PISTOLS
THORNBY’S words indicated surprise at Foxwell’s surprise. Foxwell shot a
keen glance to see if the other’s surprise was genuine. There could be
no doubt of that. This occasioned new surprise in Foxwell.
“Egad, sir,” said he, “I should think I might be pardoned for staring.
How come they to be here? It puzzles me, I own.”
“Who here?” blurted Thornby. “This gentleman and lady, d’ye mean?”
“Ay, the gentleman and lady I’ve been in search of.”
“Why, you don’t desire to stop ’em, do you? What the deuce is little Sue
Marvell to you?—and Dick Birch? Captain Marvell is no friend of yours.
Rather help these young people away, if only for the joke on Dick
Birch.”
“Of what are you talking?” cried Foxwell. “Can it be possible you don’t
know who these young people are?”
“I don’t know much of the gentleman,” Thornby admitted; “but the girl is
Sukey Marvell.”
“Sukey Marvell!—Sukey devil!” exclaimed Foxwell, and, striding up to
Georgiana, he snatched the handkerchief from her face. Everell had left
her standing at the end of the table, himself having moved around to
Thornby’s former place a moment earlier for a purpose of his own.
Checking an impulse to go to Georgiana’s side, he now stood between the
magisterial chair and the table. Despite all that was at stake, he was
amused at the sight of Thornby gazing with mouth wide open at the face
so unexpectedly revealed.
“It seems _you_ find reason to stare now,” said Foxwell to the Squire.
“Egad, Thornby, had they bamboozled you?”
“Mr. Thornby, I hold you to your promise,” Everell put in; “a chaise,
horses, and a man.”
“Chaise, horses, and damnation!” was the reply of Thornby, as he at last
found a voice. “I never knew ’twas _she_ you was a-running away with.
You said ’twas Sukey Marvell.”
“Pardon me, no; _you_ said ’twas Sukey Marvell. And I hold you to your
promise.”
[Illustration: “HE SNATCHED THE HANDKERCHIEF FROM HER FACE.”]
“Hold and be damned!—And Foxwell, you’ve deceived me, too. You said
you’d persuade her to have me.”
“So I have done,” asserted Foxwell, “and she has given her consent.”
“Given her consent? Then _you_ was the relation—and _I’m_ the Dick
Birch! What?—and this here stripling would ’a’ had me help to do myself
out of a bride! Oh, you shall all pay for this among you!”
“Softly, softly, Thornby,” said Foxwell. “She has promised to marry you.
Have you not, miss?”
After a brief hesitation, Georgiana uttered a reluctant “yes.”
“Then you forced the promise from her,” said Thornby.
“She gave it willingly,” returned Foxwell. “Did you not, miss?”
“Yes—willingly,” said Georgiana, in the faintest of voices.
“And yet you ran away with this here other man,” said Thornby.
“I was—carried away,” she replied, in a tone as frail as before.
“And you are still willing to marry Mr. Thornby?” said her uncle.
“Y—yes.”
Thornby’s brow cleared. “Then, ecod, not much harm’s done, after all.
’Tis all well that ends well.”
Everell again put in, addressing Thornby: “She is willing to marry you,
perhaps. But ask her if she will ever love you, man.”
“Eh! Well, what about that? D’ye think you’ll ever love me, miss?”
“No, I do not, sir,” cried Georgiana, suddenly emphatic of voice. “I
shall always love this gentleman! For ever, and ever, and ever!” And she
moved toward the man of her choice.
Her manner of speech, her look of disdain, and Everell’s smile of
triumph were too much for Thornby’s savage vanity. “Then don’t flatter
yourself I’ll marry you,” he answered, with retaliatory scorn. “A
white-faced vixen, when all’s said and done! Mistress of Thornby Hall,
after this night’s business?—dod, I’m warned in time!”
“Oh, say it again!” exclaimed Georgiana, rejoiced.
“I do say it again! Ecod, I know my value!”
“I am freed of my promise!” she cried.
“Ay,” said Thornby, with a swelling wrath which had to be discharged
upon somebody, “and your blundering uncle may go whistle.—You shall
answer for this, Foxwell, d’ye hear? I’ll see to that. ’Tis all along o’
your mismanagement. But I’ll be quits wi’ ye. I’ll make use o’ that
there letter!—rat me but I will!”
“You are quite unreasonable, Thornby,” said Foxwell, patiently, and,
turning to his attendant, “Joseph, wait without.”
Joseph left the room, whereupon Thornby had the grace to order his own
servant to be off; so that the four principals were left alone. Foxwell
made sure that the door was closed against espial, and thrust into the
keyhole a part of the handkerchief he had taken from Georgiana. He then
returned to Thornby, who had meanwhile been fuming and pacing the floor.
“You have cause for anger, I admit,” said Foxwell; “but you are bound to
own I have done my part.”
“Don’t talk to me, sir,” roared Thornby. “I’ll make you smart afore I’ve
done! See if I don’t!”
Foxwell’s own temper gave way. He had been put to much exercise of
self-command this evening, and had scarce yet regained his bodily
composure after his ride. Of a sudden, now, his face darkened. “Then by
heaven I’ll not smart alone! You shall suffer, miss,—and your lover,
too! Let all come out. You say you know little of this young gentleman,
Thornby. Would you know more?—who he is, _what_ he is?”
“Uncle, you will not!” entreated Georgiana. “With my promise I bought
your silence—remember that!—and I have not broken my promise. ’Tis Mr.
Thornby has released me.”
“Very well. Let us stick to promises, by all means! But I have your
Romeo upon other grounds.—Before you as a justice of the peace, Mr.
Thornby, I charge this gentleman with the abduction of my niece.—That,
too, is a hanging matter, miss.”
“Not so, Mr. Thornby,” cried Georgiana; “for, now that I am free, I go
with this gentleman of my own consent. ’Tis not abduction, ’tis on my
part a voluntary flight.”
“You forget you are not yet your own mistress,” said Foxwell. “Besides,
the abduction has been committed. Moreover, Thornby, the gentleman has
appropriated to himself a horse of mine. I demand of you to act upon
these charges.”
Thornby underwent a sudden accession of magisterial dignity. “I know my
office, Mr. Foxwell. Nobody has ever accused me of failing there.
Sir,”—this to Everell,—“when the case is put to me in that form, I must
do as my commission requires. I must needs hold you for a hearing.—I’ll
send for my clerk, Foxwell; I left him at the table, but I dare say he’s
still sober enough for what’s to be done.” Relapsing then into his more
usual puerility, he added, “Dod, such impudent young strangers sha’n’t
carry off our ladies with impunity, neither!”
Georgiana had hastened to Everell’s side. “Oh, save yourself _now_,” she
besought him in a whisper.
“Not without you, sweet.—Gentlemen,” he cried, in time to stop Thornby’s
movement toward the door, “one word. I am in a desperate position.
Abduction, horse-stealing, the other business,—any one of them is the
price of a halter. With but one life to lose, then, what is a crime or
two more? ’Tis but getting the more value for my neck.” He took up the
pistols left on the table by Thornby, who had lost all thought of them
on being convinced of Everell’s honesty. Dexterously cocking them as he
spoke, the young man went on: “If I must die, be sure that one or both
of you shall go before me—’tis fair precedence, _cedant arma togæ_! But
first I will have one more venture for my life—and for my love.” By this
time, he had each of the gentlemen in line with a different pistol. “Mr.
Thornby, move or call out, at your peril. Mr. Foxwell, the same to you;
and this also: I think I can persuade you to withdraw your charges, and,
furthermore, to lend me the horses that brought you and your man to this
place.”
Foxwell’s only weapon at the moment was his sword; he had left his
pistols outside in the holsters, thinking to spend but a minute in
Thornby Hall and foreseeing no need of them there. He perceived from
Everell’s manner of handling the pistols that the young man was of
perfect assurance in their use. The same circumstance found speedy way
to the mind of Thornby, who was unarmed. So the two gentlemen stood as
they were requested. Foxwell, for want of a better temporizing answer,
feigned to yield with a good grace, saying: “You present so strong an
argument, that I know not how to oppose you.”
“I fear if the pistol were my only argument,” said Everell, calmly, “my
victory would end as soon as my back was turned. I will try an argument
that may have more lasting effect. Miss Foxwell, I must bid you pull out
this drawer of the table,—stay where you are, Mr. Thornby!—which the
owner has carelessly left open.” Everell moved a step to the side,
giving Georgiana closer access to the drawer. She obeyed in wonder, for
she had overheard little of the talk while she was in the closet, and
nothing of Thornby’s allusion to that in the drawer which gave the power
of keeping Mr. Robert Foxwell in his place. Everell now told her to
empty the contents of the drawer upon the table, and to spread them out
so that each document might be seen. “Not a step, Mr. Thornby! You, Mr.
Foxwell, come near enough to see if there be anything of interest to
you. That will do—no farther! Look carefully.”
Foxwell’s keen eye had already begun to range the various papers as they
lay separately exposed. Suddenly he uttered a quick “Ah!” and stepped
forward, reaching out. Everell checked him by a sharp “Back!” and a
movement of the pistol; then followed with his glance the line of the
extended arm.
“Miss Foxwell,” said Everell, “be good enough to take up the paper your
uncle reached for. ’Twill be one of those three the shadow falls
athwart,—the shadow of the wine-bottle;—ay, those.—Don’t move, Mr.
Thornby.—Open them out, Georgiana, and hold them where I can see. H’m;
apparently a legal document concerning one William Hardy. The next,
please: ‘a new cure for the glanders.’ The other: a letter signed ‘R.
Foxwell.’—Back, Mr. Foxwell. Is that all you see here of importance to
you?—Mr. Thornby, if you take a step toward the door—! Is that all, Mr.
Foxwell? I will not read it unless I am forced to.”
“That is all,” replied Foxwell, “and ’tis something Mr. Thornby has no
right to possess. I ask you, as a man of honour, to restore it to me.”
“In proper time, sir. Meanwhile, Miss Foxwell, fold the paper as it was,
and place it in my waistcoat pocket.—’Tis well done; though I dare not
thank you, for you do this under compulsion.”
“By the Lord, sir,” Thornby burst out at last, “this here’s robbery,
sir!—rank robbery under arms! You may carry it off for the moment—I’m
not moving, I’m only warning you, for your own good—but this sort of
thing is bound to end in a halter, sir.”
“Possibly; but, as I have said, a crime or two more can make no
difference to a man in my situation. You were kind enough to tell me
that in this drawer was the means of making Mr. Foxwell consider your
wishes. Let us see if it will make him consider mine. Mr. Foxwell,
whatever the document contains, I’m not like to use it against
Georgiana’s kinsman. But if I am taken prisoner here, ’twill no doubt
fall into Mr. Thornby’s hands again. Your interest, then, lies in my
escape.”
“Damn Foxwell’s interest!” broke in Thornby. “I’m the man to bargain
with. If you restore that letter and them pistols—’tis my property, that
letter, for all he says; mine, bought and paid for, as I can prove by
Jeremiah Filson—”
This name, in relation to the letter, was another surprise to Foxwell.
But ere Thornby could proceed farther, Everell commanded silence.
“You are very good, Mr. Thornby, but I will not bargain with you. I will
forego the chaise and horses, release you from your promise,—on
condition of your entering that closet. Come, I mean it. You shall be
let out in good time. ’Tis no such bad place—the lady suffered no harm
there. Into the closet, if you please. I’ll return your pistols—by and
by.” Everell, while speaking, had come around the end of the table, and
was now threatening Thornby with both pistols at close quarters. “Into
the closet, sir! By heaven, don’t try my patience!—a man who may be
hanged three times over doesn’t balk at the chance of a fourth. In, in!”
Slowly retreating from the weapons as they were thrust almost into his
face, Thornby backed into the closet, glaring futile wrath.
“’Tis well,” said Everell; “if you keep silence there, I engage not to
fire through the door.” Having put one pistol in his coat pocket, he
locked the door and repocketed the key. He turned now to Foxwell, who
had been pondering. “I must borrow your horses, sir, to the first
posting-place. I will send them back from there, with these pistols and
this key. You can then release this gentleman, if he be not freed by
other means before that;—he will soon begin to make himself heard. I
think you will now see fit to speed my parting; for, look you, if I am
taken in my flight, Heaven knows whose hands this letter may fall into.”
“And if you are not taken?” inquired Foxwell.
“I will not read it, nor let anybody else read it; and will send it to
you from France as soon as I am married to your niece. Regarding that
matter, I will only say now that I am a man of honour, of good family,
and some fortune.—I must still carry you off, sweet. ’Tis the one safe
course, despite the dangers and discomforts you must share.”
“Better the dangers and discomforts with you, than the anxieties if I
were left behind,” said Georgiana.
“Then, Mr. Foxwell, may I beg you to conduct us to the horses?—your
servant might dispute our taking them.”
Everell had now put the second pistol into the opposite coat pocket,
believing that the letter gave him sufficient control over Foxwell’s
actions. But he kept his hand upon his sword-hilt, intending that
Foxwell should walk in front of him to the horses.
“A moment, pray,” said Foxwell. “Consider the legal position I shall be
left in if I assist you. It does not suit me to fly the country, as it
does you.”
“Who will trouble you on that score? Certainly this booby justice will
not desire to publish a matter in which he makes so poor a figure. He
knows not who I am. In what crime can he then accuse you of aiding me?
The abduction and the horse-stealing you need not pursue—you have signed
no charge, sworn to none.”
“The theft of the letter,” said Foxwell. “If I help you to escape, I
shall be accessory to that.”
“But you say he has no right to its possession. In any case, you can
show him how ridiculous he will appear. I think you run little risk; but
be that as it may, I must think of my own risk. Every moment adds to it;
and to the danger of this letter coming to wrong hands. So, if you
please, to the horses.”
A curious look was on Foxwell’s face. It was true that any struggle with
Everell in the presence of Thornby or his people might result in the
letter’s falling again into that gentleman’s hands. But there was now no
such person to interfere. A quick sword-thrust—which could be justified
as against an escaping rebel—might win the letter in a moment; Foxwell
could destroy it immediately at the fire, and make his peace with
Thornby by releasing him and showing his outrage avenged. No danger,
then, of the letter’s capture in the long journey of a fugitive, or of
Thornby’s attempting retaliation by course of law. It was all seen in an
instant. Foxwell’s sword flashed in the air, and Everell had to spring
aside to save himself.
“Ah, treacherous!” cried the young man, as his own blade leaped out.
Foxwell’s second thrust came with surprising swiftness, but was fairly
met; and the two swords darted and clashed again and again. Georgiana,
with every impulse to rush between the fighters, dared not do so, and
was indeed compelled to move rapidly to keep out of their way, watching
them with fear and horror. While the noise of their quick feet, their
loud breathing and sharp ejaculations, and the clashing steel filled the
apartment, there came from some other part of the house a sound of
half-drunken singing. This was unheeded, even when it was evidently
approaching. Foxwell, perceiving that he had counted too much upon the
suddenness and sureness of his attack, and feeling that he was entitled
to little mercy if he lost, fought with the impetuosity of desperation.
His arm at length grew heavy; and Everell, who on his side used a
concentration of faculties worthy of the issue at stake, found opening
for a lunge that pinked the other’s forearm, causing him to lower his
hand with a cry of chagrin. The next instant the young man struck the
weapon from Foxwell’s weakened grasp, sending it flying to the door;
which at that moment opened, letting in two men who walked arm in arm
and bawled a bacchanalian song.
From their dress and appearance, it was evident that these newcomers
were Mr. Thornby’s table companions, doubtless come in search of him.
One of them, a short, heavy-set person with a wig awry, was plainly very
drunk indeed. The other, a slim, prudent-looking fellow, seemed in good
command of his senses. This man, having nearly tripped over the sword,
picked it up, and looked with astonishment at those in the room.
“Eh!” he exclaimed. “My Jacobite, by all that’s holy! Here’s
providential work! Call your men, Mr. Potkin.”
The stout little man pulled himself together, blinked at Everell, and
then bolted from the room. “The justice’s clerk, gone to bring varlets
of the law,” thought Everell, who stood regaining his breath. Foxwell
withdrew panting to the other side of the table, dropped into Thornby’s
chair, and began pulling up his sleeve to examine his wound. Filson put
himself on guard with the sword before the doorway, with the manifest
intention of disputing Everell’s escape from the room till help should
come. Perhaps the courage of wine, the excitement of beholding his
quarry at last, or the sight of Everell’s winded condition, emboldened
the man: at any rate, he showed resolution, and his manner with the
sword was that of some practice in fencing—not a surprising thing at a
time when gentlemen’s gentlemen imitated the accomplishments of their
masters.
“What! you menace me!” cried Everell; “then be careful of your other
ear, hound!” With this he rushed upon Filson, thrusting along the side
of the latter’s head, and running the point through the wig, though not
touching the ear.
Filson turned pale, but made a pass, which was narrowly avoided. Everell
gave a second lunge, and this time the weapon pierced the somewhat
extended auricular shell.
“Help! help, Mr. Foxwell!” shouted Filson, clapping one hand to the
injured ear, but still wielding his sword against Everell.
“Call for help to those who buy letters from you, cur,” replied Foxwell,
scarce looking up from his task of binding his arm with a handkerchief,
a business performed by his left hand with the aid of his teeth.
Georgiana had looked an offer of assistance, which her uncle had
repelled. Her attention instantly returned to her lover.
On hearing Foxwell’s answer, Filson shrank back; but Everell pressed him
close, parried a desperate lunge, and sent a swift long thrust for the
region of the heart. Filson dropped like a log, and lay as still as one,
a result somewhat unexpected by Everell, to whom the resistance had
seemed only that of the man’s loose coat.
“Come!” cried Everell, and, while Georgiana hastened to his side, he
added to her uncle: “All that I said awhile ago still holds true. I wish
you good night.” He then led Georgiana around the prostrate body of
Filson, and through the doorway. Just outside in the hallway stood
Joseph and the footman, who had been attracted by the noise to peer into
the room, which as yet they dared not re-enter. Everell waved them aside
with his sword, and the lovers quickly passed. The two men, not knowing
what to do, again looked into the room, Joseph expectant of his master’s
orders, and the footman wondering at the disappearance of Thornby.
Nobody else was in the hall, and Everell and Georgiana were in a moment
at the door opposite that by which they had entered the house. It was
not fastened. Throwing it open, Everell found that he was right in what,
from his present knowledge of the roads and gates, he had
assumed,—namely, that Foxwell’s horses were waiting at this entrance.
They were in charge of a boy who evidently belonged to Thornby Hall,
perhaps to the gate-lodge. On the door-step was a lantern.
Everell sheathed his sword, and said, quietly, to the boy: “We are to
use Mr. Foxwell’s horses, my good lad.” He coolly helped Georgiana into
the saddle, mounted the other horse, and bade the boy hand him the
lantern. The lad, ignorant of Foxwell’s purposes and of the fighting in
the house, and obedient by habit, complied. “Now run before, and you
shall receive a crown at the gate,” said Everell, grasping Georgiana’s
rein and his own. He was at the same time wondering to what part of the
house or vicinity the clerk had gone for his forces. He trusted that
Foxwell would now see his interest in passively aiding the flight, and
would find means to keep Joseph and Thornby’s servant from interfering
or giving alarm.
In this he was not deceived. Foxwell saw all chance gone of obtaining
the letter by force of his own; and now feared that, if taken by
Thornby’s men, Everell would rather entrust it to them than suffer
Foxwell to possess it after what had occurred.
Foxwell, therefore, upon noticing the two servants at the doorway,
called Joseph to assist in binding his wound. He then assigned the
footman to the impossible task of prizing open the door of Thornby’s
prison with a poker. This apparent concern for Thornby’s comfort was
partly for the future conciliation of that gentleman; and Foxwell
intended to employ his wound to the same end, on the ground that he had
received it in the Squire’s interest. As he sat thinking the matter out,
and watching Joseph’s bungling attempts to fasten a bandage, Foxwell
heard a loud tramping, as of several heavy feet, in the hall.
“The men whom the clerk went to fetch,” thought he; and, without turning
his head, considered how he might delay them with perfect safety to
himself. But, just as they seemed about to enter the room, there was a
brief pause in their movements; and then they were heard rushing away
and out of the hall. It was as if they had learned at the very threshold
that the person they sought was gone elsewhere. Foxwell turned his eyes
upon the doorway, near which Filson had fallen. To his amazement, the
body of that rascal was not to be seen. This enabled Foxwell to account
for the movements of the justice’s men: the knave had yet life enough to
crawl out and indicate the way the fugitive had taken. The trampling of
the men in the hall, the footman’s noise with the poker, and certain
incoherent words of inquiry and command which Thornby had begun to shout
from his closet, had covered the sound of Filson’s exit.
Meanwhile, Everell and Georgiana had ridden down a driveway of
considerable length, following close upon the heels of the boy, whom the
lantern enabled them to keep in sight. The gate had swung to after
Foxwell’s entrance. As the lad went to open it, and Everell put his hand
in his pocket for the promised crown, there came a noise of men issuing
from the house they had left, followed by a cry: “Stop them! gate, ho!
let nobody pass!”
The boy gave a startled look at the riders, and stood hesitating.
Everell, who had been holding the lantern high so as to see the way,
quickly handed it to Georgiana; drew one of the pistols from his pocket,
pointed it at the lad’s head, and, at the same time offering the crown
piece with his left hand, said: “Lead or silver, which?”
[Illustration: “THE HORSES DASHED FORWARD.”]
The boy, whose mind had probably never worked so rapidly in his life
before, flung the gate open. Men were now heard running toward them from
the top of the driveway. Everell threw the coin at the boy, and the
horses dashed forward. Once in the road, the lovers turned to the right,
thus aiming for the town wherein they had first met. Everell put away
the pistol, but allowed Georgiana, at her own suggestion, to retain
possession of the lantern, that he might be the readier with his
weapons, should occasion arise. Of this there was not much immediate
likelihood, for, now that the gate was passed, Thornby’s men must needs
resort to horses if they meant to give chase.
“Do you ride well, sweet?” Everell called to Georgiana, as they galloped
along the road.
“Well enough,” she replied, as cheerily as she could.
He now observed, for the first time, that she was riding man-fashion;
his cloak, which she still wore, enabling her to do so with less loss in
appearance than addition of safety.
“You will not soon forget the night of your abduction,” said he, gaily.
She reminded him it was no longer an abduction, but a flight on her part
as well as his. And both of them, though they said nothing, wondered
what would be the end of it.
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