MISTRESS ANNE HAZLEHURST.
"I have got the start;
But ere the goal, 'twill ask both brain and art."
--_The English Traveller._
Manifestly the Puritan knew the road, and manifestly it was known to the
horses, also; for without decrease of swiftness the few black objects at
the roadside--indistinct blurs against the less black stretches of
night-sky--seemed to race back toward the men in pursuit. Soon the
riders had a wood at their right, a park at their left. Then there was
perforce a slowing up, for a hill had to be ascended. But by this time
the enemy was left almost out of ear-shot. Hal, knowing his party to be
the more freshly mounted, took heed to make no further gain at present.
While in the vicinity of Fleetwood house, the chase must be so close
that the officers would not for a moment drop it to consider some other
course of action. As long as they were at his heels, and saw imminent
possibility of taking him, it was not probable that they would separate
for the purpose of searching Sir Valentine's house, or of causing
proclamation to be sent broadcast by which port wardens might be put on
guard, or of taking time to seek the aid of shire officers, justices,
and constables. It was not for himself that Hal had most to fear a hue
and cry of the country, for by keeping ahead of the officers by whom
that hue and cry must be evoked, he should keep ahead of the hue and cry
itself; but such a raising of the country would direct to Fleetwood
house an attention which might hinder Sir Valentine's eventual removal.
Once the pursuers were drawn into another county, Hal might gain over
them sufficient time for his own rest and refreshment, and for his
necessary changes of horse. When committed to the hunt by several hours'
hard riding, the officers, for their own reputation, would be less
likely to abandon it for a return to Fleetwood house; and though, as the
hunt should develop into a long and toilsome business, they would surely
take time to enlist local authorities in it, those authorities would not
be of Hertfordshire, and their eyes would be turned toward Hal himself,
not toward Fleetwood house.
"Tell me more of this Barnet," said Hal to Captain Bottle, as the three
fugitives rode up a second hill. The sound of the pursuers, galloping
across the level stretch between the two heights, came with faint
distinctness to the ears of the pursued, in intervals of the noise made
by their own horses,--noise of breathing, snorting, treading the rough
earth, and clashing against the loose stones that lay in the ditch-like
road.
"Why, he is a chaser of men by choice," answered Kit. "I knew him years
agone, in Sir Francis Walsingham's day. Beshrew me if he is ever happy
without a warrant in his pouch. I'm a bottle-ale rascal an he hath not
carried the signature of the secretary of state over more miles than any
other man! A silent, unsocial rogue! When I knew him first, he was one
of Walsingham's men; and so was I, i' faith! We chased down some of the
Babington conspirators together,--that was fifteen years ago. For, look
you, this raising of the country against a traitor is well enough, when
he is a gentleman of note, that openly gathers his followers and
fortifies his house and has not to be hunted out like a hare. But when
traitors are subtle fellows that flee and disguise themselves, these
loutish constables' knaves, that watch for hunted men in front of
ale-houses, are sad servants of the state, God wot!--and I have seen
with these eyes a letter to that effect, from Lord Burleigh to Sir
Francis, when this same Barnet and I were a-hunting the Babington
rascals."[25]
"Then this Barnet is like to keep on our track?" interrogated Hal.
"Yea, that he is! 'Tis meat and drink to the rogue, this man-hunting!
He takes a pride in it, and used to boast he had never yet lost his
game. And never did he, to my knowledge, but once, and that was my
doing, which was the cause of our falling out. When Sir Francis
Walsingham died, we remained in service as pursuivants--to attend the
orders of the council and the high commission. That was a fat trade!
Great takings, rare purse-filling! Old Kit had no need of playing
coney-catcher in those days! We would be sent to bring people up to
London, to prison, and 'twas our right to charge them what we pleased
for service and accommodation; and when they could not pay, it went hard
with them. Well, Roger Barnet and I disagreed once about dividing the
money we meant to squeeze out of a Gloucestershire gentleman, that some
lord his neighbor had got a council's order against, for having troubled
his lordship with a lawful suit in the courts. Rather than take the
worse of it from Roger Barnet, I got up when he was asleep, at the inn
we were staying overnight, and set the gentleman free. Roger would have
killed me the next day, had he been as good a swordsman as he is a
man-hunter. But, as it was, he had to be content with my losing so fat a
service. For he was in favor with Mr. Beal, the clerk of the council,
and might have made things hard for me but that I took forthwith to the
wars."
"God look to it he may not have chance of making things hard for thee in
this business!" said Hal.
"Why, one thing is sure," replied Kit, "he will stick to our heels the
longer for my being of the party. 'Twould warm his heart to pay off old
scores. He'll perchance think 'twas I that got word of Sir Valentine's
danger and brought warning. And, certes, he finds me aiding an accused
traitor, which brings me, too, under the treason statutes. 'Twould be a
sweet morsel to Roger Barnet to carry me back prisoner to London! An thy
plan be to keep Roger on our track, 'tis well I made myself known by
word of mouth, as I did. Though, for that matter, I say it again, Roger
is not the dog to quit any scent, let him once lay his nose to the
earth."
Ahead rode the Puritan, in a silence as of sullenness, his figure more
clearly drawn against the night as Hal's eyes were the better accustomed
to the darkness. Hal now spoke so that both Anthony and Kit might hear,
saying:
"My men, ye are to plant it in your minds that I am Sir Valentine
Fleetwood, none other; but ye will seem to wish to hide from people that
I am he. Hence ye will call me by some other name, it matters not what;
and the better 'twill be an ye blunder in that name, and disagree in it
from time to time. The more then will it appear that I, Sir Valentine,
am trying to pass myself off as another. But sometimes seem to forget,
and call me Sir Valentine, and then hastily correct yourselves as if ye
had spoke incautiously."
"The lie be on your own head, though my mouth be forced to speak it,"
replied Anthony Underhill, dismally.
"Willingly," said Hal; and Kit Bottle put in:
"An the weight be too heavy on thy head, Master Marryott, let old Kit
bear some of it. Ods-body, some folk be overfearful of damnation!"
Anthony muttered something about scoffers, and rode on without further
speech. So they traversed a hamlet, then a plain, then more hills and
another sleeping village. Varying their pace as the exigencies of the
road required, they were imitated in this--as they could hear--by
Barnet's party. The narrowness of the highway, which hereabouts ran for
a good distance between lines of wooden fence, compelled them to ride in
single file. They had been on the road an hour, perhaps, and made about
five miles, so that they were probably a mile from Stevenage, when
Anthony called back to Hal:
"There be riders in front, sir, coming toward us."
"So my ears tell me," said Hal, after a moment's listening. "Who the
devil can be abroad at this hour? I hope we suffer no delay in passing
them."
Barnet's men were now a half mile behind, evidently nursing the powers
of their horses for a timely dash. A stoppage of any kind might nip
Hal's fine project in the bud. Hence it was with anxiety that he
strained his eyes forward. The newcomers were approaching at a fast
walk. One of them, the foremost, was carrying a light. As they drew
nearer, riding one behind another, they took a side of the road, the
more speedily to pass. But the leader, as he came opposite Anthony
Underhill, and saw the Puritan's face in the feeble light, instantly
pulled up, and called out to one behind in a kind of surprise:
"Here's Sir Valentine's steward, Anthony Underhill!"
"Give ye good even, Dickon, and let us pass," said Anthony, sourly; for
the other had quickly turned his horse crosswise so as to block most of
the narrow road.
"Is that thy master I see yonder?" he asked, holding his light toward
Hal, who had promptly ridden up abreast of Anthony.
"What is that to you, fellow?" cried Hal.
"'Tis something to me!" called out a voice behind the fellow,--a voice
that startled Hal, for it was a woman's. "Are you Sir Valentine?"
"Who wishes to know?" inquired Hal, putting some courtesy into the
speech.
"I do--Anne Hazlehurst!" was the quick answer. And the light-bearer
having made room for her, she rode forward.
Hazlehurst! Where, Hal asked himself, had he recently heard that name?
"Well, are you Sir Valentine?" she demanded, impatiently.
"I do not deny it," said Hal.
"Then here's for you,--slayer of my brother!" she cried, and struck him
full in the face with the flat of a sword she had held beneath her
cloak. In doing this she thrust her hooded head more into the lanthorn's
light, and Hal recalled two things at the same instant,--the name
Hazlehurst as that of the gentleman with whom Sir Valentine had fought,
and the woman's face as that with which he, Master Marryott, had fallen
in love at the theatre during the play of "Hamlet."