THE NIGHT OF THE 23RD: IN THE GARDEN.
As we descended the terrace-steps, the horror of this task on which we
were set broke in upon me in its full significance. Above our heads,
it is true, the moon sailed through a clear sky; upon the trees in the
Wilderness the rain-drops glistened with a sprightly brilliancy like
the silver lamps of fairies; but beneath us, on the floor of the
garden, a white mist smoked and writhed, and somewhere--somewhere
under that mist lay the dead body slain by me.
We met the mist at the line where the parterre borders on the
Wilderness, and walked through it knee-deep until the trees grew
dense. At that point, however, we separated and moved forwards
thenceforth with an interval between us that we might the sooner end
our search, and so doing we quickly lost sight of one another. I made
directly so far as I could guess for the bushes above which I had seen
the smoke of the pistol float, but, being come near to the spot, what
with the delusive light and the many shrubs crowding thereabouts, I
could by no means determine which was the particular one I sought.
Moreover, since I walked, as I say, knee-deep in mist, it was a very
easy and possible thing for me to pass within an inch of the body and
be never a jot the wiser unless my foot chanced to knock on it. I
walked, therefore, very slowly and in a great agony and desolation of
remorse. It seemed to me that his wraith was a presence in the garden,
and the garden its most fitting habitation. For now that I had left
the open, and was circled about with the boskage, I moved through a
world shadowy and fantastic. The shadows of the branches laced the
floor of mist in a grotesque pattern, and amongst them my shadow moved
and moved alone, swelling and dwindling as I turned this way and that
in the moonlight; and now and again invisible beneath the mist a
creeping plant would twine of a sudden about my ankle, and I would
stop with a cry half-checked upon my lips, fancying for a moment that
it was the dead man's fingers clutching me.
Moreover, as I brushed against the boughs, the raindrops would patter
from the leaves with the most melancholy sound that ever a man heard.
To me I know they sounded like the pattering feet of little children.
I remember that when the thought first struck me I groaned aloud in
the anguish of my spirit. The pattering of little children's feet, and
here was the young husband dead through me as surely as though my hand
had pulled the trigger and the young wife as surely widowed! And when
I rose and continued my search, that sound pursued me. It was as
though the children ran after me, with many steps to my one stride. I
was like the Dutch piper they tell of in story-books, who led the
little children in a long train from Hamlin town; only those children
laughed and sang and played as they went, merriment in their voices,
rosy expectation in their looks; but those who followed me that night,
followed in the saddest silence. The only noise they made was the
pattering of their feet, unborn children mutely accusing me for that
they would never see the day. Indeed, I drank my fill of punishment
that night.
How long it was that I wandered thus I do not know, but all at once a
cry rang out through the quiet. It came from some distance upon my
right and was the cry of a woman. I hurried in that direction as
quickly as the long wet grass allowed, and in a little I came to an
open space. Mrs. Herbert was kneeling in the centre with her arms in
front of her, buried in the mist. I ran towards her, but she did not
perceive me until I was within a few yards of her.
"No!" she cried suddenly, and she lifted up her arms and held them
towards me to keep me off. "Not you! Not you!" and with that she
dipped her arms again into the mist and began to croon over to herself
a little tender lullaby such as mothers will sing about a cradle. I
noticed that she moved her hands, and I fancied that I understood the
significance of the movements. For now they seemed to caress a face,
now to repose upon a breast.
"Madam," I said gently, "I know that my help must be the most
unwelcome thing to you in all the world. Yet I must offer it and you
must accept it. There is no other way;" and I bent down towards the
ground.
"No," she cried, and with all her strength she thrust my arms aside,
repulsing me. The moonlight shone in her eyes, and they glared at me
wild with hatred.
"No!"--she leaned forwards over the spot protecting it--"your touch
would stain;" and with a sudden movement she caught hold of a hand, of
mine, and peered at it as though she thought to see blood there. "No,
you must not----"
"But I must," I interrupted her, for her wits seemed all distraught,
and I could endure this evidence of her suffering no longer. "I must,"
I repeated, and in my turn I dipped my hands into the curling mist.
She gave a shrill scream, as though I had laid violent hands on her,
sprang to her feet, and made in a stumbling run beneath the trees
towards the house. I kneeled down where she had kneeled and plunged my
hands in the mist as she had done.
What they touched was a fallen tree-trunk.
I started to my feet and ran back to the house. There was no one in
the parlour. I hurried into the hall. There was no one there. I ran
down the road. At the gates I saw ahead of me in the darkness the
flutter of a dress. I raced after it; I heard a cry, which the sound
of my running provoked, and Mrs. Herbert began to run from me.
I called to her, but she only quickened her pace, and accordingly I
relaxed mine. In a little her run became a walk, and so keeping behind
her I followed her to the outskirts of Keswick and then returned to
Blackladies.
The house, however, was now lighted up, and the door closed. I
knocked, and one of the servants opened it to me. I did not speak to
him, but ran through the hall to the garden and resumed the search, I
continued it until the sky in the east grew white, and after that when
the sun had risen and the birds were singing. The mist cleared from
the ground, and at last in the clear daylight I came again to the
shrubs whither I had marched at the outset, and I saw something which
made the hope spring again in my breast. The grass for some yards was
trampled and crushed as though from a struggle. I picked up a shred of
lace; it might have been torn in a struggle from a ruffle or cravat. I
dropped upon my knees and searched in the grass; in a little I came
upon a pistol--it was the pistol which I had noticed in Mr. Herbert's
lodging, and, moreover, it was discharged. It was he, then, who had
fired, but--but it was plain he had not fired it at himself. In a
feverish haste I crawled on my knees within this trampled circle. If
he had been attacked, who attacked him? I needed a clue to answer me
that question, and I found the clue. After a long while, it is true,
but nevertheless I found it. It was no more than a metal button, but I
had seen the like upon the uniforms of King George's officers.
I held it in my hands, turning it over and over. For, to my thinking,
the mines of Golconda held no jewel half so precious. It was a sign to
me that Anthony Herbert was not dead. The one pistol which had been
discharged was his own. He had been captured, and capture seemed to me
so small a thing in the revulsion of my feelings. Of the reason for
his capture I did not conjecture at all; I stood with an intense
feeling of gratefulness softening at my heart and dimming my eyes.
Then I remembered that there was one whose right to share my knowledge
and my gratitude I had already too long deferred. I started with all
speed for the house; the garden laughed in the sunshine as I ran, and
the flowers took on a richer beauty and sprinkled the air with a
sweeter perfume.
But as I neared the open space, I saw through an opening of the trees
Aron run from the parlour and down the steps in a great haste. I
shouted to him, and he lifted his head and seemed to look for the spot
whence the shout came. But he did not in any measure slacken his pace.
I shouted again, and he caught sight of me and waved his hands. I ran
on, and again he waved his hands, but with a more violent gesture. I
met him halfway across the open space of meadow.
"Quick, sir," said he, panting in a great disorder, "back--back to the
trees;" and he caught me by the flap of the coat.
I tugged the coat away.
"For God's sake, Master Lawrence, stop!"
But I was already running past him; the which he saw, and putting out
a foot tripped me up without ceremony. I sprawled full length on the
grass.
"How dare you?" I spluttered out in a rage.
"I would do as much again, sir, and more, were there the same need.
Quick, sir, to the trees;" and he stooped to help me to my feet. Then,
"It's too late," he whispered, and pressing me down by the shoulder
dropped at my side.
"Look, Master Lawrence. Look!" and he nodded towards the house.
I saw the flash of a red-coat in the little parlour, then another and
another. The room filled with soldiers.
"Keep your head low, sir! God send they do not look this way. If only
we had reached the trees!" And he stretched himself flat in the grass
and began to wriggle and crawl towards the shelter.
"They come for me?" I whispered, imitating his example.
"Yes!" he returned. "I must needs think so."
"Why?"
"I saw them marching up the drive, and Mr."--he paused over the
name--"Mr. Ashlock was with them."
"Ashlock?" I exclaimed with a start, for in the press of trouble which
these last twelve hours had brought, I had clean forgotten the man.
"Hush!" replied Aron.
"Oh, why keep up the lie?" I answered savagely. "Call him Jervas
Rookley and have done with it. He came with King George's soldiers,
did he? Aron, or Ashlock, I take it, I should call you, when next Mr.
Jervas Rookley makes up his accounts for me, he shall make them up
with his own hand, I promise you that."
The old man shook his head very sadly.
"I fear me," he agreed, "that Mr. Jervas is for something in all
this."
"For more than you know," I replied, "and indeed for more than I know
too as yet."
Of a sudden I remembered that evening when I had seen Jervas Rookley
enter through the parlour window.
"There is a secret way into the garden," I said, and then a new
thought flashed in upon me. "It was doubtless by that way the soldiers
came."
"No, sir," said Ashlock, "they came by the highroad. Else I should not
have seen them."
"True," said I, "those soldiers did, but they are not all the soldiers
in Cumberland. And this secret way--you know it?"
"I know it," he answered. "But we must reach the thicket first."
I looked backwards across my shoulder. The soldiers were spreading
over the terrace. I turned my face and strained every muscle to help
me forward. Each moment I expected to hear the clink of a sabre
against a spur, and a voice cry "Halt," or to see a shadow fall from
behind my shoulder across the grass in front. "I must not be taken," I
said to myself, yet knew full well that I might, "I must not be
taken." It was not so much the thought of my own peril that plagued
me, but rather the desire to inform Mrs. Herbert that her husband was
not dead. It pressed upon me like a sheer necessity. I must escape.
Ashlock at my side uttered a groan.
"I can go no further, Master Lawrence," he said, and lay prone in an
extremity of exhaustion, his face purple, and the veins pulsing upon
it "Were I ten years younger--but I cannot."
For answer I twined my arm about his body and dragged him forward.
Every muscle in his body was a-quiver, the sweat poured from his
forehead, and his chest heaved upon my arm as though it would crack;
and all the while the screen of grass was close about our eyes and the
sun burning upon our backs and heads. At last a shadow fell between
the sun and us. I stopped with a groan and let my forehead fall
forward on the ground. In a trice I saw myself captured, tried,
executed, and meanwhile Mrs. Herbert would sit a-weeping in Keswick
for a husband who was not dead.
"Thank God!" said Ashlock. "It is the shadow of the first tree."
I raised my head, just checking the cry of joy which sprang to my
lips. A little to the left of us a great leafy branch stretched out
towards us. We crawled forward again, past a tree-trunk, then another,
then another, and in a minute I was standing up behind a shrub, and
Ashlock was lying at my feet, his breath coming in hoarse gasps from
between his parched lips, his eyes closed, and his whole body limp and
broken.
I peered round the shrub. The soldiers were scattered over the
parterre, and then of a sudden I saw something which doubled my fears.
For right across the meadow a furrow was drawn in a wavering line as
though by the clumsiest scytheman. And it led straight to this bush.
In a very short while the soldiers must see it. I sprang to Ashlock.
It was no less than a necessity that Ashlock should escape from that
garden without incurring a suspicion. I needed a friend in the house
for one thing. For another I needed a messenger who could safely show
himself in Keswick.
Accordingly I raised Ashlock to his feet and supported him through the
thicket until we came to the labyrinth. The secret entrance to the
garden lay in the last square of the labyrinth at the corner against
the hillside, and had been constructed by Jervas Rookley during the
lifetime of his father. It consisted of no more than a number of iron
pegs driven into the interstices of the stone wall and hidden beneath
a drapery of ivy. I descended first, and Ashlock followed me closely,
so that if by any chance he slipped I might be able to lend him a
hand. As soon as we were safely at the bottom, I said--
"Now, Ashlock, your way lies down the valley, mine up the hillside.
You will get back into the house unnoticed, make sure of that! And
to-day you will ride into Keswick and take this message from me to
Mrs. Herbert."
I tore a page from the note-book which I carried in my pocket, and
hurriedly scribbled on it, "He is not dead," and added thereto my
initials. "Now good-bye. Be instant with the message! I doubt me but
it is the last order you will ever take from me," and so I turned from
him and began running up the hillside.
Ashlock called out to me--
"Sir," he cried, "I know not where I can have news of you. It will be
well that I should know."
"You can have news of me," I replied, "at my Lord Derwentwater's, but
be careful how you come there lest you imperil him;" and of a sudden
he snatched up my hand and kissed it.
"Master Lawrence," he said in a broken voice of apology, "my father
served Sir John Rookley's father."
"Therefore," I interrupted, "you must serve Sir John Rookley's son. It
is very right," and I patted him gently on the shoulder. "It is just
for that reason a man serves his King. It is the house one serves, not
the man who heads it."
"But I would you were Sir John Rookley's son."
The tenderness with which he spoke cut me like a knife.
"Nay," said I, "if there were a choice to be made, you would not be
right in choosing me."
I had barely ended the sentence before a cry rang out from the garden.
It came, however, faintly to our ears.
"Quick!" I said. "They have come upon our tracks in the grass. Quick!
That note must reach Keswick to-day, and your hand must deliver it."
With that we parted. I mounted the hillside until I came to a large
boulder, and threw myself on the ground beneath its shelter. In a
fever of impatience I watched Ashlock descend along the wall, and yet
the moment he had turned the corner and was clean out of my sight, I
wished him back again. I was, in truth, sunk to such a depth of shame
and self-contempt as made this old servant's goodwill an extraordinary
consolation. For now that I had had time to grow used to the knowledge
that Anthony Herbert was not dead, I began to see more clearly the
wickedness of my preceding conduct.
It was, then, with a very lonely feeling that I climbed to the ridge
of Green Comb. Beneath me I could see Blackladies and its garden much
as on that morning when I first rode thither over Coldbarrow Fell.
But I saw it with very different eyes. Then, proud of my entrusted
mission, I had looked upon it as an instrument of loyalty, a prop,
however fragile, of the cause I served and my father had served before
me. Now it was to me a monument of failure. Here I had failed through
and through. I had proved false to Mr. Herbert; I had been juggled
like the merest fool in my service to the King. I had but to turn, and
over against me I could see the very spot where I had forced Jervas
Rookley to make his vow of concealment upon his knees, and a little
lower down the winding path, where I had come to my knees and Jervas
Rookley had sat his horse over me. Well, I had kept faith with him, at
all events, and how had he kept faith with me? The red-coats sprinkled
in the garden below gave me the answer. Yes, I had kept faith with
him. It seemed to me a wonderful and astonishing thing, so deep was my
humiliation, but it was true. I had kept faith with him, and I hugged
the thought to my very breast. In the wreck of my hopes and pride, it
stood erect as you may see a single column standing amidst a pile of
ruins; and perhaps, I thought, since that one column stands, if he
could but bring perseverance to the work, a man might in time rebuild
the whole.
To effect anything of this sort, however, I must needs first of all
escape, and to that end I kept all the day along the hilltops, and at
the fall of the dark came down Bleaberry Fell, to the great wood that
fringes Derwentwater over against Rampsholme Island. About a mile to
the east of the wood was a fisherman's cottage with which I was
sufficiently familiar, since the fisherman had ferried me over often
enough to Lord's Island, and many another visitor to my Lord
Derwentwater besides, who came in a great hurry when the night was
fallen dark. To this cottage I crept, and tapping at the window-pane
presently the man came out and joined me.
He asked no questions, being well practised in the habit of secrecy,
but put me across to the steps and so pushed off again without a word.
I thought it best not to openly knock at the door, but crept round to
a room wherein I knew Lord Derwentwater was used to sit of an evening.
To my inexpressible relief I saw that the windows were lighted. I
knocked on the pane; the sash was thrown up.
"Who is it?" asked Lord Derwentwater.
I set my hand on the sill and climbed into the room.