped at her
breast. He held her in a tight embrace, laid his cheek against her
curls, and murmured: "Sweetheart! Fondling!" Madness, madness, but it
was sweet to be mad just once in one's life! She lifted her face, put
up a hand to touch his bronzed cheek, and gave him back kisses that
were shy and very fugitive. Her senses swam; she thought she would
never forget how an Englishman's arms felt, iron barriers holding one
hard against a leaping heart. A shiver of ecstasy ran through her; she
whispered: "_Querido!_ Dear one! Do not quite forget!"
"Forget!" he said. "Oh, little unbeliever! Feel how I hold you: shall I
ever let you go?"
She came back to earth; she was blushing and shaken. "Oh, loose me!"
she begged, and seemed to flutter in his arms. "How may I believe that
you could do the impossible?"
"There is naught impossible that I have found," he said. "You shall
leave me for a space, since to that I pledged my word, but not for
long, my little love, not for long! Look for me before the year is out;
I shall surely come."
A rich voice sounded close at hand. "Where are you, sir? They answer
the signal right enough."
Beauvallet put the lady quickly behind him; the boatswain came to them,
peering through the darkness.
What followed passed as a dream for Dominica. There was a furtive light
dipping and shining on the mainland; she escaped below decks, and saw
her baggage borne away, and heard the bustle of a boat being prepared.
Don Manuel sat ready, wrapped about in a fur-lined cloak, but shivering
always. "He hath compassed it," Don Manuel said in quiet satisfaction.
"He is a brave man."
Master Dangerfield came to fetch them in a little while; he gave an arm
to Don Manuel, spoke words of cheer, but cast a regretful eye towards
my lady. They came up on deck and found Beauvallet by a rope-ladder.
Below, bobbing on the ink-black water, a boat waited, manned by the
boatswain and some of his men, and with the baggage stowed safely in it.
Sir Nicholas came forward. "Don Manuel, have you strength to descend
yon ladder?"
"I can essay, señor," Don Manuel said. "Bartolomeo, go before me." He
faced Beauvallet in the shaded lamplight. "Señor, this is farewell. You
will let me say----"
"No need, señor. Let it be said anon. I shall see you safely ashore."
"Yourself, señor? Nay, that is too much to ask of you."
"Be at ease, ye did not ask it. It is my pleasure," Beauvallet said,
and put out a strong hand to help him down the ladder.
Don Manuel went painfully down the side with Bartolomeo watchful
below him. Beauvallet turned to Dominica, and opened his arms. "Trust
yourself to me yet again, sweetheart," he said.
Without a word she went to him and let him swing her up to his
shoulder. He went lightly down the side with her, let her slip to her
feet in the boat below, and held her still with one supporting hand.
She found a seat beside Maria, crouched in the stern, and nestled
beside her. Beauvallet left the ladder and gained the boat, stepped
past the two women to the tiller behind them, and called a low order
to his men. There was a casting off, long oars dipped into the heaving
water; silently the boat cleaved forward towards the land.
A crescent moon gleamed suddenly through a rift in the clouds above;
Dominica looked round and saw Beauvallet behind her, holding the
tiller. He was looking frowningly ahead, but as she turned he glanced
down at her and smiled. She said suddenly on a sharp note of fear: "Ah,
if there should be soldiers! A trap!"
His white teeth shone between the black of beard and mustachio. "Never
fear."
"Foolhardy!" she whispered. "I would you had not come."
"What, and send my men into a danger I dare not face?" he rallied her.
She looked at him, so straight and handsome in the pale moonlight. "No,
that is not your way," she said. "I cry pardon."
The clouds covered the moon's face again; Beauvallet was a dark shadow
against the night. "I have a sword, child. Fear not."
"Rather, Reck Not," she said in a low voice.
She heard the ripple of his gay laugh.
Soon, too soon, the boat's keel grated on the beach. There were men
running down to meet them now, men who caught at the boat, and held
her, and questioned eagerly, in low, rough Spanish. Sir Nicholas picked
his way across the baggage, and between the rowers to the nose of the
boat, and sprang ashore, closely followed by his boatswain. There was
the quick give and take of question and answer, a sharp exclamation, a
subdued babel of voices in a long parley. Then Beauvallet came back to
the boat, with the sea washing about his ankles, and gave his hand to
Don Manuel. "All is well, señor; these worthy fellows will give you a
lodging for the night, and your man may ride into Santander to-morrow
to find a coach to bear you hence."
A burly sailor lifted Don Manuel on to dry land; his daughter lay in
tenderer arms. She was carried up the beach, held closer still for a
moment. Beauvallet bent his head and kissed her. "Till I come again!"
he said, and set her on her feet. "Trust me!"