IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS
Indeed, what could poor Merrylips say? Even she must admit that Rupert
had deceived her.
At the very moment when he promised to wait for her, he had been
stealing away from Larkland, like the spy that Goody Trot and Roger
and Mawkin called him. No doubt he had Claus with him all the time,
crouched in the bushes underneath the wall. No doubt he had let her
fetch the crossbow only to get rid of her, that she might not see their
flight. From first to last he had deceived her, and she had so trusted
him!
It troubled Merrylips, too, in the hours that followed Rupert's flight,
to feel that her godmother was troubled.
At first Lady Sybil seemed to make light of the matter. She said that
no doubt the man Claus, in his stupidity, had been frightened by her
questions and so had run away and taken the boy with him. She was sorry
for the lad, who was so ill and so unfit to travel, and she sent out
into the countryside to find him. But she could get no news of the
runaways. No one seemed to have seen or heard of them. And then Lady
Sybil became grave and anxious indeed.
Little by little Merrylips stopped pitying Rupert, who might be lying
sick under some hedge. Instead she began to wonder what harm might,
through Rupert, come upon her dear godmother. She thought about this so
much that she made her head ache. Indeed her head seemed strangely apt
to ache in those days!
At last, one twilight, when Rupert had been gone four days from
Larkland, Merrylips cast herself down on the cushion at her godmother's
feet, and begged her to say just what was the evil that all the
household seemed to fear.
"The silly serving-folk have filled thy little head with idle tales,"
said Lady Sybil, as if displeased; but then, as she looked into the
piteous little face that was raised to hers, she changed her tone.
"Sweetheart," said she, "I have done ill to let thee be frightened with
fancies, so now I will tell thee the mere truth. Thou art to be relied
on, I know. Thou wilt keep all secret."
"As I am a gentleman," said Merrylips, soberly.
Then Lady Sybil told her that in the house of Larkland she kept hidden
a great treasure of jewels that had been left her by her father, the
Duke of Barrisden. She had told no one of this treasure, except old
Roger, who was most faithful; but she feared lest others of her
servants might suspect its whereabouts, and for that she was troubled.
For jewels, she explained, could quickly be turned into money, and
money could furnish soldiers with horses and guns and powder. So there
were many on both sides, now that war was coming in the land, who would
be glad to have the spending of the Larkland treasure.
"But it is to the service of our king that I shall give my jewels,"
said Lady Sybil.
Merrylips drew a long breath and nodded her head. "Be sure!" she
whispered.
Lady Sybil went on to explain that in that part of the country there
were many people--Roundheads, as Merrylips had learned to call
them--who were for the Parliament against the king. She was afraid lest
these people should learn that her jewels were hidden at Larkland and
come and seize them. On that account she was troubled at Rupert's and
Claus's coming to the house and then fleeing away by night. She feared
lest they had been sent by these Roundhead neighbors to spy upon her,
in the hope of learning where she kept her treasure.
Not twenty-four hours later it seemed as if Lady Sybil's worst fears
were to come true. About noontime there sounded a sudden trampling of
horses in the courtyard, and a moment later a man strode into the room
where Lady Sybil and Merrylips were at dinner. He was a tall, solid
man with a close-set mouth and a square jaw, and the bow that he made
before Lady Sybil was brisk and businesslike.
"'Tis a graceless matter I am come upon, your Ladyship," said he, "but
'tis better done by me, who am known to you, than by a stranger. I am
come, on behalf of the Parliament, whose servant I am, to search your
house for arms."
[Illustration: "I AM COME, ON BEHALF OF THE PARLIAMENT, TO SEARCH
YOUR HOUSE FOR ARMS."]
Merrylips waited to hear no more. She knew that crossbows were arms,
and she loved her own crossbow. She flew up the stairs, and as she did
so, caught a glimpse of rough men in the hall, who were tearing down
the pikes and fowling-pieces from the wall, and heeding old Roger never
a bit.
In her chamber she seized her dear crossbow and ran down again to the
parlor, where she posted herself in front of Lady Sybil.
"The Roundheads shall not have my arms!" she said.
The square-jawed man looked at her then, and smiled. He was sitting
much at his ease, with his elbow on the table and a cup of wine within
reach of his hand.
"That's a chopping wench," said he. "A kinswoman to your Ladyship?"
"A daughter to Sir Thomas Venner," Lady Sybil answered, in her coldest
and sweetest voice.
"Then, on my word, a kinswoman of mine own!" cried the man. "I am
William Lowry, my lass, your third cousin by the distaff side. Come!
Wilt thou not give me a cousinly kiss?"
Merrylips shook her head.
"I am kin to no Roundhead," she answered.
Mr. Lowry seemed not at all angry.
"Thy health, for a brisk little shrew!" he laughed. "I've a wife at
home would be fain of a little daughter like unto thee."
Just then Mr. Lowry was called from the room by one of his followers.
Indeed Merrylips saw no more of him till she looked from the parlor
window, and saw him riding away at the head of his little band. They
took with them all the pikes and muskets and snaphances, and even old
rusted headpieces and cuirasses that were stored at Larkland, but that
was all that they did take. Plainly, they had not guessed that precious
jewels were hidden in the house.
"But they may come again," said Lady Sybil, gravely, when Merrylips
asked her if all was not now well.
"And a second time," she went on, "the searchers may be ruder. I have
no love to Will Lowry, 'tis true, but he bore himself to-day as well
as a man might do that hath in hand a hateful and a wicked work. Others
might prove less courteous."
"He is an evil man and false," cried Merrylips. She found it easy to
believe people false, since she had been so deceived in Rupert. "He
said he was my mother's kinsman."
"And so he is, child," Lady Sybil answered. "He is a kinsman to thy
mother, and to me also by marriage. He is a gentleman of good estate
in the eastern part of the county, and he took to wife my cousin,
Elizabeth Fernefould, a sister to the present Duke of Barrisden."
Now Merrylips had always thought of Lady Sybil's father as the duke.
Indeed, she had never heard a word of the present Duke of Barrisden. So
at the mention of his name she looked puzzled.
Then Lady Sybil, who had trusted Merrylips with much, trusted her with
more. She told her that her father, the duke, had had no son, and so
his title had gone to a distant cousin, and that he had been angered
with her, and so had left much of his property to this same cousin.
This man, who now was Duke of Barrisden, was a Puritan, as those were
called who wished to make changes in the great Church of England. Like
most Puritans, he was no friend to the king, and in all likelihood
would fight against him in the coming struggle.
"For thou seest his brother-in-law, Will Lowry, hath already ranged
himself on the side of the Parliament," said Lady Sybil. "He had not
done so, without the duke's counsel. 'Tis a great nest of Roundhead
gentry, here in our parts, and no friends to me."
That evening, as you may guess, there was no playing of hunt and hide
in the corridors of Larkland, nor dancing in the little parlor. Instead
Lady Sybil went hither and thither, and gave orders and sent off
letters, while Merrylips, holding fast to her crossbow, trudged bravely
at her heels. Next day Goody Trot, who since Will Lowry's coming was
quite sure that the Spaniards were upon them, went away in a wagon to
her daughter in the next village. The next day after that old Roger had
the coach horses shod with extra care. Finally, on the third day, came
a messenger, riding post, from the Duke of Barrisden, who brought an
answer to the letter that Lady Sybil had sent him.
Lady Sybil read this letter, seated in her chamber, beside a chest
where she was sorting garments. When she had read, she drew Merrylips
to her, with a gayer face than she had shown since the morning of
Rupert's flight.
"Methinks we shall yet be clear of this gin," said she. "Here's his
Grace most courteously assureth me that no let nor hindrance will be
put in my way, if I wish to quit Larkland and go unto my friends who,
even as myself, are Cavaliers--malignants, he is pleased to call them."
"Shall we go on a journey, then?" asked Merrylips. "That's brave!"
"Ay, brave indeed!" said Lady Sybil, and she flushed and smiled like
a girl. "We'll go in the coach, thou, and I, and Mawkin, and Roger,
and with us--lean closer, darling!--with us will go the jewels, snugly
hidden in our garments. We'll guard them for the king."
"God save him!" whispered Merrylips.
"And at Winchester," Lady Sybil went on, "there'll be trusty men to
meet us. I have written unto them. And whom dost thou think to see
commanding them?"
Merrylips caught her breath.
"Not--not--" she faltered.
"Ay, thine own dear brother, Longkin. Thy father will send some of his
troop to guard us, and they will take us--where thinkest thou?"
"Oh!" cried Merrylips. "To Walsover! To Walsover! Sweet godmother,
we're going home at last to Walsover!"