HOW THE SERGEANT RECOUNTED AN OLD STORY
Viscount Merivale sat alone in the hutch-like sentry-box; his handsome
face was unduly grave, his brow care-worn and he bit at his carefully
tended nails, which last was a thing in him quite phenomenal.
All at once he clenched his fist and smote it softly on the table:
"Damn him!" he muttered and sat scowling at his torn nails. "Ha,
madam, it seems you are like to be the death o' me yet! ... O Woman!
... Howbeit, fight him I will!" Here, chancing to lift his frowning
gaze, he saw the Sergeant approaching with a spade on his shoulder.
"What, Zebedee!" he called. The Sergeant glanced round, wheeled and,
halting before the arbour, stood at attention. "Ha, Zeb, good old Zeb,
come your ways. Sit down, yes, yes, here beside me. I'm beset by
devils, Zeb, devils damned of deepest blue, your honest phiz shall
fright 'em hence, mayhap--stay though!" The Viscount rose and drew his
sword: "That lunge o' yours in tierce, Zeb, 'tis a sweet stroke and
sufficiently deadly, show me the 'haviour on't. 'Twas somewhat on this
wise as I remember." And falling into a graceful fencing posture, the
Viscount made his long, narrow blade flash and dart viciously while
Sergeant Zebedee, taking himself by the chin, watched with the eye of a
connoisseur. "'Twas so, I think, Zeb?" The Sergeant smiled grimly and
shook his head.
"You've got same all mixed up wi' fashionable school-play, Master
Pancr--Tom, my lud, which though pretty ain't by no means the real
thing."
"How so, Zebedee?"
"Why sir, this here posturing and flourishing is well enough a-'twixt
fine gentlemen as happens to draw on each other after a bottle or to
wipe out an ill word in a drop or so o' blood--yes. But 'tis different
when you're opposite a skilled duellist as means to kill. His honour
the Major now, he learned in a hard school and his honour learned me."
"He's had several affairs I think, Zeb?"
"Twenty and two, sir!"
"Ha!" sighed the Viscount, "I've had one and got pricked in the thigh!
Here, show me the way on't, Sergeant." So saying, he turned weapon
across forearm and bowing in true academic manner, proffered the
jewelled hilt to the Sergeant who took it, tested spring and balance of
the blade with practised hands, saluted and fell to the "engage"; then
he lunged swiftly and recovered, all in a moment.
"'Tis a stroke hard to parry, sir!" said he.
"Gad love me!" sighed the Viscount, "do't again Zeb--slowly man and
with explanations."
"Why look'ee sir, 'tis a trick o' the wrist on the disengage. You are
in tierce--so, your point bearing so--very good! You play a thrust,
thus d'ye see, then--whip! up comes your point and you follow in with a
lunge--so! Try it, my lud."
"Hum!" said the Viscount, taking back his sword.
But having "tried it" once or twice with very indifferent success, he
shook his head and, sheathing his weapon, sat down again and grew more
despondent than ever. "Sit ye down, Zeb," said he, "the blue devils
have me sure."
"Devils, Master Tom sir," said the Sergeant, seating himself on the
bench his own hands had contrived, "I aren't nowise surprised, same do
haunt the place o' late, this here orchard being 'witched d'ye see and
full o' hocus-pocus."
"'Tis hard to believe, Zeb, what with the sky so blue and the grass all
dappled with sunlight. Nay 'tis a fair world, Zeb, and hard to leave.
Life's a desirable thing and hard to lose! Save us! What a world
'twould be if all women were sweet as they seemed and men as true!"
"Sure there's a deal o' roguery i' the world Master Pancras--Tom, sir!
As witness--last night!"
The Viscount winced, muttered between clenched teeth and scowled at his
fist again:
"Is the Major come home yet?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir. Come in along with Lord Cleeve, same as served under his
honour years agone."
"How were they, Zeb?"
"His honour oncommon solemn and my lord oncommon talkative--wouldn't
nowise part wi' his boots, threatened to shoot the first man as dared
touch same. Last night must ha' been--a night, sir!"
"Aye!" nodded the Viscount absently. "You told me last night you
actually caught the fellow one night--in the orchard here?"
"Fellow, my lud?"
"Mr. Dalroyd."
"I so did, sir--same being in the act o' scaling wall--taking my lady's
garden by escalade as ye might say."
"'Twas Dalroyd, you're--quite sure, Zeb?"
"If 'twasn't--'twere a ghost sir."
"What d'ye mean?"
"The ghost of an officer of Ogle's as his honour killed in Flanders in
a duel, Master Tom."
"Ah!" said the Viscount thoughtfully. "A duel!"
"Aye, sir, only this man's name were Effingham."
"A duel!" repeated the Viscount. "'Twas over a woman of course?"
"Aye sir, and an evil tale it is and I'm a man o' few words--but if so
be you've a mind for't----"
"I have, Zeb--proceed----"
"Well, it seems this Captain Effingham with his company had took
prisoner a French officer in his own chateau, d'ye see, and meant to
shoot same in the morning for a spy. But to Captain Effingham comes
the officer's wife--young she was and very handsome, and implored the
Captain to mercy, which he agreed to if she'd consent to----"
"I take you, Zeb!"
"'Twas for her husband's life and she was very young, sir--I chanced to
see her arterwards. So the Captain had his way. Next morning, very
early, comes a roll o' musketry. She leaps out o' bed, runs to the
lattice and there's her husband being carried by--dead! So she falls
distracted and kills herself wi' the Captain's sword and arter comes
his honour the Major and kills the Captain. 'Twas a pretty bout, sir,
for the Captain was a master at rapier-play and famous duellist--laid
his honour's head open from eye to ear at the first pass and, what wi'
the blood-flow and heavy boots I thought his honour was done for more
than once--and if he had been, well--I had finger on trigger and
'twould ha' been no murder--him!"
"The Major killed him?"
"Dead as mutton, sir."
"Did you bury the villain?"
"No time, sir, we were a flanking party on a forced march, d'ye see."
"And you say Dalroyd is like him?"
"As one musket-ball to another, Master Tom."
"And she was young and beautiful, Zeb?"
"About my lady Betty's age sir, and much such another."
"Ah!" murmured the Viscount and scowled at his fist again. "Look'ee
Zeb, 'tis my fancy to master that thrust, every morning when you've
done with the Major you shall fence a bout or so with me, eh?"
"'Twill be joy, Master Tom."
"But, mark this Zeb, none must know of it--especially my uncle. I--I'm
minded to surprise him. So not a word and----"
On the warm, sunny air rose a woman's voice rich, sonorous and clear,
singing a plaintive melody. The Viscount rose, flicked a speck from
velvet coat-skirts and, crossing the orchard, swung himself astride the
wall. My lady Betty was gathering a posy; at the Viscount's sudden
appearance she broke off her song, swept him a curtsey then, standing
tall and gracious, shook white finger at him.
"Naughty lad!" said she. "Since when have you taken to philandering in
country lanes after midnight?"
The Viscount actually gasped; then took out his snuff-box, fumbled with
it and put it away again.
"I--I--Gad preserve me, Bet!" he stammered, "what d'ye mean?"
"I mean, my poor Pancras, since when ha' you taken to spying on me?"
The Viscount's cheek flushed, then he leaned suddenly forward his hands
tight-clenched:
"Betty," said he, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "O Bet, in God's
name why d'you meet a man of Dalroyd's repute--alone and at such an
hour?" My lady's clear gaze never wavered and she laughed gaily:
"Dear Pancras," she cried, "your tragical airs are ill-suited to the
top of a wall! Prithee come down to earth, smooth that face of care,
dear creature, and let us quarrel agreeably as of yore!"
The Viscount obeyed slowly and looking a little grim:
"Look'ee Bet," said he as they trod the tiled walk together, "I have
lived sufficiently long in this world to know that the mind of a woman
is beyond a man's comprehension and that she herself is oft-times the
sport of every idle whim----"
"'Tis a Daniel come to judgment! O excellent young man!'" she mocked.
Whereat the Viscount became a little grimmer as he continued:
"Yet, because my regard for you is true and sincere, I do most humbly
implore you to forego this madcap whim----"
"Whim, Viscount Merivale, my lord?"
"Aye--whim, fancy, mischief--call it what you will! 'Tis impossible
you can love the fellow and not to be thought on."
"Dear Pan," she sighed, "I vow there are times I could kiss you as I
used, when we were children."
"Trust me instead, dear Bet! Confess, the fellow hath a hold over you?
Have you met him often at night?"
"Twice!"
"Shall you meet him again?"
"Thrice!"
"Alone? And--at midnight? Alone, Betty?"
"Quite alone."
"God!" he exclaimed, "what will the world think?"
"The world will be asleep."
"But how if you should be seen as I saw you--in the lane?"
"'Tis small chance," she answered, brushing her roses across red lips
a-pout in thought. "'Tis why I choose a spot so remote and so late an
hour."
"But alone--at midnight--with Dalroyd! By heaven, Betty, you run
greater and more ugly risks than you know."
"I think not, Pan."
"But I tell you, and God forgive me if I misjudge the fellow--from what
I know--from what I hear he's a very satyr--a----"
"Indeed I think he is!" she sighed. "So do I go prepared."
"How--how?" he demanded. "I say no maid should run such risk,
willingly or no----"
"Pancras!" She turned and faced him suddenly. "You never doubt
me--you?"
"Never Bet, never, I swear. But 'tis only that I've known you all your
days and because I know you commit this folly and risk these dangers
for Charles's sake. But Betty, in God's name what will the end be?"
"An end shall justify the means!"
"The means--the means! Aye, but there are some means so shameful that
no end may ever justify--you never think to sacrifice yourself to----"
My lady laughed; then seeing the anxiety of his face, the tremor of his
clenched fist, she took that fist in her soft, cool fingers and drawing
him within the arbour made him sit beside her.
"Pan dear," she said gently, "O rest secure in this:--'tis true I love
my brother but no tender martyr am I so brave or so unselfish, even for
his dear sake, to yield myself up to--the beasts. This body of mine I
hold much too precious to glut their brutish appetite."
"Why then, Bet, promise me this folly shall cease, you'll see Dalroyd
no more, at least at such an hour--promise me."
"No, Pancras."
"Ha! And wherefore not?"
"Because 'tis so my whim."
"Why then you leave me but one alternative, Betty."
"Prithee--what?"
"I'll stop it in despite of you."
"Cry you mercy, sir--how?"
"Very simply."
"Ah, Pancras, you mean a--duel? No no, not that--you shall not--I
forbid such folly!" The Viscount smiled. "He'd kill you, Pan, I know
it--feel it!" The Viscount's smile grew a little rueful.
"None the less, 'twould resolve the problem--at least for me," he
answered.
"But, Pancras, see how clumsily! O Lud, these meddling men!" she
sighed.
"Heavens, these wilful women!" he retorted.
"Still, Sir Wiseacre, being a woman I'll meet and outwit the beast with
a woman's weapons. So now prithee let there be no thought of such
clumsy weapons as this!" and tapping the ornate hilt of the Viscount's
sword, she rose. "Come," said she, reaching him her hand, "take me
within-doors and I will stay thee with flagons."
Now as they crossed the broad lawn together the balmy air was suddenly
pierced by a shrill and flute-like whistle.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Viscount, stopping suddenly to glance about.
As he stood thus he was amazed by an object which, hurtling from on
high, thudded upon the grass, and stepping forward he picked up a much
worn and battered shoe. From this sorry object his gaze, travelling
aloft, presently discovered a figure which had wriggled itself half out
of a small dormer window beneath the eaves and, despite this perilous
position, was beckoning to him vigorously.
"Oho!" exclaimed the Viscount, turning to my lady Betty. "So you have
him here, 'tis as I thought!" But when he would have waved and saluted
his lordship of Medhurst in return, Betty stayed him with a gesture.
"The servants, Pan--" she warned him.
"You'll take me up, Bet, you'll let me see the old lad?" the Viscount
pleaded. "I've been scheming out ways and means of getting him first
to my place in Sussex and then over seas----"
"Phoh!" exclaimed my lady. "And yourself and him dungeoned in the
Tower within the week. How should you know he was hereabouts--'twas
that Major d'Arcy, I'll vow!"
"True, he mentioned the matter and moreover----"
"Ha!" cried my lady stamping her foot, "so he must be talking already!"
"Aye--to me, Bet, why not i' faith! And--though a Whig----"
"A flapdragon!" exclaimed my lady.
"I say though a Whig he is as ready to aid Charles into safety as you
or I. Nay, he hath even proffered to harbour him in his own house."
"Mm!" said my lady, smiling down at her roses, "I wonder why a Whiggish
soldier should run such risk for Charles, a stranger?"
"Because the Major chances to be the best, the bravest, the most
unselfish gentleman I have the honour to know!" replied the Viscount.
"Dear Pancras!" she sighed, "an you would talk with Charles, you shall,
so come your ways and be silent--Pancras dear!"
So she brought him into the house and, finger on lip, led him up back
stairways and along seldom used passages to a door small but remarkably
strong; here she paused to reach a key from a dark corner, a key of
massive proportions at sight of which the Viscount whistled.
"You see, Pan," she explained, fitting it to the lock, "Charles is
quite determined to get away at once for my sake, but I'm quite
determined he shall stay for his own sake, until I judge him
sufficiently recovered, and--hark to him, Pan, hark to my naughty
child!" She laughed as an impatient fist thumped the stout door from
within and a muffled voice reached them. "Be silent, sir!" she
commanded. Followed a sulky muttering, the door swung open and my lord
of Medhurst appeared, petulant and eager:
"What Pan!" he cried. "What Tom--Tommy lad! Y'see how she treats me!"
"Hush!" exclaimed my lady, closing the door.
"Gad, Charles!" exclaimed the Viscount as they embraced, "you're thin
and pale, is't your wound?"
"Nay--nay, I vow I'm well enough, Tom----"
"But I protest art worn to a shadow----"
"A shadow--aha!" His lordship laughed gaily. "Say a shade, Tom, a
ghost and you're in the right with a vengeance. But tell me the latest
town news, Tommy, who's in and who's out? Stands London where it
did----"
"Nay first, Charles, I'm here to smuggle you away to my Sussex place
there to keep you hid until I can arrange for you to cross into France.
'Twill be the simplest matter i' the world, Charles, I'll have a couple
of fast horses in the lane at midnight, we shall reach my place by dawn
or thereabouts. How say you?"
"Why I say, dear lad, 'tis all very well but you forget one thing."
"And that?"
"Your own risk, Pan."
"Tush!" exclaimed the Viscount.
"Quite so, Tom," nodded my lord, "but d'ye dream I'd ever shelter
myself behind thy faithful friendship? How say you, Bet?"
"Spoken like my own Charles!" she answered and clasping her arm about
him set her cheek to his, and the Viscount, glancing from one face to
the other, fell back in staring surprise.
"Gad love me!" he exclaimed. "'Tis years since I saw you out of a
peruke, Charles and now I do--I vow your likeness to Bet is greater
than ever--faith 'tis marvellous! Same features, same gestures, same
height----"
"Nay I swear I'm taller by a good inch, Tom----"
"But the similarity is wonderful----"
"Except for his voice!" sighed my lady, "and that--hush! 'Tis the
coach returned, aunt is back from Sevenoaks already!" So saying, she
crossed to the window and leaned out. "Heavens!" she cried, "aunt must
ha' driven home galloping, the horses are all in a lather o' foam. I
wonder----"
"Betty!" cried a voice, "O Betty!"
"Save us!" ejaculated my lady, crossing to the door and turning the
key, "she's coming up!"
"Betty!" cried Lady Belinda from the landing without, "O Betty, let me
in--let me in!" Here the strong door was shaken by eager hands. "Let
me in, Betty, O I know who's there--I've known for days. Let me in for
O Lud--I've such terrible news--quick, open the door!"
Instantly Betty obeyed and Lady Belinda tottered in, closed it again
and leaned there breathless.
"Charles!" she cried. "My wicked wanderer! My wayward boy! O I shall
faint--I swoon!" But Lady Belinda did neither, instead she caught the
earl to her bosom, kissed him tenderly and spoke. "My dears, there are
soldiers at Sevenoaks seeking our fugitive--they may be here at any
time!"
"The devil!" exclaimed the fugitive.
"We must do something!" said the Viscount.
"We will!" nodded my lady.