Czytaj książkę: «Beau Brocade», strona 16

CHAPTER XXXV
QUITS

Hemmed in by a compact little group of soldiers at the foot of the stairs, and with three men on guard at the head of it, Bathurst and Patience had but a few minutes in which to live these last brief moments of their love.

She clung passionately to him, throwing aside all the haughty reserve of her own proud nature: conquered by her great love: a woman only, whose very life was bound up in his.

"They shall not take you!" she moaned in the agony of her despair. "They shall not… I will not let you go!"

And he held her in his arms now, savouring with exquisite delight this happiest moment of his life, the joy of feeling her tender form clinging to him in passionate sorrow, to see the tears gathering in her blue eyes, one by one, for him and to know that her love – her great, measureless, divine love – was at last wholly his.

But the moments were brief, and the Sergeant below was already waxing impatient. He drew her gently into a dark angle of the stairs, up against the banisters, and taking the packet of letters from his pocket, he pressed them into her hand.

"The letters! quick!" he whispered. "God guard you and him!"

"The letters?" she murmured mechanically.

"Aye! I can do nothing now … but try to see the Duke of Cumberland before you go to London, show him the letters… He may be in this village to-day … if not, you can see him at Wirksworth… He has power to stay execution even if your brother is arrested … he might use it, if he had seen the letters…"

"Yes! yes!" she murmured.

Sorrow seemed to have dazed her, she did not quite know what she was doing, but her left hand closed instinctively over the precious packet, then dropped listlessly by her side.

Neither she nor Bathurst had perceived a thin, attenuated figure hoisting itself monkey-wise over the dark portion of the banisters.

"Try and hear what those two are saying," Sir Humphrey had whispered, and the attorney, obedient and obsequious, had made a desperate effort to do as he was bid. The staircase was but partially lighted by a glimmer of daylight, which came slanting round the corner from the passage. The banisters were in complete shadow, and the Sergeant and soldiers were too intent on watching their prisoner to notice Master Mittachip or Sir Humphrey.

The next moment Patience felt a terrific wrench on all her fingers; even as she uttered a cry of pain and alarm, the packet of letters was torn out of her hand from behind, and she was dimly conscious of a dark figure clambering over the banisters and disappearing into the darkness below.

But with a mad cry of rage Jack Bathurst had bounded after that retreating figure; wholly taken by surprise, he only saw the dim outline of Mittachip's attenuated form, as the latter hastily dropped the packet of letters at Sir Humphrey Challoner's feet, who stooped to pick them up. Like an infuriated wild beast Jack fell on Sir Humphrey.

"You limb of Satan!" he gasped. "You … you… Give me back those letters! … Stich! Stich! quick!.."

The force of the impact had thrown both men to the ground. Bathurst was gripping his antagonist by the throat with fingers of steel. But already the Sergeant and his men had come to the rescue, dragging Jack away from the prostrate figure of Sir Humphrey, whilst the soldiers from above had run down and were forcibly keeping John Stich in check.

Freed from his powerful antagonist, his Honour quietly picked himself up, readjusted his crumpled neckcloth and flicked the dust from off his coat. He was calmly thrusting the packet of letters in his pocket, whilst the Sergeant was giving orders to his men to bind their prisoner securely, if he offered further resistance.

"Sergeant!" said Bathurst, despairingly, "that miscreant has just stolen some letters belonging to her ladyship."

"Silence, prisoner!" commented the Sergeant. "You do yourself no good by this violence."

It seemed as if Fate meant to underline this terrible situation with a final stroke of her ironical pen, for just then the quiet village street beyond suddenly became alive with repeated joyous shouts and noise of tramping feet. In a moment the dull, monotonous air of Brassington was filled with a magnetic excitement which seemed to pervade all its inhabitants at once, and even penetrated within the small dingy inn, where the last act of a momentous drama was at this moment being played.

"It must be the Duke of Cumberland's army!" quoth the Sergeant, straining his ears to catch the sound of a fast-approaching cavalcade.

"Then you'll please His Royal Highness with the smart capture you've made, Sergeant," said Sir Humphrey, with easy condescension.

This was indeed Fate's most bitter irony. "The Duke has power to stay execution, and would use it if you showed him the letters!" These were the last words of counsel Bathurst had given Patience, and now with freedom for her brother almost within her grasp, she was powerless to do aught to save him.

"The letters, Sir Humphrey!" she murmured imploringly, "an you've a spark of honour left in you."

"Nay!" he retorted under his breath, with truly savage triumph, "an you don't close your lover's mouth, I'll hand your brother over to these soldiers too, and then destroy the letters before your eyes."

He turned, and for a moment regarded with an almost devilish sneer the spectacle of his enemy rendered helpless at last. Bathurst, like some fettered lion caught in a trap, was still making frantic efforts to free himself, until a violent wrench on his wounded shoulder threw him half unconscious on his knees.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Sir Humphrey, "I think, my chivalrous friend, you and I are even at last."

"Come, prisoner, you'd best follow me quietly now," said the Sergeant, touched in spite of himself by Patience's terrible sorrow.

But at Sir Humphrey's final taunt Jack Bathurst had shaken off the deadly feeling of sickness which was beginning to conquer him. He threw back his head, and with the help of the soldiers struggled again to his feet. The clamour outside was beginning to be louder and more continuous: through it all came the inspiriting sound of a fast-approaching regimental band.

"The Duke of Cumberland, is it, Sergeant?" he said suddenly.

"Marching through the village on his way to the north," assented the Sergeant. "Now then, prisoner…"

"Nay, then, Sergeant," shouted Jack in a loud voice, as, wrenching his right arm from the grasp of the soldier who held him, he pointed to Sir Humphrey Challoner, "detain that man! … An I am the rebel Earl of Stretton, he was my accomplice, and has all the papers relating to our great conspiracy at this moment about his person … the door! – the door!" he added excitedly, "take care! … he'll escape you! … and he has papers on him now that would astonish the King."

Instinctively the soldiers had rushed for both the doorways, and when Sir Humphrey, with a shrug of the shoulders, made a movement as if to go, the Sergeant barred the way and said, —

"One moment, sir."

"You would dare?" retorted Sir Humphrey, haughtily. "Are you such a consummate fool as not to see that that man is raving mad?"

"Search him, Sergeant!" continued Bathurst, excitedly, "you'll find the truth of what I say… Search him … her ladyship knows he was my accomplice… Search him! – the loss of those papers'd cost you your stripes."

The Sergeant was not a little perplexed. Already, the day before, the seizure of Sir Humphrey Challoner's person had been attended with disastrous consequences for the beadle of Brassington, and now…

No doubt the Sergeant would never have ventured, but the near approach of the Duke of Cumberland's army, and of his own superior officers, gave the worthy soldier a certain amount of confidence. He had full rights and powers of search, and had been sent to this part of the country to hunt for rebels. He had been tricked and hoodwinked more often than he cared to remember, and he knew that his superior officers would never blame him for following up a clue, even if thereby he was somewhat overstepping his powers.

"The papers," continued Bathurst, "the papers which'll prove his guilt … the papers! or he'll destroy them."

The Sergeant gave a last look at his prisoner. He seemed secure enough guarded by three men, who were even now strapping his hands behind his back. The accusation therefore could be no trick to save his own skin, and who knows? if the Earl of Stretton was a rebel lord, then why not the Squire of Hartington?

"Seize him, and search him!" commanded the Sergeant, "in the name of the King!"

"Your pardon, sir," he added deferentially, "but the Duke of Cumberland is within earshot almost, and I should be cashiered if I neglected my duty."

"This is an outrage!" cried Sir Humphrey, who had become purple with rage.

"It's doing your Honour no harm! and if I've done wrong no doubt I shall be punished. Search him, my men!"

It was Sir Humphrey's turn now to be helpless in the hands of the soldiers. He knew quite well that the Sergeant was within his duty and would certainly not get punished for this. Worse outrages than this attempt on his august person had been committed in the Midlands on important personages, on women and even children, during this terrible campaign against fugitive rebels.

Less than five seconds had elapsed when the soldier drew the packet of letters from Sir Humphrey's pocket and handed it to his Sergeant.

"They'd best be for His Royal Highness's own inspection," said the latter, quietly, as he slipped them inside his scarlet coat.

"Aye! for His Royal Highness!" quoth Jack Bathurst in mad, wild, feverish glee. "Oh, now is it that your Honour thought you could be even with me? What?"

Sir Humphrey was speechless with the hopelessness of his baffled rage. But Patience, almost hysterical with the intensity of her relief after the terrible suspense which she had just endured, had fallen back half fainting against the stairs, and murmuring, —

"The letters! … Before His Royal Highness! … Thank God! … Thank God!.."

Then suddenly she drew herself up, and laughing, crying, joyous, happy, she flew upstairs shouting, —

"Philip! – Philip! – come down! – come down! … you are safe!.."

CHAPTER XXXVI
THE AGONY OF PARTING

About half an hour ago, when Jack Bathurst suddenly burst in upon Lord Stretton in the dingy little parlour upstairs, he gave the lad no inkling of what was happening down below. He had hastily discarded Jock Miggs's smock and hat and extracted a solemn promise from Philip not to stir from the parlour, whatever might be the tumult downstairs.

Then he had left the boy chafing like a wild beast in its cage. The heavy oak doors and thick walls of the old-fashioned inn deadened all the sounds from below, and Bathurst had taken the precaution of locking the door behind him. But for this, no doubt Philip would have broken his word, sooner than allow his chivalrous friend once more to risk his life for him.

As the noise below grew louder and louder, Stretton became more and more convinced that some such scene as had been enacted a day or two ago at the forge was being repeated in the hall of the Packhorse. He tried with all his might to force open the door which held him imprisoned, and threw his full weight against it once or twice, in a vain endeavour to break the thick oaken panels.

But the old door, fashioned of stout, well-seasoned wood, resisted all his efforts, whilst the noise he made thereby never reached the ears of the excited throng.

Like a fettered lion he paced up and down the narrow floor of the dingy inn parlour, chafing under restraint, humiliated at the thought of being unable to join in the fight, that was being made for his safety.

His sister's cry came to him in this agonising moment like the most joyful, the most welcome call to arms.

"The door! … quick!.." he shouted as loudly as he could, "it is locked!"

She found the bolt and tore open the door, and the next instant he was running downstairs, closely followed by Patience.

The Sergeant and soldiers had been not a little puzzled at hearing her ladyship suddenly calling in mad exultation on her brother, whom they believed they were even now holding prisoner.

The appearance of Philip at the foot of the stairs, and dressed in a serving-man's suit, further enhanced their bewilderment.

But already Patience stood proud, defiant, and almost feverish in her excitement, confronting the astonished group of soldiers.

"This, Sergeant!" she said, taking hold of her brother's hand, "is Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, my brother. Arrest him if you wish, he surrenders to you willingly, but I call upon you to let your prisoner go free."

The Sergeant was sorely perplexed. The affair was certainly getting too complicated for his stolid, unimaginative brain. He would have given much to relinquish command of this puzzling business altogether.

"Then you, sir," he said, addressing Philip, "you are the Earl of Stretton?"

"I am Philip James Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, your prisoner, Sergeant," replied the lad, proudly.

"But then, saving your ladyship's presence," said the soldier, in hopeless bewilderment, "who the devil is my prisoner?"

"Surely, Sergeant," quoth Sir Humphrey, with a malicious sneer, "you've guessed that already?"

Jack Bathurst, exhausted and faint after his long fight and victory, had listened motionless and silent to what was going on around him. With the letters safely bestowed in the Sergeant's wallet and about to be placed before His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland himself, he felt that indeed his task was accomplished.

Fate had allowed him the infinite happiness of having served his beautiful white rose to some purpose. Philip now would be practically safe; what happened to himself after that he cared but little.

At sound of Sir Humphrey's malicious taunt, an amused smile played round the corners of his quivering mouth; but Patience, with a rapid movement, had interposed herself between Sir Humphrey and the Sergeant.

"Your silence, Sir Humphrey," she commanded excitedly, "an you've any chivalry left in you."

"Aye!" he replied in her ear, "my silence now … at a price."

"Name it."

"Your hand."

So low and quick had been questions and answers that the bewildered Sergeant and his soldiers had not succeeded in catching the meaning of the words, but Sir Humphrey's final eager whisper, "Your hand!" reached Jack Bathurst's sensitive ear. The look too in the Squire of Hartington's face had already enabled him to guess the purport of the brief colloquy.

"Nay, Sir Humphrey Challoner," he said loudly, "but 'tis not a marketable commodity you are offering to this lady for sale. I'll break your silence for you. What is the information that you would impart to these gallant lobsters? … That besides being my mother's son I am also the highwayman, Beau Brocade!"

"No! no! no!" protested Patience, excitedly.

"Odd's my life!" quoth the Sergeant, "but methought…"

"Aye, Beau Brocade," said Sir Humphrey, with a sneer, "robber, vagabond and thief, that's what this … gentleman means."

"Faith! is that what I meant?" retorted Jack Bathurst, lightly. "I didn't know it for sure!"

But with a wild cry Patience had turned to the Sergeant.

"It's a lie, Sergeant!" she repeated, "a lie, I tell you. This gentleman is … my friend … my…"

"Well, whichever you are, sir," quoth the Sergeant, turning to Beau Brocade decisively, "rebel, lord or highwayman, you are my prisoner, and," he added roughly, for many bitter remembrances of the past two days had surged up in his stolid mind, "and either way you hang for it."

"Aye! hang for it!" continued Sir Humphrey, savagely. "So, now methinks, my chivalrous young friend, that we can cry quits at last. And now, Sergeant," said his Honour, peremptorily, "that you've found out the true character of your interesting prisoner, you can restore me my letters, which he caused you to filch from me."

But the Sergeant was not prepared to do that. He had been tricked and hoodwinked so often, that he would not yield one iota of the advantage which he had contrived to gain.

"Your pardon, sir," he said deferentially yet firmly, "I don't exactly know the rights o' that. I think I'd best show them to His Royal Highness, and you, sir, will be good enough to explain yourself before his Honour, Squire West."

"You'll suffer for this insolence, Sergeant," retorted Sir Humphrey, purple with rage. "I command you to return me those letters, and I warn you that if you dare lay hands on me or hinder me in any way, I'll have you degraded and publicly whipped along with that ape the beadle."

But the Sergeant merely shrugged his shoulders and ordered off three of his men to surround Sir Humphrey Challoner and to secure his hands if he attempted to resist. His Honour's wild threats of revenge did not in the least frighten the soldier, now that he felt himself on safe ground at last.

The rapid approach of the army gave him a sense of security; he knew that if he had erred through excess of zeal, a reprimand would be the only punishment meted out to him, whilst he risked being degraded if he neglected his duty. Whether the Squire of Hartington had or had not been a party to the late rebellion, he neither knew nor cared, but certainly he was not going to give up a packet of letters over which there had been so much heated discussion on both sides.

The fast-approaching tumult in the street confirmed him in his resolve. He turned a deaf ear to all Sir Humphrey's protestations, and only laughed at his threats.

Already the soldiers were chafing with eagerness to see the entry of His Royal Highness with his staff: the village folk one by one had gone out to see the more joyful proceedings, and left the Sergeant and his prisoners to continue their animated discussion.

"Are you ready, my lord?" asked the Sergeant, turning to Philip.

"Quite ready!" replied the lad, cheerfully, as he prepared to follow the soldiers. He gave his sister a look of joy and hope, for he was going to temporary imprisonment only; within a few moments perhaps his safety would be assured. Lady Patience Gascoyne, in virtue of her rank and position, could easily obtain an audience of the Duke of Cumberland, and in the meanwhile the letters proving Philip's innocence would have been laid before His Royal Highness. No wonder that as the lad, marching light-heartedly between two soldiers, passed close to Jack Bathurst, he held out his hand to his brave rescuer in gratitude too deep for words.

"Are you ready, sir?" quoth the Sergeant now, as he turned to Beau Brocade.

But here there was no question of either joy or hope: no defence, no proofs of innocence. The daring outlaw had chosen his path in life, and being conquered at the last, had to pay the extreme penalty which his country demanded of him for having defied its laws.

As he too prepared to follow the soldiers out into the open, Patience, heedless of the men around her, clung passionately, despairingly to the man who had sacrificed his brave life in her service, and whom she had rewarded with the intensity, the magnitude of her love.

"They shall not take you," she sobbed, throwing her protecting arms round the dearly-loved form, "they shall not … they shall not…"

The cry had been so bitter, so terribly pathetic in its despair, that instinctively the soldiers stood aside, awed in spite of their stolid hearts at the majesty of this great sorrow; they turned respectfully away, leaving a clear space round Patience and Bathurst.

Thus for a moment he had her all to himself, passive in her despair, half crazed with her grief, clinging to him with all the passionate abandonment of her great love for him.

"What? … tears?" he whispered gently, as with a tender hand he pressed back the graceful drooping head, and looked into her eyes, "one … two … three … four glittering diamonds … and for me! … My sweet dream!" he added, the intensity of his passion causing his low, tender voice to quiver in his throat, "my beautiful white rose, but yesterday for one of those glittering tears I'd gladly have endured hell's worst tortures, and to-day they flow freely for me… Why! I would not change places with a King!"

"Your life … your brave, noble life … thus sacrificed for me… Oh, why did I ever cross your path?"

"Nay, my dear," he said with an infinity of tenderness, and an infinity of joy. "Faith! it must have been because God's angels took pity on a poor vagabond and let him get this early glimpse of paradise."

His fingers wandered lovingly over her soft golden hair, he held her close, very close to his heart, drinking in every line of her exquisite loveliness, rendered almost ethereal through the magnitude of her sorrow: her eyes shining with passion through her tears, the delicate curve of throat and chin, the sensitive, quivering nostrils, the moist lips on which anon he would dare to imprint a kiss.

"And life now to me," she whispered 'twixt heart-broken sobs, "what will it be? … how shall I live but in one long memory?"

"My life, my saint," he murmured. "Nay! lift your dear face up to me again! let me take away as a last memory the radiant vision of your eyes … your hair … your lips…"

His arms tightened round her, her head fell back as if in a swoon, she closed her eyes and her soul went out to him in the ecstasy of that first kiss.

"Ah! it is a lovely dream I dreamt," he whispered, "and 'tis meet that the awakening shall be only in death!"

He tried to let her go but she clung to him passionately, her arms round him, in the agony of her despair.

"Take me with you," she sobbed, half fainting. "I cannot bear it … I cannot…"

Gently he took hold of both her hands, and again and again pressed them to his lips.

"Farewell, sweet dream!" he said. "There! dry those lovely tears! … If you only knew how happy I am, you would not mourn for me… I have spun the one thread in life which was worth the spinning, the thread which binds me to your memory… Farewell!"

The Sergeant stepped forward again. It was time to go.

"Are you ready, sir?" he asked kindly.

"Quite ready, Sergeant."

She slid out of his arms, her eyes quite dry now, her hands pressed to her mouth to smother her screams of misery. She watched the soldiers fall into line, with their prisoner in their midst, and turn to the doorway of the inn, through which the golden sunshine came gaily peeping in.

Outside a roll of drums was heard and shouts of "The Duke! The Duke!" The excitement had become electrical. His Royal Highness, mounted on a magnificent white charger, was making his entry into the village at the head of his general staff, and followed at some distance by the bulk of his army corps, who would camp on the Heath for the night.

Squire West, his stiff old spine doubled in two, was in attendance on the green, holding a parchment in his hand, which contained his loyal address and that of the inhabitants of Brassington: the beadle, more pompous than ever, and resplendent in blue cloth and gold lace, stood immediately behind his Honour.

In the midst of all this gaiety and joyful excitement the silent group, composed of the soldiers with their three prisoners, appeared in strange and melancholy contrast. Philip and Bathurst were to be confined in the Court House, under a strong guard, pending his Honour the Squire's decision, and as the little squad emerged upon the green, 'twas small wonder that they caught His Royal Highness's eye.

He had been somewhat bored by Squire West's long-winded harangue, and was quite glad of an excuse for cutting it short.

"Odd's buds!" he said, "and what have we here? Eh?"

The Sergeant and soldiers stood still at attention, some twenty yards away from the brilliant group of His Highness's general staff. The little diversion had caused Squire West to lose the thread of his speech, and much relieved, the Duke beckoned the Sergeant to draw nearer.

"Who are your prisoners, Sergeant?" queried His Highness, looking with some interest at the two young men, one of whom was a mere lad, whilst the other had a strange look of joy and pride in his pale face, an air of aloofness and detachment from all his surroundings, which puzzled and interested the Duke not a little.

"'Tis a bit difficult to explain, your Royal Highness," replied the Sergeant, making the stiff military salute.

"Difficult to explain who your prisoners are?" laughed the Duke, incredulously.

"Saving your Highness's presence," responded the Sergeant, "one of these gentlemen is Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton."

"Oho! the young reprobate rebel who was hand-in-glove with the Pretender! I mind his case well, Sergeant, and the capture does your zeal great credit. Which of your prisoners is the Earl of Stretton?"

"That's just my trouble, your Royal Highness. But I hope that these papers will explain."

And the Sergeant drew from his wallet the precious packet of letters and handed them respectfully to the Duke.

"What are these letters?"

"They were found on the person of that gentleman, sir," replied the Sergeant, indicating Sir Humphrey Challoner, who stood behind the two younger men, silent and sulky, and nursing desperate thoughts of revenge. "He is said to be an accomplice and I thought 'twas my duty to bring him before a magistrate. If I've done wrong…".

"You've done quite right, Sergeant," said the Duke, firmly. "You were sent here to rid the country of rebels, whom an Act of Parliament has convicted of high treason, and it had been gross neglect of duty not to refer such a case to the nearest magistrate. Give me the papers, I'll look through them anon. See your prisoners safely under guard, then come back to my quarters."

"Damnation!" muttered Sir Humphrey, as he saw the Duke take the packet of letters from the Sergeant's hand, and then turn away to listen to the fag end of Squire West's loyal address.

Throughout his chagrin, however, the Squire of Hartington was able to gloat over one comforting idea. He had now lost all chance of pressing his suit on Lady Patience, his actions in the past three days would inevitably cause her to look upon him with utter hatred and contempt, but the man who was the cause of his failure, the chivalrous and meddlesome highwayman, Beau Brocade, would, as sure as the sun would set this night, dangle on the nearest gibbet to-morrow.