DEALS, AMONG OTHER THINGS, WITH TREASONABLE MATTERS
"Mrs. Agatha, mam," said the Sergeant, rubbing his square chin with the
handle of the shears he had just been using, "he aren't been the same
since that there night in the orchard! He be a-fading, mam, a-fading
and perishing away afore my very eyes. He aren't ate this day so much
as would keep a babe alive let alone a man like him, six foot and one
inch, mam. Consequently, this morning I did feel called upon to
re-monstrate as in dooty bound mam, and he said--so meek, so mild--so
gentle as any bleating lamb, he says to me, says he----"
The Sergeant paused to heave a sigh and shake gloomy head.
"What did he say, Sergeant?"
"Mam, he says, says he--'Damn your eyes, Sergeant Zeb!' says he--but so
mild and meek as any sucking dove----"
"Doves don't suck, Sergeant--at least I don't think so, and they never
swear, I'm sure!"
"But, Mrs. Agatha mam, so meek he said it, so soft and mournful as my
'eart did bleed for him--his honour as could curse and swear so gay and
hearty when needful! He says to me 'Zeb,' says he 'damn your eyes!' he
says so sweet as any piping finch, mam." Here the Sergeant sighed
heavily. "What's more, mam, he do talk o' marching off campaigning
again."
"You mean to fight in more wars and battles?" she enquired with a catch
in her voice.
"Aye mam, I do, and if he goes--I go as in dooty bound." Here fell a
silence wherein Mrs. Agatha stared down at her basketful of roses and
the Sergeant stared at her and rubbed his chin with the shears again.
"Mam," said he suddenly, "a fortnight ago, being the thirtieth ultimo,
towards three o'clock in the arternoon you did give me a little gold
cross which is with me now and shall be hereafter living and dead Amen!"
"O Sergeant!" she said softly; and then "I'm glad you haven't lost it!"
"A fortnight ago mam," continued the Sergeant, "also towards three
o'clock in the arternoon I--kissed you and the--the memory o' that kiss
is never a-going to fade mam. You'll mind as I kissed you, mam?"
"Did you, Sergeant?"
"Ha' you forgot, mam?"
"Almost!" she answered softly, whereupon the Sergeant took a swift pace
nearer, halted suddenly and turning away again, went on speaking:
"I kissed you for three reasons, same being as hereunder namely and
viz. to wit, first because I wanted to, second because your pretty red
lips was too near and too rosy to resist and third because I did mean
to beg o' you to--to be--my wife."
"Did you--Zebedee?"
"I did so--then, but now I--I can't----"
"Why not--Zebedee?"
"Dooty mam, dooty forbids."
"You mean 'duty,' Sergeant," she corrected him gently.
"Dooty mam, pre-cisely! 'Tis his honour the Major, I thought as he
were set on matrimony 'stead o' which I now find he's set on
campaigning again, he talks o' nothing else o' late--and if he goes--I
go. And if I go I can't ask you to wed--'twouldn't be fair."
"And why does he want to go?"
"Witchcraft, mam, devils, sorcery, black magic, and damned spells.
Mrs. Agatha I do tell you he are not been his own man since he
saw--what he saw i' the orchard t'other night."
"And what was that?" enquired Mrs. Agatha, glancing up bright-eyed from
her fragrant basketful of roses.
"A apparation in form o' the dev--no, the devil in form of a
apparation, mam."
"Fiddlededee!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha. The Sergeant jumped and stared.
"Mam!" said he in gentle reproach, "don't say that--ghosts is serious
and----"
"A fiddle-stick for your ghost! 'Twould take more than a shade to put
his honour off his food, Sergeant Zebedee Tring! The question is, who
was your ghost? What was he like?"
"Why since you're for cross-examinating me, I'll confess I caught but a
glimpse of same, same having vanished itself away afore my very eyes."
"Where to?"
"Into my Lady Carlyon's garden, mam, and it dissolved itself so
quick----"
"Tut!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha,
"Tut is very well, mam, and--vastly fetching as you say it but none the
less----"
"Ha' done Sergeant and let me think! Tell me, the night you went
ghost-seeking did you catch ever a one--a man, say?"
"Aye, I did so, mam--one o' these London sparks and very fierce he were
too!"
"Which one? What like was he!" With the aid of the shears Sergeant
Zebedee described the trespasser very fully as regards face, costume
and behaviour.
"That," said Mrs. Agatha, nodding her pretty head, "that should be Mr.
Dalroyd--
"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "how d'ye know this, mam?"
"Well, Sergeant, I do chance to have eyes, also ears and I do use 'em.
This fine gentleman was your ghost t'other night, I'll swear."
"But what o' the hoofs and horns, mam, what o' the stink o' brimstone?"
"Have you seen ever a one yourself, Sergeant, or smelt the brimstone?"
"No mam, but Roger Bent has."
"Fiddlededee again, Sergeant!"
"Eh mam?"
"Roger Bent would see or smell anything. The question is what was Mr.
Dalroyd after? Since you can't find out--I will."
"As how, mam?"
"By wagging my tongue, Sergeant."
"At--who, mam?"
"Well, to begin with there is his solemn servant, Mr. Joseph----"
The Sergeant swore fiercely.
"No mam," said he frowning, "not him nor any like him. He aren't fit
for you to walk on--'twould dirty your pretty shoes----"
"But I don't mean to walk on him, nor spoil my shoes."
"Then don't hold no truck with him, mam--if you do----" the Sergeant
set his grim jaw fiercely.
"Well--what?"
"I shall be compelled to--out with his liver mam, that's all!"
"Lud, Sergeant Tring."
"Bound to do it, Mrs. Agatha, so--keep away from same----"
"Sergeant, don't be a fool! I must use him to find out and why do you
think I want to find out?"
"Being a woman--curiosity belike?"
"Being a blockhead you must be told!" cried Mrs. Agatha, her eyes
flashing, "I want to find out the Major's trouble to make an end of the
Major's trouble because I would keep him here at home. And I would
keep him at home because then he won't go a-marching off to the wars,
and if he don't go marching to the wars, why then--then----"
"Yes, yes mam--then?"
"Then--find out!" cried Mrs. Agatha her cheeks very red all at once;
and she sped away into the house leaving the Sergeant to stare after
her and rub his chin with the shears harder than ever. He was so
engaged when he was aware of the approach of rapid hoofs and, glancing
down the drive, beheld a cavalier swing in at the open gates and come
thundering towards him.
The Viscount rode at his usual speed, a stretching gallop; on he came
beneath the long avenue of chestnuts, horse hoofs pounding, curls
flying, coat-skirts fluttering, nor checked his pace until he was
almost upon the Sergeant, then he reined up in full career and was
himself on terra firma almost in the same instant.
"Ha, Zeb," he sighed, drooping in modish languor, "split me, but I'm
glad to see that square phiz o' thine, 'tis positive tanic after
London, I vow! How goeth rusticity, Zeb?"
"As well as can be expected, my lord!"
"And the Major?"
"As well as can be hoped, sir, what with devils, apparations,
witchcraft, magic, sorcery and hocus-pocus, m' lud!"
"Gad save my perishing soul!" exclaimed the Viscount, "What's it all
mean, Zeb?"
"Well, Master Pancras sir, it do mean--nay, yonder cometh his honour to
tell you himself, mayhap." Saying which, Sergeant Zebedee led the
Viscount's horse away to the stables while his lordship, knocking dust
from his slender person, went to greet the Major.
"Sir," said he as they clasped hands, "'tis real joy to see you again,
but pray discover me the why and wherefore of the gruesome nightmare?"
and he shook reproachful head at the Ramillie coat.
"'Tis easy, Tom, old and comfortable, d'ye see, while my new ones are
so--so plaguy fine and overpowering as 'twere, so to speak, that I feel
scarce worthy of 'em. So I--I treasure 'em, Tom, for--for great
occasions and the like----"
"A grave fallacy, nunk! Modish garments must be worn whiles the
prevailing fashion holds--to-day they are the mode, to-morrow, the
devil! Fashion, sir, is coquettish as woman or weathercock, 'tis for
ever a-veering, already there is a new button-hole."
"Indeed, Tom! Egad you stagger me!"
"Cansequently sir, being a dutiful nephew, I took thought to order you
three more new suits--
"The devil you did!"
"Having special regard to this new button-hole, sir----"
"These will make nine o' them!" sighed the Major.
"Your pardon, sir, exactly thirty-one, neither more or less!"
"Good God, Tom!" ejaculated the Major, halting on the terrace-steps to
stare h is amazement, "Thirty-one of 'em? How the deuce----"
"Cut aslant, d'ye see, nunky, and arabesqued with lace of gold or
silver----"
"But, nephew--a Gad's name, what am I to do with so many--d'ye take me
for a regiment? 'Tis 'gainst all reason for a man to wear thirty-one
suits of----"
"Sir, I allude to button-holes!"
"Thank heaven!" murmured the Major.
"Moreover sir, there is, late come in, a new cravat--a poorish thing
with nought to commend it save simplicity. It seems you throw it round
your neck, get your fellow to twist it behind till you're well-nigh
choked to death, bring the ends over your shoulders, loop 'em through a
brooch and 'tis done. I propose to show you after supper."
"Hum!" said the Major dubiously. "Meantime a bottle won't be amiss
after your long ride, I judge? Come in, Tom, come in and tell me of
your adventures."
"Thank'ee, sir, though t' be sure I drapped in at the "George" on my
way hither--left my two rogues there with my baggage. Which reminds me
I have a letter for you." Diving into his coat-pocket he brought forth
the missive in question and tendered it to the Major who took it, broke
the seal and read.
"To Major d'Arcy these:
We, the undersigned, do solicit the honour of your company this night,
to sup with Bacchus, the Heavenly Nine, and
Yours to command:
B. TRIPP.
ALVASTON.
A. MARCHDALE.
H. WEST, CAPT.
ALTON.
J. DENHOLM."
"I don't see Mr. Dalroyd's name here, Tom!" said the Major,
thoughtfully, as he led the way into the house.
"Nay sir, I protest Dalroyd's a queer fish! But as to this cravat I
was describing, 'tis a modification of the Steenkirk----" and the
Viscount plunged into a long and particular account of the article,
while in obedience to the Major's command, bottle and glasses made
their appearance.
"But surely 'tis not a question of clothes hath kept you in London this
week and more, Tom?"
"Nay sir, I've been on a quest. London, O pink me 'tis a very
dog-hole, 'tis no place for a gentleman these days unless he chance to
be a Whig or a damned Hanoverian----"
"Hold, Tom!" said the Major, his quick eyes roving from door to
lattice. "Have a care, lad!"
"Nay sir, I know I'm safe to speak out here and to you, Whig though you
be. Of late I've perforce kept such ward upon my tongue 'tis a joy to
let it wag. Indeed, nunky, London's an ill place for some of us these
times, party feeling high. 'Tis for this reason you find Alvaston and
Ben and Alton and the rest of 'em rusticating here, not to mention--my
lady Bet."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Major. "You don't mean that she--she is not----?"
"No sir! But there is her brother, poor Charles is bit deep, he
crossed the Border with Derwentwater last year."
"I feared so!" sighed the Major, frowning at his half-emptied glass.
"And you, Tom, you're not----?"
"Sir, my rascally father, as you'll mind, was a staunch Whig and
Hanoverian, naturally and consequently I'm Tory and Jacobite----"
"Softly, Tom, softly!" said the Major, his keen eyes wandering again.
"Well, sir!" continued the Viscount, leaning across the table and
lowering his voice, "When Charles and young Dick Eversleigh rode for
the Border last year I had half a mind to ride with 'em. But Betty was
in London and London's the devil of a way from Carlisle. Yesterday,
sir, I walked under Temple Bar and there was poor Eversleigh's head
grinning down at me.... Like as not mine would ha' been along with it
but for Bet. As for Charles, 'twas thought he'd got safe away to
France with Mar and the others, but now word comes he was wounded and
lay hid. And sir, though I've sounded every source of news in London
and out, not another word can I hear save that he's a proscribed rebel
with a price on his head and the hue and cry hot after him. Sir, poor
Charles is my childhood's friend--and lieth distressed, hiding for his
life somewhere 'twixt London and the Border, the question is--where?"
"Here, Tom!" answered the Major softly, "Here in this village of
Westerham!"
The Viscount half rose from his chair, fell back again and quite forgot
his affectations.
"Sir--d'ye mean it? Here?"
"Three nights ago he was with my lady Betty--in her garden!"
"With Betty--good God!" exclaimed the Viscount and, springing from his
chair, began to pace up and down. "'Twill never do, uncle, 'twill
never do--he must be got away at all hazards. Charles hath been cried
'Traitor' and 'Rebel'--his property is already confiscate and himself
outlaw--and 'none may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies' on
pain of death. He must be got away--at once! Should he be found
'neath Betty's care she would be attainted too, imprisoned and
belike--Sir, you'll perceive he must be got away at once!"
"True!" said the Major, fingering his wine-glass.
"There none knoweth of his presence here, I trust, uncle--none save you
and Betty?"
"None! Stay!" The Major leaned back and began to drum his fingers
softly on the arms of his chair. "Tom," he enquired at last, "who is
Mr. Dalroyd?"
"Dalroyd is--Dalroyd, sir. Everyone knows him in town--at White's,
Lockett's, the Coca Tree, O Dalroyd is known everywhere."
"What d'you know of him, personally?"
"That he's reputed to play devilish high and to be a redoubtable
duellist with more than one death on his hands and--er--little beyond.
But Ben knows him, 'twas Ben introduced him, ask Ben, sir. But what of
him?"
"Just this, Tom, if there is another person in the world who knows of
my Lord Medhurst's present hiding-place 'tis Mr. Dalroyd and if there
is one man in the world I do not trust it is--Mr. Dalroyd."
The Viscount sat down, swallowed a glass of wine and stared blankly at
the toe of his dusty riding-boot.
"Why then, sir," said he at last, "this makes it but the more
imperative to have Charles away at once. I must get him over to my
place in Sussex, 'tis quiet there, sir--God! I must contrive it one
way or another and the sooner the better, but how sir, how?"
"'None may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies on pain of death,'
Tom," quoted the Major, gently.
The Viscount flicked a patch of dust from the skirts of his coat.
"Sir," said he, "Charles is my friend!"
"And--my lady's brother, Tom!"
"Perfectly, sir! I shall endeavour to get him to my Sussex place and
hide him there until I have arranged for him to cross safely into
France."
"Precisely, Tom!"
"The question is--how? All the coast-roads are watched of course!"
said the Viscount in deep perplexity. "Ben would help, so would Alton
or Alvaston but 'twould be asking them to put their heads in a noose
and I can't do it, sir!"
"Certainly not, Tom! 'Tis an awkward posture of affairs and--therefore
you may--er--count upon my aid to the very uttermost, of course."
The Viscount took out his snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and shut it
up again.
"Uncle," said he at last, "nunky--sir--" suddenly he rose and caught
the Major's hand, gripping it hard: "Gad prasper me sir, I think--yes I
think, I'd better--step upstairs and rid me of some o' this Kentish
dust."
As he spoke the Viscount turned and strode from the room leaving the
Major deep in anxious thought.