WESTWARD HO!
At the mere name of Will Lowry, Merrylips forgot the dress that she
wore and forgot that she must be brave like a boy. She ran to her
brother Munn, and creeping into the space between his seat and Dick
Fowell's, clasped her arms tight about his neck.
"Sure, thou'lt never let them give me back to Mr. Lowry, Munn dear!"
she begged. "For now 'twill be worse than ever at Larkland and they
said when I was grown, I must marry Herbert, and I am fain to marry no
one, never, and least of all Herbert, that is a mean coward. Oh, _best_
Munn, prithee say that Mr. Lowry shall not take me! Say it, Munn!"
Poor Munn! He would have been more than glad to have said it, and to
have made his promise good. But in a moment Merrylips herself realized
that he was powerless to help her. He had no sword to wear like the
other gentlemen. Even as herself he was a prisoner and helpless in Lord
Caversham's hands.
She looked beseechingly at Lord Caversham. But my lord sat fingering
the London letter, and Dick Fowell waited in silence on his father's
pleasure. They wasted time, while she was sure that next moment Will
Lowry would come marching in and carry her back to Larkland.
"Oh, Munn! Canst thou do naught to help me?" she cried in a
heart-broken voice, and hid her face against his shoulder.
Then for the second time that portly Lady Caversham took charge of
Merrylips' affairs. She rose from her seat, and came and laid one hand
on Merrylips' head and the other on Munn's shoulder. Now that she saw
how troubled he was for his little sister, she seemed ready to forgive
him, both for having used the child so carelessly and for having
himself fought upon the king's side.
"Have no fear, Merrylips," she said. "For thou shalt go unto thy kin at
Walsover, ay, though twenty Lowrys were fain to stay thee. I promise
it, and there's an end on't."
Munn caught my lady's hand and kissed it, and Merrylips clung to her.
Between laughing and crying she tried to say how glad she was, how
grateful she should always be!
"Come, little heart, and we will hit upon some plan!" bade Lady
Caversham, and led her from the room.
As Merrylips went with her, she heard Lord Caversham say: "Nay, if thou
hast undertaken it, my wife, the plan is already as good as found, I
warrant me!" and he laughed as he said it.
Indeed, matters went fast in the next hours, under Lady Caversham's
rule. Merrylips lay in bed and rested, against a long journey.
Meantime, Allison and Betteris flew in and out, and brought her
tidings, and sweetmeats, and little clothes, which they tried upon her,
and then snipped and stitched to suit her figure. But all the little
clothes were boy's clothes.
"And am I never to be a girl again?" asked Merrylips, rather anxiously.
Betteris laughed and would have teased her. But gentle Allison made
haste to tell her why the grown folk wished her still to wear her boy's
dress and keep her boy's name.
"My father and Mr. Lowry, though not friends, are yet hand and glove
in much business that pertaineth to the cause of the Parliament," said
Allison. "So 'twere most unhappy, for divers reasons, if a breach were
made between them, as there surely would be, were Mr. Lowry to find
that his little ward was helped hence by my father's aid.
"So all our household are pledged to silence, touching the fact that
Tibbott Venner is in truth the little maid Sybil. And my father truly
can say that he never saw thee, save in boy's dress and bearing a boy's
name. And in that name thy safe conduct will be made out, and thou
shalt ride hence Cornet Venner's young brother, upon whom Mr. Lowry
hath no claim."
"But surely when he seeth me, he will know me, whatever dress I wear,"
urged Merrylips. "And he is coming hither to seek me."
"Nay," cried Betteris, "'tis not to seek thy little self that Lowry
is posting hither. He cometh on Parliament business. Perchance thou
mightst even bide here, and he not spy thee, but 'tis too perilous for
us to venture that. So to-morrow morn, when Mr. Lowry will ride in at
the east gate, as his letter gave my father to know, thou shalt ride
out at the west gate, and little Robert Lucas, and my brother, and
thine own brother shall ride with thee. For my father will strain a
point and set thy brother free on his own promise not to bear arms till
an exchange may duly be arranged for him."
But for all that was said, Merrylips could not believe that it was true
that next morning she should set out for Walsover. She let herself be
fitted with the brave new clothes, which had been made for the young
son of one of my lord's officers. The doublet and breeches were of
peacock blue, with silver buttons, and the cloak was lined with pale
blue silk. She chatted with Dick's sisters, and ate and drank what was
brought her. But all the time she felt as if she were moving in a dream.
It was like a dream, too, when she woke in the chill, black morning.
She dressed by candlelight in the brave new clothes. She had boot-hose,
and a plumed hat, and gloves of soft leather, all complete. Then she
went down the long stair, at Allison's side, into the shadowy hall, and
there she met with dim shapes, cloaked and booted, that she knew for
her comrades. Here were Dick Fowell, and Munn, and Rupert. At first she
scarcely knew Rupert, for he was a gallant little figure, all in fine
new clothes of a deep crimson hue.
She drank a cup of steaming posset. She said farewell to Lady
Caversham, and to Allison, and to Betteris. Lord Caversham she did not
see again, for prudently he had no more speech with the sham Tibbott
Venner.
Then she trudged forth with her companions, and was mounted on a horse,
a little horse of her own, and away they rode from Ryeborough castle.
And as she felt the brisk air upon her face and saw the wintry dawn
break round her, Merrylips came broad awake. At last she knew that it
was no dream, but that indeed she was riding home to Walsover.
Not till mid-morning, when Ryeborough and Will Lowry were miles behind
them, did Dick Fowell give the word to draw rein at a village inn.
There they rested and broke their fast. While Dick and Munn saw that
the horses were well cared for, Merrylips and Rupert sat by the fire in
the common room, and talked together.
"'Twas my godfather gave me these clothes," said Rupert. "And he bade
me, if I was not made welcome amongst mine own kin, come unto him
again. He is right kind. I be sorry now for the hard things I have said
of all rebels, since he himself is one."
Then he sat silent and smoothed the silken lining of his doublet till
he saw that Merrylips was watching him. He reddened, as if he were
vexed with her and with himself that she should see how proud he was of
his clothes, but next moment he said honestly:--
"Thou seest, these be the first garments ever I have worn were like
a gentleman's. And oh! Merrylips--" he cast down his eyes and spoke
fast--"thou art the only one in the world I would ask it of, but wilt
thou not mark me, and when we are alone tell me whatever I have done
amiss? For when I watch thee and thy brother, there's such a weary deal
for me to learn! And for one thing," he ended, "maybe I should not
'thou' you, Merrylips."
She was sorry for Rupert, for she had never seen him in this humble
mood. She could not be quick enough to cheer him.
"To be sure, I shall be right vexed with thee," she cried, "if thou
dost call me 'you' so cold and formal. For we say 'thou' to those that
we love, and thou and I, Rupert, are a'most kinsmen, and good comrades
surely."
He smiled at her.
"That we are! And always shall be!" he said.
"And for the other matter," Merrylips added hastily, for she heard Dick
and Munn coming down the passage, "I'll aid thee if I may in that, as
in all else. But indeed they are but little things thou hast to learn,
Rupert, and will come unto thee quickly."
So Merrylips did her best to teach Rupert to bear himself as became
Captain Lucas's son, and Rupert, who was a quick-witted lad, learned
when to pluck off his hat and bow, and how to walk into a room without
blushing, and he stopped using some of the words that he had picked up
in the camps.
When Dick and Munn saw what the children were about, they helped Rupert
in many quiet ways. For as soon as Munn had grasped the fact that
Rupert was not a little impostor, he was grateful to him for the care
that he had taken of Merrylips. So he was almost as kind as if Rupert
had been his own young brother.
Like good comrades, then, the four went riding westward. They went in
brave state, with a trumpeter and four men to attend them. They put up
at snug inns, where they slept soft and ate and drank of the best,--how
different from the last journey that Rupert and Merrylips had made!
Sometimes they lay at fortified places, at first of the Roundheads and
later of the Cavaliers, for they bore safe conducts and rode beneath a
flag of truce.
They made short stages, for Rupert and Merrylips were but young riders.
Sometimes, in cold or stormy weather, they lay by for a day or two.
Thus it happened that it was hard December weather and almost Christmas
time, when they came at last to the end of their journey.
All that afternoon they had ridden briskly. In rising excitement Munn
and Merrylips had pointed out to each other the landmarks that they
remembered. Merrylips was grieved to see that a farm-house by the road,
where Mawkin's father had lived, was burned to the ground. She could
scarcely believe Munn when he said that the Roundheads had done this.
For the first time she realized that the war had swept close to her own
dear home. And she tried to fancy what Walsover would seem like. For
she knew that she should find it fortified with walls and ditches, just
as Monksfield had been, and garrisoned with troops of soldiers.
While she thought about this change, they rode up the long slope of
some downs, in the bleak yellow sunset light. On the road before them
they saw the black bulk of a horseman against the sky. He had paused to
watch them, and presently, as if he had seen their white flag, he rode
to meet them.
Then Munn, who had ridden foremost all that day, raised a shout:--
"Crashaw! 'Truth, 'tis never Eustace Crashaw!"
He put his horse to the gallop, and when Merrylips and the others came
up with him, they found him shaking hands and asking questions and
giving answers, all in one breath, with the stammering lieutenant from
the Monksfield garrison.
"Here's a r-rare meeting!" said Crashaw, and stammered more than ever.
"R-renounce me, if ye have not l-little Tibbott with you! Now on my
word, l-lad, Captain Norris will b-be blithe to see thee s-sound and
well."
"And is Captain Norris here at Walsover, sir?" Merrylips asked in great
surprise.
"Ay, that he is," Crashaw answered, "or will b-be with the dawning.
For after M-Monksfield fell, we were shuffled off into the w-west, and
now at the l-last are joined to the Walsover garrison. Captain Brooke
l-led one troop hither but this d-day, and t'other one is hard at our
heels. So speedily your old friends will be here to w-welcome you."
"So!" said Dick Fowell, dryly, as they rode on once more. "Then I shall
be fortuned to speak again with Lieutenant Digby?"
Merrylips' heart beat fast to hear him say this. She waited
breathlessly for Crashaw's answer.
But Crashaw, who was a Romanist, crossed himself. Said he:--
"God r-rest him for a brave soldier! There is now no m-more to say of
him."
Then Merrylips knew that Miles Digby had fallen in the fight at
Monksfield. From the top of the down, which they now had gained, she
could see the dear roofs of Walsover and faint lights gleaming through
the dusk, but she saw them misted over with her tears.
"Oh!" she thought, "I would that I had shaken hands wi' him, since he
did wish it, and 'tis now too late!"