DICK GOES FOR HELP
Dick had wakened at dawn, the dawn he would never have seen but for
her. He dressed quickly in the silken clothes of yesterday. "They
will less likely recognize me on the way if I go finely clad," he
thought. He said his prayers, took his long riding-boots under his
arm, slipped out of his room, paused to listen, then crept stealthily
along the corridor, down the stairs, and into the hall. Here he
paused again to listen, then went swiftly down a long passage near
the kitchen, took the stable-key from its peg, unbarred the outer
door, and trembled as the bolt squeaked faintly. Outside he pulled
on his boots, sped across the grass to the stable-yard, and saddled
and led out the pony. Lorry was watching him all the time from his
kennel. He was too wise to bark, for Dick had impressed upon him
that barking at sunrise was a vain pastime, fit only to rouse ladies
from their dreams and bring them to their casements to suggest the
grass was yet too damp for boys and dogs to walk through, or that the
air was still too raw for delicate chests and coughs like Dick's.
When the pony was saddled Dick went over and kissed Lorry's nose.
"Take care of her, old fellow," he said. "And if I don't come back,
oh! make her understand 'tis neither fear nor faithlessness that
keeps me from her! You would if you could speak."
Then he mounted, and, keeping on the grass, rode down into the lane.
When Lorry realized that, in spite of Dick's kiss and his own good
behaviour, he was not to be taken too, he gave a great bay of
disappointment that brought Lady Dorothy to her window in time to see
Dick's last look at the old house before he turned out of sight. He
rode to the lane-head, and for the first time came out upon the
highroad. It was all uphill, and the fat pony's progress slow. On
the ridge of the hill, when they reached it, he looked down the long,
straight, dusty way he knew so well, where the travellers came out of
the clouds at one end and went into the trees on the other. There, a
speck in the haze, miles down, lay the inn of the Seven Thorns.
"Come up, Fairy," said Dick, whipping his pony to a canter, and they
went down the hill bravely in a cloud of dust.
The landlord was just opening his shutters at the Seven Thorns--Mr.
Tomlinson, the sleek and plausible, as plausible as ever, returned in
safety after his adventures. In Dick's nervous grip on the reins as
they passed, the pony read a command to stop, and he stopped, to
Dick's discomfort.
"A fine day, young gentleman," said the landlord, bowing. "Will your
honour stay and breakfast? Methinks the horse's shoe goes loose--on
the off hind-foot, my lord."
Dick struck in a spur. Fairy bounded forward. Without answering,
Dick galloped for the woods.
"He didn't know me, though," he said to himself. But he had shaken
in his saddle at the sound of his old master's voice. He wondered
if, behind in the inn-yard, some poor wretch of a bruised and hungry
boy was toiling through his work--the familiar weary work.
They had passed the forest-trees, Arncastor was in sight. Dick
caught sight of a wide river, a bridge with soldiers on it, meadows
dotted with tents, and the gray town behind, with dancing flags on
the church towers, and then Fairy lurched forward, recovered himself,
and stood still.
"What now, sir?" Dick demanded impatiently.
Fairy looked round with a gentle whinny, and Dick got down.
"Your shoe, you stupid little beast?"
Yes, that was it, and Fairy affected a pathetic and extreme lameness.
The shoe was left behind on the hill. A little way from the bridge,
on Dick's side of the water, was an inn--a large, comfortable,
happy-looking place--the Blue Boar--very different from the Seven
Thorns. Dick, leading his pony, walked to the inn, and whilst Fairy
was attended to he asked for breakfast. Lady Dorothy had given him
money from time to time, and as there was little to spend it on in
her surroundings, Dick had a purseful at his disposal now. He had a
good breakfast of trout and ham-and-eggs, and strawberries and new
milk. The landlady took him into especial care and favour from the
first. "As sweet a spoken little lord as ever stepped," she said.
"I'm not a lord," said Dick, nodding to her. "But you're very kind,
and I like you, and I wish you'd presently let me speak to you in
private."
Of course the good woman would do anything for such a pretty young
squire. The fact was, during breakfast Dick had heard talk amongst
the soldiers and others in the inn-parlour that had taken away what
little confidence in himself he had possessed. His ideas were of the
vaguest. He had meant to find Giles's master amongst the Cavaliers
at Arncastor, and to entreat him for help, for Giles's sake. After
that he had not dared to plan or think of anything. But he had
gathered, from the company breakfasting at the same time as himself,
that no one could get into the town without stating his name and
business to the officer at the bridge, who handed it on to his
superior, and he to a third; and then, if all seemed satisfactory,
the person would be admitted with a pass. Some of the gentlemen and
the officers and nobles passed unquestioned with whom they pleased.
But Dick had no satisfactory account of himself or his business to
offer, and to give his name, he thought, meant ruin at the outset.
If he had only learnt the name of Giles's master, and could have
asked to see him. Dick had not foreseen these difficulties. He was
very simple, but he had a way of placing implicit confidence in
anyone who was kind to him. In the present trouble he had an
inspiration to take the handsome, motherly landlady into the case,
and entreat for advice. She had an honest eye, and an air that meant
firm support if she deemed you worthy of regard. So Dick explained
to her, alone in her own room, that he was on urgent family business,
that he must see a gentleman of the court immediately, and would she
tell him how best he might get into the town. He could not give his
name, and his business could only be confided to the gentleman in
question.
"And his name?" asked she.
"I do not know his name," Dick said; "I have only seen him once."
The landlady shook her head.
"Where do you come from, sir?" she said.
Dick thought there was no harm in answering that question.
"I live with the Lady Dorothy Byng."
"Ah, then," she cried, "old Philip Wayland is my uncle that's butler
to her ladyship!"
"He'd have come on this errand if he could," said Dick, "but he
couldn't. He--that's just it."
"Is it her ladyship's business?"
"I've made it mine," said Dick. "'Tis mine."
"And you want to see this gentleman?"
"I must see him," said Dick.
"Is he about the court, then?"
"Always where the King is," Dick replied.
"One of his gentlemen? An Esquire-of-the-body, or that?"
Dick was doubtful.
"I think he was a great lord," he said. "He wore rich jewels, and
everyone bowed to him."
"Umph," she said, "there's a plenty of fine birds at court still.
But, now-- Bless the child! Don't look that piteous--eh, don't!
What you want is to get into Arncastor, and stand somewhere nigh
where the King lodges, and see the courtiers pass. When your
gentleman comes along--
"That's it!" Dick cried, embracing her. "You have it! Now, how to
get in?"
"Dear only knows, my chuck; but--mercy me! there's Lionel!"
"Who's Lionel?" asked Dick.
"He's my sister's son," she explained, "and a man of my Lord
Newcastle's."
She whisked out of the room, and returned in a minute with a handsome
young man in the Newcastle livery. To him she explained Dick's case,
whilst the boy stood anxiously by her side.
"Simple as swallowing," said Lionel cheerfully at the end of the
tale. "Supposing, of course, my young gentleman doesn't mind a bit
of masquerading?"
"I don't mind anything," Dick assured him hastily.
"What you want, sir," said the cheerful young man, "is to stand where
the courtiers do pass; but that, sir, mustn't be on the road. You'd
have no chance in the throng and amongst the soldiers. You should
see them one by one to recognize your friend, eh?"
"Go on! Go on!" Dick begged.
"Why, then," said Lionel, "to work that, sir, you must be got into
His Majesty's lodgings. Now, to-night I am on duty in a passage
looking into the hall that the King crosses on his way to Her
Majesty's supper-room. My Lord Newcastle sups with Their Majesties
to-night, with Prince Rupert, and the Earl of Lumley, and a number of
other peers and gentlemen. I'm to wait in this passage, taking with
me a lad with a torch, to attend my master home. Now, if the young
gentleman isn't above it, and will drop a cloak over his braveries
and carry a torch, I'll take him with me instead of one of my Lord's
pages. He can go into the town with me unmolested. Now, sir?"
"To-night?" said Dick sadly. "Not till to-night?"
"Why no," said Lionel. "I'm taking a holiday, you see, sir." He
winked at the landlady. "And Susan, you see, sir--Susan--"
"Susan's no daughter of me if she looks at you again," interposed the
landlady, "should you fail to see the young gentleman through!"
Lionel protested that he would. They might depend on him for that.
It was Dick's only chance of penetrating that net-work of formalities
and customs that surround a king. This was his only hope. He must
pass the intervening hours as best he might, and wait patiently for
evening. Lionel was a good-natured youth, and Dick's pale-faced
anxiety touched him.
"See you, sir," he said kindly, "I'll do my best. You shall have
every chance. We'll take our stand early, before the supper-hour.
We'll be there before His Majesty comes in from the gardens, where
he'll be walking if the evening's fine. If your friend's not with
him then, we'll hope he'll be there as he goes to supper, and if not
then, we'll trust he may be when the King returns. We'll find him,
never fear!"
"You're a good man, Lionel," said Dick, shaking hands with him
heartily. "I'll never forget you. If they--if I fail, you mustn't
think I still don't thank you, for I shall. There! There's my
purse. Take it all!"
He thrust his purse into the young man's hand. Lionel tossed it up
to the ceiling, caught it cleverly, and handed it back.
"Better keep it to the end of the day, sir," he said. "My aunt
there, she'll run you up a mighty bill, and want the money or the
life of you. She'll stand no nonsense, won't my aunt."
"That she won't, you naughty fellow!" cried his aunt.
"And oh, Lionel," Dick entreated, "don't forget me! Don't forget to
come."
"Beshrew me! Nay, sir, you may pin your faith to Lionel."
And the cheerful youth ran off to spend the day with Susan.
"There's no harm cometh to a man," quoth he, "by serving a young
gentleman who talks with his eyes--eh, my dear, pitiful!--and has a
purse of gold and a friend at court. Your good-hearted man, Susan,
ah! there are rewards and gold for your good-hearted man."
"But you haven't the gold," remarked Susan.
"Wait till the job's done, my shrewd one," said he.