The big coach that bore Dominica away from Madrid pushed northwards
with what speed it could make. Four horses dragged it, and these were
changed at every post. For a lady of such natural indolence Doña
Beatrice moved swiftly when she chose to move at all.
The coach was decked with plumes upon the roof, hung with leather
curtains that could be fastened at will, and fitted with padded
seats of red velvet. The body was of the newest kind, slung on stout
leather straps, which helped to ease the discomfort of the journey.
It was roomy enough to accommodate not only the two ladies, but their
tirewomen as well, and a number of packages and bags. Behind it came
lackeys with led sumpters; beside it rode guards of the Carvalho
household, decked out in their master's livery, making a brave show of
it on this journey through the country. Dominica, listlessly regarding
this cavalcade, reflected that if her aunt feared to be overtaken by El
Beauvallet she had a very ample guard to protect her from this one man.
Changes of horses had been bespoken beforehand at each stage. None but
the strongest Flemish horses were harnessed to the equipage, and these
great powerful beasts drew them rapidly on their way.
The post-road was full of pot-holes, and deep ruts, hard-baked by the
sun; at times it was a mere track across the plain, at others it became
a rocky mountain pass, where the number of horses had to be doubled to
drag the coach up. They slept at inns along the road, but the coach
never stopped until it was too dark to go further, and it was off again
betimes in the morning. When Dominica wearily asked the reason of such
insensate haste her aunt only smiled, and said:--"When I rouse myself
to undertake such a disagreeable journey as this, my dear, I waste no
time over it."
The lady beguiled much of the tedium of the journey by sly references
to Beauvallet, left behind them. She veiled her words, out of
consideration of the listening tirewomen, but Dominica was never in any
doubt as to her meaning.
Dominica, jolted and bumped in her corner of the coach was not at a
loss for suitable answers. They came out very pat, and had an edge to
them. Doña Beatrice chuckled softly, and pinched the girl's cheek, not
at all ruffled.
This cat-and-mouse play was not to be borne. Dominica made a bid for
freedom, and announced her wish to ride part of the way. To sit in a
bumping, lurching coach, she said, day upon day, irked her sorely. With
her aunt's good leave she would have a horse saddled for her on the
morrow, and ride for at least an hour or two.
"How restless you are, my dear!" remarked Doña Beatrice. "By all means
do as you please. Young blood cannot be still? But I do not know that
it is at all seemly."
"There will be none to see me, aunt, and I have not been used to be
cooped up," Dominica said.
"True," agreed Doña Beatrice, and disposed herself to slumber.
On the morrow it was so ordered. Dominica came down from her chamber
at the inn in riding-dress, fully prepared to fight for the privilege
she claimed. However, there was no need. Doña Beatrice merely said that
it was a pity Don Diego was not there to act as escort, and told a
groom to stay near his young mistress.
Dominica carried a heavy heart in her breast, but could still enjoy
this spell of exercise and of freedom. There had been little enough
riding for her since she had come back to Spain. She remembered long
gallops at Santiago, and knew a little of the same joyous feeling of
freedom as she had had there. She rode well, had no fear, and led the
groom a fine chase at a full gallop. She reined in at last, flushed and
wind-tossed, breathed her horse a moment, and went cantering back to
meet the lumbering coach.
Her aunt had had the curtains drawn back, and greeted her with a
quizzical look. "You are a very Diana, my dear. Were you riding to
escape from me?"
Dominica tucked an escaped curl back under her French hood. "No,
señora, I doubt it would be of no avail," she said frankly.
She came presently to sit in the coach again, but thereafter it was
understood that when my lady willed it so she would ride, and there was
always to be a horse procured for her.
Away from her aunt's side she had leisure to indulge her thoughts. They
could not be pleasant. Not even Joshua's stout optimism could allay her
fears. She felt herself to be a traitress, flying from Beauvallet in
his hour of need, yet Joshua had seemed to think she did well to go,
and indeed what could she do by remaining, even had it been possible?
If they had chosen to interrogate her she would have fought with all
her woman's wit for Beauvallet, but they had not chosen. Oh, if she
were a man she would fight for him in other ways than that! Her eyes
kindled to the thought, and her hand clenched on her whip.
If she could believe that Sir Nicholas would escape she might play
with the fancy of him in pursuit, even now as she rode from him. She
imagined him hard on her heels, spurring on and on, riding down this
stately equipage. She could imagine how his sword would flash out, how
he would snatch her up, and ride off with her, laughing, triumphant.
She had to shake the tears from her eyes; the gay lover was caught and
prisoned, and would no more come riding to win her.
They came within a stage of Vasconosa upon the tenth day. The labouring
lackeys swore softly against such haste. "One would say the devil was
on our heels."
Dominica overheard the phrase. If Sir Nicholas had been behind they
would be very sure the devil was on their heels, she thought.
There was a stream to be forded; the coach lurched down the bank, and
the shallow waters lapped round the wheels. Dominica's horse chose to
jib at the stream, sidled, and backed, but was forced on. She went
through, climbed the slope beyond, and reined in to await the coach.
There was some trouble over this; the wheels sank into the mud of the
stream-bed, and the great horses strained in vain. The men were all
about the coach, pushing, gesticulating, arguing. It was decided to
rope two saddle horses to the coach.
There came a thunder of hooves to the north, behind Dominica. She
turned her head, and saw a troop riding towards her, _ventre à terre_.
Her eyes narrowed in surprise; the horsemen came nearer, and she saw
masked faces. She cried out in swift alarm, wheeled her horse about,
and went quickly down the slope to where the coach still stuck in the
stream. "Bandits!" she said. "A troop of masked men! Get to horse!"
The men left their task of extricating the coach. Two of the guards
sprang into the saddle at once; the coachman got out his musket.
Doña Beatrice leaned back at her ease. "Did you say bandits, my dear? I
can hardly credit it."
"Masked men, señora. I know not, but I misliked what I saw."
Doña Beatrice looked round at her bodyguard, and yawned. "Well, and if
you did, my dear, we have guards enough to give them a fine scare. Do
not be alarmed."
"I am not alarmed," said Dominica with dignity.
The troop appeared over the top of the slope, cloaked men, with gauze
masks covering their faces. A shot sounded, there was a flash of
steel; the bandits came scrambling down the slope to engage with Doña
Beatrice's bodyguard.
Dominica thought there were no more than six of them, but she could not
be sure in the _mêlée_. Her heart beat fast, but there was something
about this battle that made her draw her brows together, and look
frowningly. There were pistol shots, but no man was wounded; swords
flashed, but no man was cut down.
Doña Beatrice's fan stopped waving. Her eyes were narrow all at once,
and behind them her brain was moving quickly. She sat forward with a
hand on the side of the coach, watching this odd fray.
Dominica knew a sudden, inexplicable fear. She brought her horse up
close to the coach. "Señora--aunt--what is this?" she asked urgently.
"That is just what I am asking myself," said Doña Beatrice calmly. "If
these men are brigands they act as no brigands did that I ever heard
of."
A couple of the masked men spurred up to the coach; a hand seized
Dominica's bridle. She slashed at the masked face with her whip; the
leather thong cut the mask across, and revealed an unshaven chin, a
thick nose, and the fast rising weal of the whip-lash. The whip was
wrested from Dominica's hand. She cried out to her guards:--"To me! To
me, cravens!"
They were sheepish, laying down their arms, as though worsted in the
fight. Yet there was not a man among them who had taken a hurt.
Dominica drove her heel in hard, struck at the hand on her bridle. Her
horse plunged forward, but her captor jerked it up. "Help me, cowards!"
Dominica cried furiously.
Doña Beatrice had half risen from her seat as though she would descend
from the coach. She sank slowly back now, her eyes fixed under their
drooping lids on a masked horseman who stood a little apart from the
rest. She watched him turn his head to give an order to one of the men.
She could not hear his voice, but she had no need to hear it. A woman
should know her own son.
Her hand felt for her fan. Thoughtfully she looked at her niece, being
forced on up the slope. A very infamous proceeding. She was surprised
that Diego should think of such a scheme. Her shoulders shook
slightly; meditatively she bit one finger-nail. Should she put a stop
to it or no? She had no doubt that a word from her would subdue Don
Diego, but should that word be spoken? This was a crude performance, by
her standards, but she admitted she could have thought of no surer way
of reducing her niece to obedience.
She slightly raised her ample shoulders in a gesture of fatalism. Let
Don Diego do as he chose: a girl never liked a man less for being shown
the strong hand. She turned her attention to her screaming tirewoman.
"I beg you will be quiet," she said. "We are not attacked, and you do
no good by that screeching."
Old Carmelita pointed a shaking finger. "Señora, señora, they bear off
the señorita!"
"I am not blind," said Doña Beatrice. "I can do nothing to the purpose.
Pray you be calm."
The masked riders had closed round Dominica; in another moment they
were over the brow of the slope, and had gone out of sight.
One of the guards came to the side of the coach, pushed on by his
fellows, and mumbled something inarticulate.
"I suppose you to know what you are about," said Doña Beatrice sharply.
"Pray do not think me a want-wit. What did Don Diego pay you for this
piece of work?"
The man was put out of countenance, shifted uneasily from one foot to
the other, and stammered an unmeaning answer.
"You are a fool," said Doña Beatrice. She had resumed her fanning. A
movement of the fan beckoned the coachman forward. "Where is my son
taking Doña Dominica?" she asked languidly.
"Señora--it--I do not know," said the coachman.
"You would be better advised to speak the truth," said Doña Beatrice.
The coachman looked at her, and seemed to think she might be right.
"Señora, to the lodge."
"Ah!" said Doña Beatrice. "Who else is there?"
"Señora, none but Luis, the valet."
"You shock me," said the lady. "I think you had better set yourself to
pull the coach out of this stream."