XXII
MASTER PAUL AND MASTER PETER
At the dinner-hour Halfman came for Evander, where he sat in the library, and told him that Lady Brilliana awaited him. The meal was served in the banqueting-hall, a splendid, panelled room with deep-embrasured windows, from which the defences had now been removed and through which the inmates could have noble views of the lawns and gardens beyond the moat. The little company of three seemed, as it were, lost in the vastness of the chamber as they sat at meat together at the oak table by the hearth at one end of the room, Brilliana at the head, with Halfman at her right and Evander at her left as the guest and stranger. It proved a vastly pleasant meal to Evander, for the talk was brisk and entertaining, and there was no allusion made to those civil and religious differences which in distracting the country had their curious effect, so unimportant to the country, so important to themselves, of bringing that oddly assorted trio together. Brilliana gave a gracious equality of attention to her companions; showed no keener interest in her new visitor than she had found in the conversation of her old acquaintance, and thus made both men very happily at their ease. Indeed, Halfman was at his best that afternoon, playing the genial, ripe, mellow man of the world to perfection, so that Evander found him a most entertaining board-fellow.
They were at the fruit, and Halfman showing them tricks of carving faces in October apples, when Tiffany skipped into the room a-twitter with excitement.
“My lady,” she cried, “here is come Master Paul and two of our people bearing a great box. And I can spy Master Peter and his party with another at the turn of the road.”
Halfman laughed loudly; Brilliana laughed softly; Evander wondered what there was to laugh at.
“Lodge them apart and bring them in by turn,” Brilliana gave order. “Master Paul first and then Master Peter. This is rare. Bring them in, bring them in.”
Tiffany fluttered out and Evander rose from his chair.
“Shall I leave you, lady?” he asked, thinking that she would be private. But Brilliana would not hear of this and motioned to him to keep his seat.
“Nay, sir, stay,” she said, “if you would see some sport.”
Even as she spoke Tiffany returned, ushering in Master Hungerford, followed by two men in Brilliana’s livery, bearing with pains a chest which they set down with a deep breath of relief. Tiffany, who was now in the secret, pretended to be busy at a sideboard so as to stay in the room. Master Paul rubbed his lean fingers together and scraped to the company.
“You have been swift, Master Hungerford,” Brilliana said, approvingly. Master Hungerford smiled furtively.
“Who would not use despatch in the King’s cause and yours. ’Tis as I said: the pestilent Roundhead had a chest full of broad-pieces stuffed under his bed. And here it now is at your feet.” And he pointed victoriously at the spoils of war. Brilliana applauded as if she had been at the play.
“You have done well,” she said, with the tears in her eyes for laughter. Halfman kept a grave face and Evander wondered.
“Call me your knight,” Master Paul pleaded, with a languishing look.
“You have done well, my knight,” Brilliana repeated; then, turning to Tiffany, she bade her see that the chest was set in a place of safety. The two men took up their burden again and followed Tiffany out of the room. But in a jiffy the maid was back again and whispering in her mistress’s ear.
Brilliana turned her amused gaze upon Master Paul.
“Master Hungerford,” she entreated, “will you be so good as to wait awhile in the next chamber. I have some immediate business to deal with, but I would be loath to part company with you so soon if you have the leisure to wait.”
Master Hungerford, protesting his readiness to attend upon her pleasure, was promptly ushered by Halfman into an adjoining room, where he left him, and having closely shut the door, came back shaking with suppressed laughter to Brilliana. Evander, looking from the mirthful man to the mirthful maid, felt constrained to question.
“Why are you so merry?”
“You will know ere the sun is much older,” Brilliana answered, composing her countenance, “for here comes the other.”
As she spoke Tiffany returned, ushering in Master Peter Rainham and a fresh brace of Brilliana’s servants, staggering, like their predecessors, under the weight of a great chest. The certainty that some astonishing jest was towards set Evander on the alert as he scrutinized the forbidding form and features of the new-comer.
“Welcome, thrice welcome, Master Peter Rainham,” cried Brilliana. “You have made good speed.”
Master Peter proffered her an uncouth salutation and pointed to the chest on the floor significantly.
“Lady,” he said, “I have done the King a good turn. There are gold plates there, gold dishes, gold ewers, that will change in the melting-pot to many a troop of horse for the King’s cause.”
“I thank you with all my heart,” Brilliana said, quietly.
Master Peter leered cunningly at her, and earned the cordial dislike of Evander.
“Do you give me your heart with your thanks?” he asked, with what he believed to be gallantry.
Brilliana made a little fanning motion at him with her hand.
“You are too hot,” she said. Then ordered Tiffany, “See these treasures despatched to the King under guard.”
As before, the serving-men took up the chest, which seemed even heavier than the former box, and were convoyed by Tiffany out of the room. Then Brilliana turned to Master Peter, who stood apart biting his nails awkwardly.
“Master Rainham,” she said, “you have shown rare discretion and made brave despatch. I would thank you at greater length were it not that I have company. There is one in the next room who waits to see me. Entreat the gentleman to enter, Captain Halfman.”
Halfman went to the nigh door, and, opening it, summoned with beckoning finger its tenant to come forth. Master Hungerford emerged radiant. For a moment neither squire saw the other. Then Master Rainham, looking away from Brilliana, saw Master Hungerford; and Master Hungerford, looking away from Halfman, saw Master Rainham.
To those who watched the comedy the silence was intense, and throbbing with possibilities as summer air throbs with heat. Brilliana heard Master Rainham say, “What a devil, Master Hungerford,” and Halfman, for his part, averred later that Master Hungerford, too, greeted his neighbor’s presence with an oath. The spectators wondered what would happen: it was plain as noon that each squire for an instant believed that the other had discovered larceny and had posted to avenge it. But while each man knew of his own guilt neither could guess or did guess at the other’s theft, and neither reading anger in the other’s visage, each concluded that the meeting was a piece of chance, and each resolved to make the best of it, laughing heartily in his sleeve at the other’s catastrophe. So “Good-morrow, neighbor,” nodded Master Paul, and “Good-day, good-day,” responded Master Peter, and Brilliana thought her bodice would burst with her effort to keep her appreciation a prisoner.
“Why, sirs,” she cried, “this is a good seeing, a pair of neighbors under my roof.”
“What does this fellow here?” Master Paul asked behind his hand of Halfman, who answered, very coolly,
“He comes to pay court to our lady.”
At the same moment, beneath his breath, Master Peter was questioning Brilliana, “Why is that disloyal rogue here?” Brilliana answered, with a pretty toss of the head:
“Would you ever believe it? He came to assure me of his devotion to me and his zeal for his Majesty.”
Master Peter, in wrath, looked more porcine than ever.
“The lying knave,” he grunted. “What are his words to my deeds?”
“What, indeed,” answered Brilliana, demurely. “I pray you persuade him hence.”
“So that I may return alone?”
Thus Master Peter interpreted Brilliana, and the minx gave him a glance which might well be taken as justifying his interpretation. At this moment Master Paul broke in upon their colloquy.
“A word with you, I pray you,” he said, sourly, “if my good neighbor will give me good leave.”
Master Rainham withdrew a little way his self-satisfaction and himself, while Master Paul whispered to Brilliana:
“You know me now: I am proved your friend. Prithee get rid of that mean huckster.”
Brilliana desired nothing better. She gave him the same advice that she had given his neighbor, and was mischievously delighted to find that he interpreted it after the same fashion. It did her heart good to see how the two squires approached each other with many formal expressions of good-will, each persuading the other to depart, and each warmly proffering companionship on the homeward road. In the end they went off together arm in arm, each endeavoring to convey to Brilliana by nods and winks that he proposed to return alone very shortly.
As soon as they were fairly gone Brilliana and Halfman allowed themselves to laugh like school-boy and school-girl, and then Brilliana commanded Halfman to take order that neither gentleman was to be admitted again. When he had gone on this business she turned to Evander.
“Well,” she said, “have you found the key to the riddle?”
“You have made these two neighbors plunder each other?” he hazarded. Brilliana nodded gleefully, and then, guessing at disapproval in his gravity, she asserted, defiantly:
“It was for the King’s cause. Everything is right for the King’s cause.”
At this flagrant enunciation of Cavalier policy Evander could not but smile.
“How will it end?” he asked. He was to learn that very soon, but first he was to learn other things of greater import to himself.
XXIII
A DAY PASSES
A day is twenty-four hours if you take it by the card, but the spirit of joy or the spirit of sorrow has the power to multiply its potentialities amazingly. Both these spirits walked by Evander’s side during his second day at Harby. The one that went in sable reminded him that his horizon was dwindling almost to his feet; the other, in rose and gold, hinted that it is better to be emperor for a day than beggar for a century. And truly through all that day Evander esteemed himself happier than an emperor. For he had discovered that Brilliana was the most adorable woman in the world, and, knowing how his span of life was shrinking, he allowed himself to adore without let or hinderance of hostile faiths and warring causes. He did not, as another in his desperate case might have done, make the most of his time by using it for very straightforward love-making. There was a fine austerity in him that denied such a course. Were he an undoomed man his creed and his cause would forbid him to philander; being a doomed man, it could not consort with his honor to act differently. But he was radiantly happy in her constant companionship, and the hours fled from him iris-tinted as he relived the age of gold.
But if Evander trod the air, there was another who pressed the earth with leaden feet and carried a heart of lead. Halfman read Evander’s happiness with hostile eyes; he read, too, very clearly, Brilliana’s content in Evander’s company, and he raged at it. He had grown so used to himself as Brilliana’s ally that he had come to dream mad dreams which were none the less sweet because of their madness. He had rehearsed himself if not as Romeo at least as Othello, and if Brilliana was not in the least like Desdemona that knowledge did not dash him, for he thought her much more delectable than the Venetian, and he thanked his stars that he was not a blackamoor. He had not pushed his thoughts to a precise formula; he had been content to delight during the hours of siege in the companionship of a matchless maid, and now the maid had found another companion, and he knew that he was fiercely in love and as foolishly jealous as a moon-calf. Brilliana was as kind to him as ever, but she gave her time to the new man, and Halfman, inwardly bleeding and outwardly the magnificent stoic, left the pair to themselves and absented himself at meal-times on pretext of pressing business with the volunteer troop. But his temper grew as a gale grows and would soon prove a whirlwind.
The garden-room at Harby was one of its many glories. Its panelled walls, its portraits of old-time Harbys, its painted ceiling, were exquisite parts of its exquisite harmony. On the side towards the park the wall was little more than a colonnade – to which doors could be fitted in winter-time, and here, as from a loggia, the indweller could feast on one of the fairest prospects in Oxfordshire. Across the moat the gardens stretched, in summer-time a riot of color, flowers glowing like jewels set in green enamel. In the waning autumn the scene was still fair, even though the day was overcast as this day was, from which the weather-wise and even the weather-unwise could freely and confidently prophesy rain. Brilliana dearly loved her garden-room for many things, most, perhaps, because of its full-length portrait of her King, an honest copy from an adorable Vandyke, to which, as to a shrined image, Brilliana paid honest adoration. She knew more about the picture than anyone else in Harby, and used sometimes to wonder if the knowledge would ever avail her. In the mean time, ever since the troubles began, she always bent a knee whenever she passed the portrait. She had never seen her King, yet she felt as if she saw him daily, visible in the living flesh, so keenly did her loyalty seem to quicken color and canvas. Brilliana was not the only soul in England whose loyalty gave the King a kind of godhead, but if she had many peers she had none, nor could have, who overpassed her.
On the morning of the third day of Evander’s stay at Harby, Halfman sat on the edge of the table in the garden-room and stared through the open doorway into the green beyond. He was alone, and he had flung off the stoic robe and was very frankly an angry man and very frankly a dangerous man. What he saw in the garden maddened him; his eyes glittered like a cat’s that stalks its prey. He had no room in his thoughts for the cottage of his earlier dreams, with its pleasant garden and its lazy hours over ale and tobacco. He thought only of a woman quite beyond his reach, and his heart lusted for the lawless days when your lucky buccaneer might take his pick of a score of women by right of fire and sword and tame his choice as he pleased.
To this mood fortune sent interruption in the person of Sir Blaise Mickleton. Sir Blaise had opened the door expecting to find in the room Brilliana, whom he had come with a purpose to visit, and instead of Brilliana he found this queer soldier swinging his legs from the table and scowling truculently. From what Sir Blaise had already seen of Halfman he found him very little to his mind, but he reflected that he had come on a mission, that Brilliana was nowhere in sight, and that Halfman, who had served her during the siege, might very well direct him where he should find her.
As Halfman took no notice whatever of him, Sir Blaise deemed it advisable, in the interests of his mission, to attract his attention. So he gave a politic cough and followed it with a “Give you good-morrow” of such sufficient loudness that Halfman could not choose but hear it. He did not change his attitude, however, or turn his face from the window, as he answered, in a sullen voice,
“I should need a good-morrow to mend a bad day.”
Sir Blaise had not the wit to let a sleeping dog lie, but must needs prod it to see if it could bark. So he very foolishly said what were indeed obvious even to a greater fool than he.
“You seem in the sullens.”
The sleeping dog could bark. Halfman turned a scowling face upon the knight as he answered, malevolently:
“Swamped, water-logged, foundering. You are a pretty parrakeet to come between me and my musings.”
The tone of Halfman’s speech, the way of Halfman’s demeanor were so offensive that the knight’s cheap dignity took fire. He swelled with displeasure, flushed very red in the gills, and cleared his throat for reproof.
“Master Majordomo, you forget yourself.”
Halfman proved too indifferent or too self-absorbed to take umbrage. He stared into the garden again with a sigh.
“No, I remember myself, and the memory vexes me. I dreamed I was a king, a kaiser, a demigod. I wake, rub my eyes, and am no more than a fool.”
Sir Blaise was patronizingly forgiving. He was thirsty, also the morning was chilly.
“Let us exorcise your devil with a pottle of hot ale,” he suggested. Halfman shook his head wistfully.
“I should be happier in a sable habit, with a steeple hat, and a rank in the Parliament army.”
It was plain to Sir Blaise that a man must be very deep in the dumps who was not to be tempted by hot ale.
“Lordamercy, are you for changing sides now?” he asked.
As Halfman made him no answer but continued to stare gloomily into the garden, Blaise concluded that the interest lay there which made him thus distracted. So he came down to the table and looked over Halfman’s shoulder. In the distance he saw a man and woman walking among the trees. The man was patently the Puritan prisoner, the woman was the chatelaine of Harby. The pair seemed very deep in converse. As Sir Blaise looked, they were out of sight round a turning. Halfman gave a heavy groan and spoke, more to himself, as it seemed, than to his companion.
“Look how they walk in the garden, ever in talk. Time was she would walk and talk with me, listen to my wars and wanderings, and call me a gallant captain.”
“Are you jealous of the Puritan prisoner?” Blaise asked, astonished. Halfman answered with an oath.
“Oh, God, that the siege had lasted forever, or that she had kept her word and blown us sky high.”
Blaise began to snigger.
“’Ods-life! do you dare a love for your lady?” he said. He had better not have said it. Halfman turned on him with a face like a demon’s and the plump knight recoiled.
“Why the red devil should I not,” Halfman asked, hoarsely, “if a bumpkin squire like you may do as much?”
Blaise tried to domineer, but the effort was feeble before the fierceness in Halfman’s glare.
“Are you speaking to me, your superior?” he stammered. Halfman answered him mockingly, with a voice that swelled in menace as the taunting speech ran on.
“Will you ride against me, cross swords with me, come to grips with me any way? You dare not. I am well born, have seen things, done things ’twould make you shiver to hear of them. Come, I am in a fiend’s humor; come with your sword to the orchard and see which of us is the better man.”
Sir Blaise was in a fair panic at this raging fury he had conjured up and now was fain to pacify.
“Soft, soft, honest captain; why so choleric? I would not wrong you. But surely you do not think she favors this Puritan?”
“Oh, he’s a proper man, damn him!” Halfman admitted. “He has a right to a woman’s liking. And he must love her, God help him! as every man does that looks on her.”
Blaise looked pathetic.
“What is there to do?” he asked, helplessly. Halfman struck his right fist into his left palm.
“I would do something, I promise you. He is no immortal. But we shall be rid of him soon. If Colonel Cromwell do not surrender Cousin Randolph we are pledged to his killing, and if he do, then our friend rejoins his army; and I pray the devil my master that I may have the joy to pistol him on some stricken field.”
Sir Blaise thought it was time to change the conversation.
“Let us leave these ravings and vaporings,” he entreated, wheedling, “and return to the business of life. And ’tis a very unpleasant business I come on.”
Halfman drew his hand across his forehead as a man who seeks to dissipate ill dreams. Then, with a tranquil face, he gave Blaise the attention he petitioned.
“How so?” he asked. Any business were a pleasing change from his sick thoughts.
“Why, I am a justice of the peace for these parts,” Sir Blaise said, “and I am importuned by two honest neighbors to process of law against your lady.”
Halfman laughed unpleasantly.
“The Lady Brilliana’s wish is the law of this country-side, I promise you.”
He grinned maliciously and fingered at his sword-hilt. Sir Blaise felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Here was no promising beginning for a solemn judicial errand. But the knight had a mighty high sense of his own importance, and he felt himself shielded, as it were, from the tempers of this fire-eater by the dignity of his office and the majesty of the law. So he came to his business with a manner as pompous as he could muster.
“Master Rainham and Master Hungerford are exceedingly angry,” he asserted.
Halfman flouted him and his clients.
“Because she bobbed them so bravely? The knaves came raving to our gates when they found how they had been tricked into picking each other’s pockets. But I made them take to their heels, I promise you. You should have seen their fool faces at the sight of a musket’s muzzle.”
Sir Blaise looked righteously indignant.
“Sir, sir,” he protested, “muskets will not mend matters if these gentlemen have been wronged. They came hot-foot to me, and in the interests of peace I have entreated them hither. They wait without in the care of two of your people to keep them from flying at each other’s throats.”
Halfman heard the distressing news with equanimity.
“Why not let them kill each other?” he suggested, blandly. Blaise lifted his hands in horror.
“Friend,” he said, “in this mission I am a man of peace. Will you acquaint your lady?”
Halfman grunted acquiescence.
“Oh, ay; bring in your boobies.”
He turned on his heel and swung out through the doorway into the garden.
Sir Blaise looked after him for a moment disapprovingly, then he went to the door by which he had entered, and, opening it, called aloud,
“This way, gentlemen, this way.”