A FRIEND IN NEED
For a long time after, indeed until she was a grown woman, Merrylips
used to dream of that run across the market-place. She would wake all
breathless and trembling with fear lest she might not reach Dick Fowell.
Truly it seemed as if she never could make him hear. He was riding with
his face to the front, headed for the street that led upward to the
castle, and in the clatter of his horse's hoofs he heard no other sound.
But Merrylips screamed with all her might, and the men lounging by the
market-cross raised their voices too, and some idle boys took up the
cry. Through the haze that wavered before her eyes, she saw Fowell
check his horse and turn in the saddle. She reeled forward, and caught
and clung to his stirrup.
"Rupert! Rupert!" she wailed. "They're killing him--yonder at the
Spotted Dog! Oh, they're killing Rupert!"
Somebody snatched her out of harm's way, as Dick Fowell swung his
horse about. She saw him go galloping across the market-place, and
she staggered after him. She felt a grasp on her arm, and she saw that
it was Kit Woolgar who was holding her up. But she was past being
surprised or frightened at anything.
She did not remember how she had crossed the market-place. She was
at the door of the Spotted Dog, and beside it she saw Dick Fowell's
horse, with the saddle empty and a potboy holding the bridle. She was
stumbling down the flagged passage. She had pitched into the taproom.
There, on a bench, in the midst of the little group of musketeers, who
were far from laughing now, sat Dick Fowell, and Rupert leaned against
his arm.
Rupert was white about the mouth, and he had one sleeve torn from his
doublet. He was drinking from a cup that Fowell held to his lips, and
he steadied it with a hand that shook a great deal. Between swallows he
caught his breath, with a sobbing sound.
Merrylips ran to his side and threw her arms about him.
"I thought they would ha' slain thee!" she gasped.
"They did--no such thing!" answered Rupert, jerkily.
He shifted himself from Dick Fowell's hold and sat up, with his arm
about her.
"And I blacked--one fellow's eye for him--the scurvy rogue! And I
didn't--drink for none on 'em! And we're both--king's men!" he ended,
lifting his face to Dick Fowell. "And you can hang us--if you will! And
we're not afeard! And God save the king!"
"God save the king!" quavered Merrylips.
And then they clung to each other, and wondered what would happen to
them.
Kit Woolgar began to talk, and the idlers and the tavern folk, who
had crowded into the room, began to question and exclaim. But Dick
Fowell bade them be silent, and in the silence he spoke briefly to the
musketeers. Merrylips hoped that never in her life should she be spoken
to by any one in a voice like that. When he had said the little that
was to be said to men that found their sport in bullying children, he
dismissed them, with a promise to speak further to their captain.
Then Fowell turned to Kit Woolgar and bade him tell his story. And
Woolgar told how he had taken up the two children at Long Wesselford,
and how they had slipped from him, and all the false tale with which
they had cheated him. At that Merrylips remembered how kind Polly and
Kit had been, and how she and Rupert had deceived them, and she blushed
and hung her head for shame.
"Truth," said Fowell, when the tale was ended, "I must be that kinsman
Smith whom these young ones sought in Ryeborough--eh, Tibbott Venner?"
"You're merry, sir," replied Woolgar. "You're no carabineer in my
lord's troop. You're my lord Caversham's son, and well I know your
honor."
"In any case," said Fowell, "I'll charge me with the custody of these
two arrant king's men."
He gave Woolgar money for his pains in bringing the children thither.
Then he picked Merrylips up in his arms, and bidding Rupert follow,
walked through the midst of the people and out of the tavern. There in
the market-place he hailed a mounted trooper who was passing.
"Take this boy up behind you," he said, pointing to Rupert, "and follow
me unto the castle."
Then he set Merrylips on his own horse and mounted behind her. In
such fashion they all four headed up the narrow street, beyond the
market-place, that led to the very heart of the rebel stronghold.
As they went, Fowell asked Merrylips to tell him truly how she came
there, and she told him everything: how she and Rupert had been sent
from Monksfield to save their lives on the eve of the last assault; how
they had failed to get aid at King's Slynton; how they had wandered
up and down the country; and by what bad luck they had been sent to
Ryeborough, where of all places in the world they least wished to be.
"And we ha' walked so far, and fared so hard," she ended sorrowfully,
"and now here we be, prisoners at the last."
"Sure, thou dost not think that I would be a harsh jailer unto thee,
Tibbott?" Fowell asked.
Merrylips said "No!" but her voice was not quite steady.
This fine young officer, in his gay coat, with his sword swinging at
his side, and his horse prancing beneath him, was very different from
the broken, blood-stained fellow that she had tended in the wash-house
at Monksfield. She could not be quite sure that he was indeed the same
man and her friend.
It was useless for Dick Fowell to try to set her at ease. He talked of
things that he thought might interest her. He told how he had been sent
to Ryeborough, right after his exchange, to mend his broken head. He
told her good news of her friends at Monksfield.
For after Colonel Hatcher had assaulted the house for two days, he
had received unlooked-for orders to make terms with Captain Norris,
so that he might be free to carry his Roundhead soldiers to another
place, where they were sorely needed. So although Colonel Hatcher had
taken the house, he had taken it by treaty, not by assault. And he had
granted honorable terms to Captain Norris and let him go away with his
followers into the west. So very likely many of Merrylips' old friends
had come alive and unharmed from the siege.
But even this good news Merrylips only half listened to. She was gazing
up at the vast walls under which they rode and the gateways through
which they passed. She shivered as she thought how like a prison was
this great castle of Ryeborough.
Dick Fowell drew rein at last in a little gravelled court, in front
of a great house. It would have been a pleasant dwelling-place, if
the walls of the castle had not hemmed it round on every side. A
serving-man came bustling to take the horse, another lifted Merrylips
to the ground, and as Fowell himself dismounted, a corporal of dragoons
hurried forward and spoke to him in a low voice.
Scarcely had Fowell heard three sentences when he laughed and glanced
at Merrylips.
"Faith," said he, "this falleth pat as a stage-play! You say yonder,
corporal?"
The man nodded, and pointed to the stone gatehouse by which they had
entered the court.
"Ten minutes hence, then," bade Fowell, "send him unto me in the long
parlor."
When he had dismissed the corporal, Fowell took Merrylips by the hand,
and motioned to Rupert to walk at his side.
"Since you are not afraid of what we may do to you," he said, smiling
down at Rupert.
Neither Rupert nor Merrylips felt much like smiling, but they went
obediently whither they were led. They entered the great house, and
found themselves in a dim entrance hall, where one or two lackeys were
loitering, and a trooper in muddy boots stood waiting on the hearth.
At the farther end of the hall was a door, and when Fowell had brought
them to it, he halted them on the threshold.
"Now wait you here like good lads for one minute," he said, "and seek
not to run away a second time, for I am not Kit Woolgar."
He smiled as he said this, but there was something in his eyes that
made even Rupert think it would not be well to disobey him.
So Rupert and Merrylips stood waiting, while Dick Fowell went into the
next room. He left the door ajar behind him, and they could not help
hearing something of what was said inside.
Almost at once they heard a woman cry indignantly:--
"Art thou stark mad, Dick? To think that I, forsooth, would look upon
a brace of wretched malignants that thou hast taken prisoner! Why hast
thou brought such fellows hither? Is thy father's house to be made a
bridewell?"
Then they caught the murmur of Fowell's words but not their sense, and
after that they heard a girl's voice say:--
"Sure, Dick must have reason for this that he doth ask."
Then another merry young voice struck in:--
"Are these prisoners of thine very desperate rogues to look on, Dick?"
"Why," said Fowell, slowly, "they've neither of them shaved for some
days, and they're travel-stained, and ragged thereto, yet I'll go bail
they will not fright you sorely. Shall I bid them in, good mother?"
A nod of assent must have been given, for next minute, though no word
had been spoken, Fowell pushed the door wide.
"Come you in, you two desperate malignants!" he said, and his eyes were
dancing with the jest that he was playing upon his mother.
Rupert and Merrylips stole quietly into the room. It was a long parlor,
with lozenge-shaped panes in the windows and faded tapestry upon the
walls. Midway of the room, by a cheery fire, sat a portly, middle-aged
gentlewoman in a gown of silk tabby. Near her two young girls, with
chestnut hair, were busy with embroidery frames.
At sight of the two children all three exclaimed aloud.
"Dick, thou varlet!" cried the old gentlewoman.
"Are these your ruffian Cavaliers?" said the elder, and taller, of the
two girls.
But the younger, a sweet, rosy lass, of much the same age as Merrylips'
own sister Puss, sprang to her feet.
"Why," she cried, "'tis surely the little lad whereof Dick told us--the
child that tended him that black night at Monksfield. Oh, mother! Look
at his shoes, all worn to rags! Oh, poor little sweetheart!"
She came straight to Merrylips, and bent and would have kissed her,
but Merrylips threw up her elbow, just like a bad-mannered little boy.
Somehow, before these folk, who were gentlewomen, like her godmother,
she felt ashamed of her boy's dress, as she had never been among men,
and she longed to hide her head.
While Merrylips stood shrinking at Rupert's side, she saw that Fowell
whispered something to the older girl, who laughed aloud.
"Verily, thou art a gallant master of revels, Dick!" she cried, and in
her turn came rustling to Merrylips.
"If thou wilt kiss me, master," she said, "I will tell thee something
should please thee mightily. Guess whom thou shalt see this hour--ay,
this moment! And thank my brother for't."
Merrylips peered over her elbow at Dick Fowell.
"Oh, surely," she faltered, "'tis never--"
"Did I not tell thee I'd requite thy kindness, Tibbott?" said Dick
Fowell. "Look yonder, laddie, and tell me have I kept my word?"
Merrylips saw the door to the parlor swing open. For a moment she dared
not look. She was afraid that he who entered might not be the one whom
with all her heart she prayed that she might see.