AMAZING DISCOVERIES
Wilfred stood and rubbed his hands. “I would give a week’s pay to see
them in Carlisle,” he chuckled.
Meanwhile Ian and Aline gently made their way along the road to
Longtown without mishap. They saw a small body of troopers once; but
the troopers took no notice of them. In the desultory border warfare
people went about their business practically unconcerned. Life had to
go on and, if they waited till there was no fighting, to all intents
and purposes they might, in those districts, wait for ever.
“What are we going to do when we reach Scotland?” Aline asked, when at
the last it appeared that immediate danger was passing. “Old Moll does
not seem to have been right this time,” she added.
“We cannot say yet, birdeen, there are many perils and difficulties
ahead, perhaps greater than we have yet passed. I wish I could shake
off the feeling of that woman. It is not that I believe any of her
prophecies. Of course they are all nonsense, but she is the very
incarnation of the spirit of evil, a continual oppressive reminder
of its presence in the world. There is no doubt, too, that she has a
snakelike inexplicable influence over people and puts evil suggestion
into their minds, just as some other people have exactly the opposite
power. To talk with Moll rouses one’s worst nature; to talk with some
rouses one’s best.” He looked at Aline and thought how wonderful
her power was. What was this power, mysteriously possessed by some
natures, that almost by their very presence they could change men’s
lives;--Aline and Moll might themselves be the warring spirits of good
and evil.
“My only object for the moment,” he said aloud, “was to rescue you
from your desperate danger. I thought that then we might have time to
think out something. There are difficulties indeed; the country is in a
very unsettled condition, partly the troubles with England, partly the
religious troubles and the difficulty with the regent, Mary of Guise,
and France. But our first trouble is,--that I have no money and people
with no money always find it hard to live,” and he smiled a rueful
smile.
“Neither have I,” said Aline, “at least not to live on. I have two gold
pieces with me.”
“Well, you are richer than I am,” he said playfully. “It will help us
somewhat, while I find something to set us going. I left a note, too,
with Wilfred for Walter Margrove, in case he should come within the
next few days, asking him to send Wilfred to Canonbie with a little
money at once for our present needs.”
“Wilfred,” said Aline, “is that Will Ackroyd?”
“Yes,” said Ian, “I have a story to tell you about how I met him, but
we must leave it for the present. I am very perplexed about this matter
of making a livelihood.” He paused a moment and then continued;--
“I might find work as a carpenter, or perhaps there will be more call
for a smith in these turbulent times. But I cannot think what to do
with you. Even if I found some people with whom you could live and
worked to keep you, there would be all kinds of questions as to where
you came from and all about you?”
“Then why not let me work with you as carpenter’s boy, like Will does
for Matthew Musgrave?”
“What! and spoil your beautiful hands. By the way, though,” he added,
“what have you been doing to get them in such a shocking condition? I
have noticed it all along but my mind has been so full of schemes and
plans for our escape, that I have not been able to talk about it.”
Aline told him the story and continued;--“Anyway, carpentry could not
be as bad as that.”
Ian was shocked and looked at her thankfully. “I trust we have broken
the evil spell,” he said. “But, princess, you are a lady and such very
hard work is beyond that to which you have been used.”
“Yes, I hope I am a lady and just because I am a lady it does not
matter what I am used to do. I can turn my hand to anything; I do not
mind. It is only common people who are afraid of demeaning themselves.
I have often noticed”--and then she suddenly stopped:--was not Ian
himself one of these “common people,” and was it not unmannerly anyway
for a real lady to talk like that?
“Noticed what?” asked Ian.
“Oh, just noticed that it is so,” and by way of changing the subject
she went on,--“but there is one thing I should mind;--I should mind
having to cut my hair short.”
Ian sighed: “Yes, you must not do that, little one, we must think of
some other plan.”
“But I have quite made up my mind and I am going to cut it,” she said
in her most queenly manner. She said it so firmly and cheerfully that
even Ian did not realise the struggle that was going on in the little
heart.
“Well, princess, if it must be so, it must; but you need not cut it
above the shoulders. Many pages wear it down to the shoulders.”
“Pages, yes, but not carpenters’ boys.” At the same time Ian’s words
gave her a gleam of comfort. That was not quite so terrible. It would
have a good start as soon as she could let it grow again. “Do you think
a carpenter’s boy could wear it down to his shoulders?” she asked
wistfully.
“Certainly,” said Ian; “it might be a little peculiar, but if we
could afford to dress you a little more like a page though you were a
carpenter’s boy, I doubt even if any one would notice.”
They had reached Longtown by this time, but Ian decided not to stop if
they could get safely over the border. They rode on, therefore, until
they met a small patrol near Canonbie but were allowed after a few
explanations to pass.
At the little inn they made enquiry as to the news of the day. This
was surprising, but to Ian by no means altogether unexpected. The
Protestant feeling had been growing and some of the Protestant leaders
had met at the house of James Sym in Edinburgh and signed the first
covenant, called the “Godlie Band.” They were the Earl of Ergyl;
Glencarn,--the good Earl; Mortoun; Archibald, Lord of Lorne and John
Erskyne of Doun.[26]
[26] The spelling of the names is taken from a surviving copy of the
covenant.
But what was of immediate interest and importance to Ian was that the
Earl of Hawick[27] was at that moment raising forces in the border
shires, nominally to fight on the border, but in reality to be ready to
support the Protestant cause against Mary of Guise.
[27] This is a fictitious title and likewise the border incident,
although there were several such affrays in this year.
His headquarters were but a few miles away and Ian wondered whether it
was not his duty to throw in his lot with them. His own feelings on the
whole were friendly to England and he hated the policy that the regent
was pursuing of making Scotland an appendage of France, but if English
marauders invaded the border he was quite ready as a true Scot to fight
against them, although it was the religious cause that he had more
deeply at heart.
“Methinks I ought to join them,” he said. “I have seen a good deal of
fighting in my day and I might be useful to the cause.”
“I will go with you,” said Aline.
“Nonsense, child, girls do not fight.”
“Joan of Arc fought and why should not I?” she replied.
“Joan of Arc was older than you and could stand a strain that would be
quite beyond you, little one, hardy as you are.”
“But I should go as your page or attendant. Would you fight as
a trooper or on foot, because that, of course, would make some
difference?”
“That would remain to be seen, but in any case it would be absurd for
you to be there. But it has given me a new idea, sweet child. They
would be glad of my services; and, as they are protestants, they would
be only too pleased to look after you in return.”
“But I want to come with you.”
He looked at her sadly; “It is out of the question,” he said.
“Oh, but please let me.”
“No, birdeen, you might be killed.”
“Well, that would not matter. I have no friends or relatives in
the world to care for me; it might be the simplest solution of our
difficulties, if I died trying to help a good cause.”
“You must not talk like that, Aline; I cannot bear to think of it.”
“But I have made up my mind. I am coming. You might be wounded and I
might be just the one to help you and prevent your dying.” She drew
herself up as she spoke and Ian knew that further argument was useless.
“In that case we can wait and rest here, in any wise for to-day, the
which we both need. I can then go and see the Earl to-morrow and
probably we can continue to rest for some days while he is recruiting
his forces.”
They retired early. Aline had a little room with a glorious outlook.
Oh, how beautiful everything was and how good God had been to her. When
she was half undressed she sat down and gazed out of the window. So
this was dear Scotland again, the land of her birth. For the moment
the recollection of “Moll o’ the graves” clouded the prospect, but it
passed away. The sombre hills looked kindly in the gloaming. She felt
hardly able to contain herself for joy.
It was true that she was about to face new dangers; but that did not
trouble her in the least. She would be definitely doing her duty, as
she conceived it, fighting for a good cause along with many others; she
would no longer be a hunted fugitive merely trying to preserve her own
life.
She knelt down and prayed and felt happier than she had done since her
father died, happier even than during the best days in the secret room.
So happy was she that she proceeded to cut off her wonderful hair,
just below the level of the shoulders, without the slightest twinge of
regret. “I wish I had Audry’s long mirror here,” was the only thought
that troubled her.
Even this was unexpectedly gratified, for in the morning she was down
first and discovered a long mirror in a black oak frame, one of the
treasures of the hostel.
As she was looking at herself Ian appeared. The sight cost him a pang.
“Oh, child,” he exclaimed, “what have you done?”
“I’ve only made myself into a real boy,” she answered.
Ian bit his lips; he would not have thought that he could have minded
so much.
As they were standing there the door suddenly opened and a boy came in.
“Hullo, Wilfred! is that you?”
“Yes, master, I have brought a letter from Walter Margrove.”
Ian took the letter and went over to the window seat on the far side of
the room to read it.
“Wilfred,” thought Aline; “Wilfred”; it had a familiar sound
before, when Ian used the name on the road:--and he came from
Kirkoswald,--there was too a tale to be told as Ian had said,--and Ian
himself had been using an assumed name. Could it by any chance be the
boy of little Joan’s sad story?
He held out his hand bashfully, and bent his head. As Aline took it he
said;--“I humbly crave your pardon, but I believe now I know who you
are.”
Aline blushed and then she said quietly, “You have probably guessed
rightly. Whom do you think I am?”
He looked at her for a moment. How could there possibly be any doubt;
there could not be two such beautiful people in the world; and he
had heard Walter and Andrew, besides Ian, allude to her unparalleled
loveliness. “You are Mistress Gillespie,” he said, and bowed awkwardly.
Aline smiled sadly. “Yes,” she said, “I am and I believe I have just
discovered who you are. Your name is not really Ackroyd, is it?”
“Yes, Mistress, it is,” he answered.
Aline looked baffled, but he continued,--“However, I have never been
known as Ackroyd, as I lived with an Aunt whose name was Johnstone.”
“I thought so,” she replied softly. “Come sit over here, for I have a
sorrowful tale for you.”
She took his hand and the boy followed, lost in wonder and admiration.
“I used to know poor little Joan,” she said very gently.
“Yes, Mistress, I had guessed as much; we heard in Kirkoswald what had
happened,” and the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “I know that you did
everything for her that could be done and that she loved you.”
Aline felt relieved, as she was spared the worst part of her task. “She
often used to speak of you, Wilfred, and before she went away, she gave
me her greatest treasures which you had given her long before; and I
was to try and return them to you. But, alas, I had to flee from armed
men at a moment’s notice in peril of my life and I have them not. But
they are safe and one day I will fulfil my charge.”
She held out her hand. “Oh, I am so sorry for you,” she said, “but my
words are too feeble to say what I feel.”
The tears were now running freely down the boy’s face, he took her hand
in both his and smothered it with kisses. “Oh, Joan, Joan, my little
Joan, how can I bear it? How can you really be dead and I alive? Why is
the world so cruel? Oh, Joan, if only I could have died for you.”
Aline bent over and kissed him on the forehead. “She told me to give
you that,” she said; then, after a pause, she went on;--“I am only a
little girl and I do not pretend to understand things, Wilfred. But
think, if you had died as you have been wishing, poor little Joan would
have been as unhappy as you are now. These things are a mystery and yet
somehow I feel that the spirit of light in its own way and its own time
must triumph over the spirit of darkness. I have always felt that; and
now that I have my new faith, I am more sure of it than ever.”
“I do not see how that can be,” said Wilfred, “and yet as you speak I
seem to feel better.”
“I do not understand it myself,” said Aline, “but I have been right
before.”
Wilfred looked at her. Had this wonderful child with the strange deep
dark blue eyes some power that other mortals had not?
“Angus,” said Ian’s voice from the other side of the room, “Walter has
sent us some money; he also offers to help us in every way he can, and
there are some other items that will interest you about the rumours he
heard in Carlisle. They seem to think we rode through Carlisle and went
to Penrith or Keswick. I have written a short note to Walter, which
Wilfred can take back. Did you come in the night, Will?”
“Yes, I got a lift on an empty wagon going back to Longtown. There was
straw in the bottom and I slept all the way.”
“I am afraid _I_ could not sleep in a wagon,” said Ian. “Come and join
us at our meal, Wilfred.”
They had their meal and afterwards sat and talked until it was time for
Wilfred to return.
After he had gone, Aline and Ian set off to the camp where the Earl of
Hawick lay. When they arrived Ian asked if he might see the Earl, as he
wished to offer his services.
The sentry looked at him very dubiously and then at Aline, after which
he seemed a little more satisfied, as she was better dressed. Finally
he called the officers of the guard, who subjected them to a similar
scrutiny.
“I think I can see to your business, my man,” he said.
“Thank you, I have a special message for my lord of Hawick,” said Ian.
Aline started at the tone and looked at Ian: there was a quiet hauteur
about it that she had never heard before.
The man seemed to notice it too. “Who is it that wishes to see the
Earl?” he said.
“Say, Ian Menstrie, son of Alexander Menstrie; that will do.”
Aline felt a little nervous; as she had never met a real Earl and
had something of the child’s imagination about the grandeur of such
personages.
The officer returned very quickly, but the change in his manner seemed
almost to make him a different man.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing very low, “the Earl of Hawick is coming
at once.”
“I said Ian Menstrie, not Alexander Menstrie,” answered Ian, looking a
little annoyed.
“Yes, your Grace,” said the Messenger, “I made it quite clear; the Earl
of Hawick understands.”
Aline was very puzzled, they seemed to have strange customs of address
in the army, but before she had time to think the Earl appeared. She
was a little disappointed. Was that an Earl? He was a fair figure of
a man, but was neither as handsome as Ian nor had he, she suddenly
thought, as she looked at the two men, the dignity of Ian’s carriage.
“I am so glad to see you again, your Grace,” he said, doffing his
bonnet and bowing as the officer had done. “You are the very man we
want. I shall never forget how well you managed on that miserable day
at Pinkie Cleugh; and Scotland can never repay you for the rout of Lord
Wharton on the Western Marches on that cold February day. It was a
sorry remnant that he and Grey took back with them, and it marked the
turning of the tide. Our country was indeed at a low ebb then.
“Of course you will share the command with me. I would willingly serve
under you, but these are my fellows and they know me; so I shall just
follow your advice. On my honour, you shall have all the glory, when it
is over; not that you used to care much for that kind of thing, and you
were really only a lad then.”
Aline’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. Hawick continued,--“I heard
the news of the old man’s death about a week ago. It was somewhat of
a shock following so soon after your brother’s; but I said, that will
bring Ian Menstrie back to us if anything will. I am sure he will throw
in his lot with us.”
Aline gasped. Who was Ian then, this carpenter-man, as she had thought
him? Even in the earlier days she had never supposed that he could be
more than a younger son of one of the lesser lairds.
Ian seemed overcome and very sad. “Well, my Lord, if you must know,”
he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, “I am here by accident.
I have just had a run for my life, with my young page here, Angus
Gillespie. I am looking rather a sorry object, but let that pass. I
had not heard of my father’s death, or even of my brother’s. It is a
terrible shock.”
“Poor fellow,” said Hawick, “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news
and you are looking a sad wreck. You must take as many days’ rest as we
can manage.”
“Before I forget, I want to know if you can let us have a couple of
horses; these are not mine and I want to return them to the owner. I
also wish to know if you can spare a couple of troopers to take them
back to Kirkoswald. They can arrange the matter at Carlisle.”
“Are they English horses?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Fancy returning English horses across the border, when
once you have got them here. Well, you always were a strange fellow.
Yes, you can have as many troopers as you please, and horses and
anything you want.”
Aline was very impatient to have Ian by himself and was glad when he
turned to go, after giving a brief account of his imprisonment and the
outline of his main adventures, avoiding all details.
The Earl accompanied them to the inn and then took his leave, promising
to send Ian an outfit such as more became his station and, at Ian’s
special request, everything that under the circumstances could be
procured befitting a page of gentle birth.
Aline was pleased to find no one in the hostel. Ian was tired and his
wounds hurt him, although Aline had attended to them regularly. He sat
down by the fire and sighed.
It was a cold day and Aline crouched at the hearth-stone by his feet.
She put her hand on his knee and looked up. Ian’s eyes were full of
tears. Aline had never seen anything like this; she stood up, stroking
his head with her delicate hand and kissed him on the forehead.
He did not speak, but drew her gently to him. The child threw both her
arms about his neck and seated herself on his knee. “Oh, I wish I could
comfort you,” she said.
It was too much for Ian and two great tears actually rolled down his
cheek. “My Father,” was all that he said. Then making an effort, he
controlled himself and looked at Aline’s beautiful sympathetic little
face. A curious feeling passed through him. He had lost his father; and
his father had never been kind to him, and he had gained this child,
who was devoted to him. Was this God’s recompense?
He passed his fingers through her short locks. “What have you done with
all the glory you cut off?” he said.
“It is upstairs. I plaited it in four plaits.”
“May I have some?” he asked.
“You may have it all if you like.”
“It was a big sacrifice, child-heart,” he said softly, and kissed her.
“May I ask you something,” she said, “even though it does make you sad:
but I would rather learn from your own lips? You know you have not told
me who you are. Who are you?”
He paused a moment, while he continued gently stroking her hair. “I am
now the Duke of Ochil, little one.”
Aline rose from his knee and crouched down on the hearth again. She
gazed up at him wonderingly. In after years as she looked back she
understood her feelings; but at the time they were a perplexity even
to herself. So far from being pleased that he was a duke, she resented
it. It seemed to put a barrier between them;--his Grace, the Duke of
Ochil, could not be the same as her dear friend Ian.
Ian saw the expression on her face and half-guessed its meaning. “It
does not please you, heartsease,” he said.
She looked up quickly and then said simply,--“I do not know. It is
strange.”