FOXBY HALL.
"O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman?"--_Cymbeline._
The forenoon on which this fray and separation occurred was that of
Saturday, March seventh, the fourth day of the flight. Marryott's
company now consisted of his two original followers, his two prisoners.
Ned Moreton, Tom Cobble, Oliver Bunch. John Hatch, and a few more of the
robbers. What wounds had been received were bound up as well as
possible, with strips torn from clothing, and were so stoically endured
as not to impede the forward journey. The able-bodied rode by the
disabled, giving them needful support.
Marryott had travelled some two hundred miles from Fleetwood house in
three and a half days, accomplishing an average of nearly sixty miles a
day, despite all delays and the slow going of the coach. Now that the
storm had come up, to make the roads well-nigh impassable, it would take
a rider at least three and a half days to return from Hal's present
place to Fleetwood house. Thus, even if the pursuivant should overtake
the fugitives at any moment, seven days were already gained for Sir
Valentine. Another day and a half would, under the storm-caused
conditions of travel, procure him the full ten days.
Now, before the beginning of the storm, Roger Barnet, had he gone at the
speed for which the men of his office were then proverbial ("like flying
pursuivant" is Spenser's simile for swift-moving angels), would have
overtaken a traveller hampered as Hal was. But it happened--so prone is
circumstance to run to coincidence, as every man perceives daily in his
own life--that Roger Barnet, too, had his special hindrances. That part
of the chase which had culminated in his almost catching Hal at the
hostelry near the Newark cross-road, had been delayed at the outset by
the delivery of the queen's letters. And in the subsequent pursuit, when
Hal's several impediments had given the pursuivant the best
opportunities, Master Barnet had suffered most annoying checks.
Of these, there were those that Hal had conjectured; but, in addition,
there was a bodily accident to no less a person than Master Barnet
himself. In that very village of Clown, where Hal had been detained by
the constable, an exhausted horse had fallen at the moment when the
pursuivant was dismounting from it, and had so bruised the pursuivant's
leg that he had been perforce laid up at the ale-house for some hours,
unable to stand, or to sit his saddle. For his own reasons, of which a
hint has been given earlier in this narrative, he had not allowed his
men to continue the chase without him; but he had resumed it at the
first moment when he could endure the pain of riding.
Of this interference of fortune in his behalf, Master Marryott knew
nothing, as he and his riders toiled forward through the blown clouds of
snow. He took it on faith that the pursuivant, obliged by duty and
enabled by skill, was following through similar clouds somewhere behind.
He would not, at this stage, give a moment's room to any thought opposed
to this.
The travellers covered thirty miles or more, through unremitting
snowfall and increasing wind; passing Rylston, Cumiston, Kettlewell,
Carlton, Middleham, and Harmby,--names, some of which have lost their
old importance, some of which have given place to others, some of which
have quite vanished from the map,--stopping twice for food, drink, and
to rest the horses. In the inhabited places, the riders were too much
obscured by snow, the people outdoors were too few, for Mistress
Hazlehurst to place any hope in an appeal for rescue. Nevertheless, to
hearten his men up, and to leave the deeper trace for Barnet to follow.
Marryott went through these places at a gallop, with great noise of
voices and horns. Strange must have been the spectacle to gaping
villagers drawn to casements by the advancing clamor, when this mad band
of riders--one of them a woman--dashed into sight, as if borne by the
wind like the snow clouds, rushed by with blast and shout, and
disappeared into the white whirl as they had come!
All through the afternoon Mistress Hazlehurst was silent, close-wrapped
in cloak and hood. She accepted with barely uttered thanks the ale and
food that Master Marryott caused Kit Bottle to bring her from the rude
inns near which they stopped. Hal showed his solicitude, at first, in
brief and courteous inquiries regarding her comfort; then, as these were
answered either not at all, or in the coldest monosyllables, in glances
over his shoulder. Was her inertia, he asked himself, a sign that she
had given up the battle?--or a sign that she was nourishing some new
plan, sufficiently subtle to fit the new circumstances?
During the afternoon, Kit Bottle rode often among the men from Rumney's
band, talking with them, and seeing how the wounded bore themselves.
As the riders passed in sight of Middleham castle, whose wind-beaten
walls, with their picturesque background of Nature's setting, were now
scarce visible behind the driven nebules of snow, Kit brought his horse
close to Hal's, and said, in a low voice:
"Some of those fellows have ugly little cuts. They would fare better
under roof, and on their backs, than on horse, in this weather."
"But where may they be left?" asked Hal. "What yeoman or hind would take
them under shelter? And the inns where their robber-skins would be safe,
look you, are those where Rumney is a favored guest. If he should come
and find them, how many three-farthing pieces would their lives be
worth, think you?"
"Thou speakest by the card there, God wot! But I have in mind a shelter
where these honest knaves can lie safe, and where we all may snatch an
hour or two of comfort. This Oliver Bunch hath turned himself inside out
to me. The lands where he was under-steward, before the family fled to
France for their necks' sake, are five or six mile ahead of us. The
mansion, he tells me, is closed tight, and empty. Whether confiscation
hath been made, I know not; but, be the place the crown's, or some one's
else by gift or purchase, there it now stands for our use, without e'en
bailiff or porter to say us nay. 'Tis called Foxby Hall."
"If it be so tight closed that others have not entered, for thievery or
shelter, how can we get in?"
"With a key that this Bunch hath hid in a safe hole in the wall. It
opens a side door. He hath kept his secret, for love of his old place
of service, till this hour."
"He is a very worthy rascal, truly. Well, let us make the better haste
to this house, that we may have the more time to tarry in it. Foxby
Hall, say you? I like the name; it hath a sound of hospitable walls
amidst the greenwood."
Speed was made, therefore; and about five o'clock, while the snow still
fell unceasingly, the riders came to a place where, on one hand, the
road was flanked by varied and well-wooded country, and where, on the
other hand, there ran for some distance a wooden fence, beyond which
there were at first fields, and then the stately trees of a park. The
fence was finally succeeded by a stone wall, at a point where a similar
wall ran back at right angle with the first. The wall along the road had
in its middle a broken-down gate. Before this gate Oliver Bunch stopped;
and, with a look at Kit Bottle, pointed through it.
When Hal drew up his horse, and looked into the grounds to which the
gate afforded entrance, he saw, some way up a thinly-wooded slope, a
turreted and gabled building. From its main front, which was parallel
with the road, two wings projected forward. These three parts enclosed
three sides of a square: the fourth side was bounded by a little
terrace, which descended toward the road, and at whose foot ran a
second wall, quite low, across part of the grounds.
The main front, which had two gables, was partly of stone, partly of
wood and plaster. The wings, more recent, were of brick; they were
flanked by turrets, and their ends were gabled. The windows of the main
front were high, narrow, and pointed at the tops; those of the wings
also were high, but they were wide and rectangular. There was a porched
Gothic door in the middle of the main front; and one of the wings, in
its inner side, had a smaller door. A basin for a fountain was in the
centre of the square. Tall trees grew on the terrace.
"It hath an inviting look," said Master Marryott. "But 'tis far from the
road. Were Barnet sighted, we could scarce get to horse and reach the
gate ere he arrived."
"An't please your worship," put in Oliver Bunch, deferentially, "the
house hath a way through the park, to a gate further on the road. 'Tis a
shorter way to the north than the road itself is, sir, for it runs
straight from the stables, while the road goes somewhat roundabout."
"Then seek your key, good Oliver Bunch; and heaven grant it be safe in
its hiding-place!"
The fat household servant of former days slid from his horse with
unwonted alacrity, and disappeared through the gate, gliding thence
along the inner side of the wall. He soon returned with sparkling eyes,
holding up the key.
"Lead Oliver's horse, Kit," said Hal. "Let him show us the way, afoot.
Yon turret window hath a long view of the road. We can keep watch there
for Barnet."
The worthy Bunch, gazing fondly at the deserted mansion amidst the
trees, hastened up the gentle incline of land, followed by the riders.
All looked with curious eyes upon the house as they ascended. The
horse-path, after passing through an alley of neglected hedgerows,
skirted the terrace, and led across one side of the square court to the
Gothic main door.
Bidding the riders halt there, Bunch traversed the other side of the
court, and vanished behind the angle of a wing. For some minutes the
company waited in expectation, Hal watching Mistress Hazlehurst as her
gaze slowly ranged the exterior of the house. At last an unchaining,
unbarring, unbolting, and key-turning were heard from within the door.
Then it swung heavily inward, with a creak, and Oliver Bunch appeared
with a welcoming face.
"Anthony, you will look to the stabling of the horses," said Master
Marryott. "Oliver Bunch, be so kind to show him where that may be done.
Tom Cobble, take you charge of the boy, and follow me into the house.
Master Moreton, have the able fellows help in the wounded. Captain
Bottle, find you the turret window of yonder wing, and watch there till
I send word. Come to this door, Anthony and Oliver, as soon as the
horses be in shelter; I shall have commands, regarding their comfort and
our own. Madam, I pray you dismount and enter!"
Hal had swiftly, on finishing his orders to the men, untied the cord
that bound him to his prisoner, and had leaped to the ground, holding in
one hand the loose ends.
She accepted his hand mechanically, in descending from the pillion, and
then preceded him into the hall of the mansion.
This was a large, lofty apartment, with a timber roof, a great
fireplace, walls hung with old tapestry and armor, and a stairway
ascending along the rear. In a corner some trestles and boards remained
as evidence of the last feast upon which the woven, many-colored hunting
party in the arras had looked down.
Marryott sat beside Mistress Hazlehurst, on a bench by the empty
fireplace, and watched Moreton and Hatch help the wounded men to a pile
of rushes at one side of the hall. By the time that Anthony and Oliver
had returned, Hal had made plans for the next few hours. He had
travelled so rapidly since morning, that he thought he might make this
mansion his stopping-place for as much of the night as he should take
for rest. Beginning the nightly halt at five, instead of at eight, he
might set forth again at twelve instead of at three; unless, of course,
an alarm of pursuit should send him to the saddle in the meanwhile.
This plan would obviate the difficulty he had anticipated of finding a
suitable night's lodging for his prisoner. As the next day would be the
fifth and last of his flight, that difficulty would not recur after
to-night. He saw, with elation, the end of his mission at hand; and at
the same time, with a feeling of blankness and chill, the end of his
fellowship with Mistress Hazlehurst. But meanwhile there was the
immediate future, for which he thus arranged:
He learned from Oliver Bunch that there was an inn some distance beyond
where the park path joined the highroad. To that inn he sent Anthony
Underhill for provisions. Going and returning by the park way, which the
travellers would use in a hasty flight, the Puritan would meet them in
case of such flight during his absence.
Marryott then set his men to fetching logs and making fires: one in the
great hall, for the benefit of the injured robbers; one in an upper
chamber that he chose, upon Oliver's description, for Mistress
Hazlehurst's use; and a third in the large room from which this chamber
had its only entrance.
Guided by Oliver, Hal conducted his unresisting prisoner up the stairs,
thence through a corridor that made a rectangular turn, thence into the
large room, and to the threshold of her chamber. He gave permission,
unasked, that Francis might wait upon her, but stationed Tom Cobble in
the large room with instructions to follow the page wherever the latter
went outside her chamber, and to restrict his movements to the house
itself. Having heard these orders and made no comment, Mistress
Hazlehurst beckoned the page to follow, and disappeared into the
chamber.
Hal had chosen as his own resting-place the large outer room. It was in
the same wing with the turret to which he had sent Kit Bottle to keep
watch. Perceiving that the great embayed window of the room gave as good
a view of the southward road as the turret itself could give, Hal
summoned Kit, and sent him to stay with the robbers in the hall below.
The captain might sleep, if he chose; he had kept vigil the previous
night. Hal would now watch from the window, until Anthony's return; then
the Puritan should go on guard.
Tom Cobble sat, half asleep, on a chest at one side of the door to
Mistress Hazlehurst's chamber. Marryott reclined on the window-seat,
looking now through the casement at the snow-covered, rolling,
grove-dotted country; now at the blazing, crackling logs in the
fireplace opposite; now at the tapestry, which sometimes stirred in the
wind that entered by cracks of door and window. The room was well
furnished, as indeed most of the house was, for its occupants, whatever
the cause of their flight from the country, had valued haste above
property. They had not even taken all their trunks; for one of these
stood in the room as a piece of furniture, in accordance with the custom
of the time. This apartment had probably served as a ladies' room. It
had a case of books; a table on which were some scattered playing-cards,
and a draughts-board with the pieces in the position of an unfinished
game; and another table, on which lay an open virginal, a viol, and
smaller musical instruments. The chairs were heavy and solid. Overhead
was visible the timber work of the roof.
Marryott went and examined the viol, and, returning to the window-seat,
drew from it a few tremulous strains. As he was adjusting the strings,
he heard a sound at the end of the apartment, looked up, and saw, to his
surprise, that Mistress Hazlehurst was returning. Francis followed her.
Her face showed the refreshing effect of the cold water with which
Oliver had supplied her room. Hal watched her in silence.
Motioning Francis to sit by the fire, she crossed to the music-table,
sat down before it, and touched the keys of the virginal. The response
showed the work of weather and neglect upon the instrument; but after
twice or thrice running her fingers up and down the short keyboard, she
elicited the notes of a soft and pensive melody.
After a while of silent listening, Marryott gently took up the melody
upon his viol. For an instant he was fearful that she might break off at
this, but she played on, at first as if not heeding his uninvited
participation, and at last accommodating her own playing, where the
effect required, to his.
From one tune they went to another, and then to a third and fourth. At
first it was she that led in the transition; but, at length, having
ventured with some trepidation to pass, of his own initiative, from one
piece to another, he had the delight of being immediately accompanied by
her. There was in her first note, it was true, an instant's dragging, as
if she hesitated under the protest of certain feelings, but finally the
yielding was complete, the accompaniment in perfect accord. Thereafter
it was he that led, she that followed.
What might he infer from this? Aught beyond the mere outward appearance,
the mere indifferent willingness to join in a musical performance for
the sake of the aural pleasure? Or was there signified an inner, perhaps
unconscious, yielding of the woman's nature to the man's? Was his
domination over her, begun, and hitherto maintained, by physical force,
at last obtaining the consent of her heart? Marryott dared not think
so; he recoiled in horror from the thought, when he saw himself, with
her eyes, as her brother's supposed slayer. And then, still viewing
himself with her eyes, he was fascinated by that very situation from
which he had recoiled. It was, of course, as she must regard it, a
tragic situation; in that circumstance lay both its horror and its
fascination.
But did this situation exist? When he remembered that the mere
attraction of the one woman for the one man, or the one man for the one
woman, ofttimes annihilates all opposing considerations, he knew that
this situation was not impossible. To be loved by this woman, even
across the abyss of blood she saw between them! The idea possessed and
repossessed him, though again and again he put it from him as horrible,
or improbable, or both. Perhaps he spoke his thoughts in the notes he
drew from his viol; perhaps she spoke thoughts of her own in the
language of the virginal; perhaps they spoke unconsciously to each
other's deepest hidden comprehension; neither could outwardly analyze an
impression received from the other's playing, or certainly know whether
that impression had been intended.
The day faded. The snow fell between the window and the trees of the
park; fell as thick as ever, but more slowly and gently now, the wind
being at less unrest. The firelight danced oddly on the tapestry, the
shadows deepened in its brighter radiance. Not a word was uttered. Only
the viol and the virginal spoke.
This strange concert was interrupted, at last, by the return of Anthony
and Oliver, with a supply of cheese, spice-cakes, and apples, a bottle
of wine, a large pot of ale, and a bag of feed for the horses. Marryott
caused the wine and a part of the food to be brought to the room in
which he sat. The ale and other provisions were served to the men in the
hall. Anthony, after supping, and seeing the horses fed, was to keep the
usual vigil on the road, as approaching horsemen might not be seen from
the window after dark, and as the Puritan had slept the previous night.
"Will you sup in your chamber, or with me at this table?" Hal asked his
prisoner.
Without speaking she pointed to the table on which Oliver Bunch had set
the eatables. It was that on which the cards and draughts-board were. As
the viands, with the glasses and plate that Bunch had furnished,
occupied only the table's end next the fire, the draughts-board was not
disturbed. Captor and captive sat opposite each other, as they had sat
in the inn near the Newark cross-road. Tom and Francis, having lighted a
candle-end brought by Oliver, stood to wait on them; but Hal, handing
them a platter on which was a good portion of the supper, bade them go
to another part of the room and wait on themselves. He gave them also a
glass of the wine, reserving the rest, with a single glass, for his
prisoner and himself.
The meal went in silence. Darkness fell over the outer world. The candle
added little light to that of the fire; hence much of the room was
shadowy. Only the table near the fire, where the two sat, was in the
glow. Marryott would have spoken, but a spell had fallen upon him like
that which had locked his lips on the first day of their travelling.
Sometimes he sighed, and looked at her wistfully. When his eyes met
hers, she would glance downward, but without disdain or dislike.
What was in her thoughts? What was her mind toward him? He sought answer
in her face, but in vain. When it came to drinking from the same glass
he used, she did so, in obedience to custom, with no sign of antipathy
or scruple.
Supper over, Marryott idly turned to the cards lying near at hand. Three
of them faced upward. He grasped these, and held them between thumb and
forefinger in the light. It was strange. They were the knave of hearts,
the queen of spades, the eight of clubs,--a fair man, a dark woman, a
battle. Mistress Hazlehurst gave him a glance signifying that she noted
the coincidence. He reached for one of the cards that lay face
downward, thinking it might foretell the issue of the battle. It was the
nine of clubs,--more battle. He smiled amusedly, and looked at her; but
her face told nothing. He turned to the draughts-board, which was
portable, and carefully drew it nearer without displacing any of the
pieces. There were four of each color left on the board. At first glance
one could not see that either side had advantage. Hal observed, under
his lashes, that Mistress Hazlehurst's look had fallen, with slight
curiosity, upon the board. He made a move, with one of the white pieces,
and waited. She continued gazing at the board. At length she placed a
delicate finger on one of the black pieces, and moved. Hal soon replied.
Thus was the game, left unfinished by players now self-exiled to foreign
lands, and who little imagined at this moment by what a strangely
matched pair it was taken up, carried on.
And, after all, it ended as a drawn game.
Mistress Hazlehurst, perceiving that one piece of each color was left on
the board as a result of an exchange which she had thought would leave
two blacks and one white, gave a little shrug of the shoulders; then
rose, and walked toward her chamber.
Marryott swiftly seized the candle, and offered it to her, saying:
"We set forth again at midnight. I will knock at your door a little
before."
She took the candle, and went from the room; but on her threshold she
turned for a moment, and said, softly:
"Good night!"
Marryott stood in a glow of incredulous joy. Her tone, her gracious
look, the mere fact of her uttering the civility, or of her volunteering
a speech to him, could not but mean that she had softened. Had she come
to doubt whether he was indeed her brother's slayer? Or had her heart
come to incline toward him despite the supposed gulf of bloodshed that
parted them? Either conjecture intoxicated him; the first as with an
innocent bliss, the second as with a poignant ecstasy darkly tinged with
horror and guilt.
Francis and Tom had fallen asleep where they had sat at supper. Anthony,
as Marryott knew, had long since ridden out to keep his cold and lonely
watch. Kit and the other men in the hall were asleep, for the sounds of
their supper merriment had ceased to come up from below. The horses were
in the stables, resting, in readiness for a swift departure. The fire
crackled; the wind, having risen again, wailed around the turrets and
gables of Foxby Hall, and the snow beat against the window. Marryott
took a large book from the case, put it on a chest as a pillow, wrapped
himself in his cloak, and lay down with his new and delicious dreams.
From waking dreams, they soon became dreams indeed. For the first night
in three, he slept.