XVI
All this merely brings the narrative back to the announcement made by Marmaduke to Lindley and Johan when they entered the courtyard of The Jolly Grig after the fight with the highwaymen.
As may be supposed, it was several nights before Lindley was sufficiently recovered from his wound to again keep tryst with Johan, the player’s boy. When at last he could ride out to the edge of the Ogilvie woods, he found the lad sitting on the ground under an oak, apparently waiting for whatever might happen. He did not speak at all until he was accosted by Lindley, and then he merely recited in a listless manner that Mistress Judith was gone to London with her father.
The boy’s manner was so changed, his tone was so forlorn, that Lindley’s sympathy was awakened. He wondered if the lad really loved Judith so devotedly.
“And that has left you so disconsolate?” he asked.
“Ay, my master!” Indeed the youth’s tone was disconsolate, even as a true lover’s might have been.
“And when went Mistress Judith to London?” asked Lindley. “This afternoon? This morning?”
“But no. She went some four days ago, all in a hurry, as it seemed,” Johan answered.
“Four days ago!” echoed Lindley. “But why did you not send me word?” He was thinking of the days that had been wasted with his lady near him, all unknown to him, in London.
“She – I mean – I thought you would be here each night,” stammered the boy, contritely, and yet his tone was listless. “I’ve but kept the tryst with you.”
Lindley looked at the boy curiously. Preoccupied as he was with his own thoughts, he still recognized the change in his companion.
“What’s the matter, Johan?” he asked. “You were not hurt the other night, were you? Are you still brooding on the fact that you killed your man? Are you ill? Or do you fear that I’ve forgot my debt? What ails you? Can’t you tell me?” The questions hurried on, one after another. “Or is it Mistress Judith’s absence, alone, that hurts you thus? Is she to be long in London?”
“N – no. That is, I do not know,” the boy made answer to the last question. “We, my master and I and all his company, go ourselves early to-morrow to London. Doubtless I shall see Mistress Judith there.”
“Why, then, ’tis only that the scene will shift to London,” cried Lindley. “Cheer up, my lad, we’ll name a tryst in London. Besides, there’s news waiting you in London; news for you and your master concerning your bond to him. You hardly look the part of a lad who’s won to freedom by a pretty bit of swordplay. You should have learned ere now to fit your countenance to the parts you perform.”
“But I’ve performed so few parts, Master Lindley. I am only Johan, the player’s boy, and, by your leave, I’ll go now, and for a tryst – she – for our tryst, say at ten o’clock, in front of Master Timothy Ogilvie’s mansion, where Mistress Judith and her father lodge. I’ll have surely seen Mistress Judith then, and can report to you any change, if change there be.”
The slender lad slipped back into the shadows of the Ogilvie woods, but for full ten minutes he held Lindley’s thoughts away from the lady of his heart’s desire. What could ail the lad to be so changed, so spiritless? Was his love so deep that to be weaned from Judith for even a few short hours could break his spirit thus? Or was it possible that the duel and the fatigues of that midnight encounter had been too much for his strength? Lindley could answer none of these questions, so the lover’s thoughts soon strayed back to Mistress Judith, and the player’s lad was forgot.
But even Mistress Judith held not all of Lindley’s thoughts that night, for Lord Farquhart’s fate was resting heavily on his mind. That Farquhart was, indeed, the gentleman of the highways Lindley knew to be impossible, and yet all the facts seemed to be against the imprisoned lord. Even Lindley’s word had gone against him, for Lindley had been questioned, and had been obliged to admit that he had heard Lord Farquhart singing in his room above the stairs at the very time when Clarence Treadway, when Farquhart himself, swore that he was asleep belowstairs in Treadway’s room. There was no evidence, whatsoever, for Lord Farquhart save his own words. All the evidence was against him.
And the affair that had savored more of a jest than of reality seemed gradually to be settling down to a dull, unpleasant truth. Farquhart could and would tell but the one tale. Ashley would tell but one tale, and he, in truth, had convinced himself of Farquhart’s guilt, absurd as it seemed. The Lady Barbara could only lie on her bed and moan and sob, and cry that she loved Lord Farquhart; that she wished she could unsay her words. She could not deny the truth of what she had told, though nothing could induce her to tell the story over. But all of her stuttering, stammering evasions of the truth seemed only to fix the guilt more clearly upon Lord Farquhart. Even to Lindley, who had been with him on the night in question, it did not seem altogether impossible that Lord Farquhart had had time to ride forth, waylay his cousin and rejoin his friends at the inn ere the lady drove into the courtyard.
Another point that stood out strongly against Lord Farquhart – a point that was weighing heavily in public opinion – was that since the night of Lady Barbara’s arrival in London, since which time Lord Farquhart had been obliged to be in close attendance upon his cousin, there had been no hold ups by this redoubtable highwayman. The men who had attacked Lindley and the player’s lad had been but bungling robbers of the road. That they could have had any connection with the robbery of the Lady Barbara, or with the other dashing plays of the Black Devil, had been definitely disproved.
So all of Farquhart’s friends were weighed down with apprehension of the fate in store for him, whether he was guilty or not. The only hope lay in Lord Grimsby, the old man who had been convinced that the highwayman was in league with the devil, if he was not the devil himself; the old man whose only son had vowed to take to the road if the Black Highwayman met his fate at his father’s hands. But the hopes that were based on the demon-inspired terror, and the paternal love of Lord Grimsby, seemed faint, indeed, to Lindley as he rode toward London that night.
XVII
Lindley was first at the tryst in London, but Johan soon slipped from the shadow of Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gateway.
“I can stop but a moment,” he whispered, nervously. “I must not be seen here. My – my master must not know that I – I am abroad in London.”
“And Mistress Judith?” questioned Lindley. “Have you seen her? Is she still here? Is she well?”
“I have seen Mistress Judith for a moment only,” answered the lad. “She is well enough, but she is worn out with the care of her cousin, Lady Barbara, and she is sadly dispirited, too.”
“’Tis a pity Lady Barbara cannot die,” muttered Lindley, “after the confusion she’s gotten Lord Farquhart into. A sorry mess she’s made of things.”
“The poor girl – ” Johan shuddered. “Mistress Judith says the poor girl is in desperate straits, does naught but cry and sob, and vows she loves Lord Farquhart better than her life.”
“Ay, she may well be in desperate straits,” shrugged Lindley. “And she’ll be in worse ones when she finds she’s played a goodly part in hanging an innocent man!”
“Hanging!” Johan’s exclamation was little more than a shrill, sharp cry.
“Ay, hanging, I said,” answered Lindley. “What other fate does she think is in store for Lord Farquhart?”
“But – but this Lord Farquhart is a friend of yours, too, is he not, Master Lindley?” The boy’s question was slow and came after a long silence.
“Yes, a good friend and an honest man, if ever there was one,” answered Lindley.
“An – an honest man!” Johan shuddered again. “That’s it, an honest man he is, isn’t he?”
“As honest as you or I!” Lindley’s thoughts were so preoccupied that he hardly noticed his companion’s agitation.
“But there must be some way of escape,” Johan whispered, after another silence. “Some way to save him! If nothing else, some way to effect his escape!”
“Nay, I see no way,” gloomed Lindley.
In the darkness Johan crept closer to Lindley.
“Is it only grief for Lord Farquhart that fills your heart,” he asked, “or is it your wound that still hurts? Or – or has Mistress Judith some place in your thoughts? You seem so somber, so depressed, my master!”
“Ah, lad!” Lindley’s sigh was deep and long. “Even Mistress Judith herself might fail to comprehend. She still fills all of me that a woman can fill, but a man’s friend has a firm grip on his life. If harm comes to Lord Farquhart, the world will never again be so bright a place as it has been!”
“But harm cannot come to Lord Farquhart!” Johan’s voice was suddenly soft and full. “He must be helped. There are a hundred ways that have not been tried. There is one way – oh, there is one way, in all those hundred ways – I mean, that must succeed. Think, Master Lindley. Cannot I help? Cannot I help in some way – to – to save your friend?”
Lindley was touched by the earnestness of the boy’s tone, and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll think, my lad, but to what purpose I cannot promise you. This is no place for swordplay, however brilliant it may be.”
Johan had drawn roughly away from Lindley’s side. Now he leaned against the gate, dejection in every line of his drooping figure.
“There is one way,” he muttered, slowly. “There is always one way, but – ”
“You need not take it so to heart, boy,” Lindley urged. “You’re sadly worn and tired now. I saw last night that you were quite spiritless and lacking in heart! To-night, I see it even plainer.”
“Oh, ’tis naught but the work I have to do,” Johan answered, wearily.
“The work?” questioned Lindley. “Is it a new part you have to play?”
“Ay, that’s it,” sighed Johan; “a new part, a man’s part and a woman’s part all in one! It’s a most difficult part, indeed.” He was muttering the words to himself, and, under his cloak, Lindley could see his hands twisting nervously.
“Forgive me, lad!” Lindley’s tone was conscience-stricken. “I’d not forgotten the debt I owed you, though I seem to have forgot the promised payment. There’s been over much on my mind these last few days. But I’ll buy your freedom now, to-night, from this master player of yours. Where lies he? Let us go to him at once. Then you can give up this part and take the rest you need.”
“Oh, no, no, I must play this part,” answered the player’s boy, hurriedly. “I – I – Let me win to success before I speak to him of leaving him. I must, must succeed now. Then, perhaps, we can talk of freedom, not before.”
“Well, as you like!” Lindley’s voice had grown careless once again. He was again absorbed in his own affairs. “Think you I might see Mistress Judith to-morrow, if I had a message from Lord Farquhart for the Lady Barbara?”
“But have you access to Lord Farquhart?” The boy spoke quickly, so quickly that Lindley failed to notice the change in voice and manner.
“Why, I suppose I can gain access to him,” answered Lindley.
“But then surely I – surely we can rescue him,” cried Johan. “I’d not supposed that we could see Lord Farquhart, that we could gain speech with him. Now I know that I can help you free him. Think, think from now until to-morrow night at this time of some feasible plan, some way of taking Johan, the player’s boy, into Lord Farquhart’s presence. But wait! Why could you not take me to him disguised as the Lady Barbara? Mistress Judith would provide me with Lady Barbara’s cloak and veil and petticoats. She could coach me in her looks and manners. Have you forgotten how well I can impersonate a woman? And then, if I could pass the jailer as the Lady Barbara, what would hinder Farquhart from passing out as the Lady Barbara? I – I could personate Lord Farquhart, at a pinch, until rescue came to me. Or if it came to a last extremity, why I could still go to the gallows as Lord Farquhart! But that extremity would not come. There would be no difficulty in saving a worthless player’s lad, and they say that ’tis only Mr. Ashley’s work that is telling against the prisoner; that he is using this public means to wreak a private vengeance. Oh, if I can but see Lord Farquhart! If I can but speak to him! Much might be done, even if he refused the disguise of hood and cloak. Be here to-morrow night, with permits for yourself and Lady Barbara to see Lord Farquhart. Leave all the rest to me!” Johan’s impetuous voice had grown stronger, more positive, as his thoughts had formed themselves. His last words savored of a command. They were uttered in the tone that expects obedience, but Lindley ignored this.
“’Twould be but a waste of time,” he answered, gloomily.
“Well, what of that?” demanded Johan. “Perhaps it would be but a waste of one night. But of what value is your time or my time when there is even a chance of safety for Lord Farquhart?”
“I suppose you’re right in that,” agreed Lindley. “I’ll be here with the permits, as you say, to-morrow night. But what think you of my ruse to speak to Mistress Judith in the morning? If I were to present myself here at the house with a message from Lord Farquhart to the Lady Barbara, would not Judith speak with me? Remember, boy, that twenty-five crowns are yours the day I speak with Mistress Judith!”
“Oh, Mistress Judith, Mistress Judith!” cried the lad, impatiently. “Your thoughts are all for Mistress Judith. She will see no one, she will speak to no one, so she said to-day, until the Lady Barbara is recovered, until Lord Farquhart is free. It will be all that I can do to gain access to her to make my demand for the Lady Barbara’s clothes. And she is – she says that she is sick of the whole world. Her cousin’s plight, Lord Farquhart’s danger, have sickened her of the whole world. It’s for her sake that I would free Lord Farquhart. Until Lord Farquhart is released, Judith Ogilvie’s mind cannot rest for a single second. So for her sake you must work to free him, for Judith’s sake, for the sake of the woman you love!”
Without further word Lindley was left standing alone in the empty street, and his entire mind was absorbed in amazement at the impetuosity of the lad’s voice and manner.
XVIII
The following night it was again Lindley who was first at the tryst under Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gateway. A gusty wind blew down the street, and there was little comfort to be found in any shelter that was near at hand. Just as Lindley’s patience was about exhausted, though, he saw a slender shadow move with hesitating steps out from the gate, then scurry back to its protection. A voice, muffled in the folds of a cloak that covered the figure, a voice sweet as a silver bell, called softly:
“Master Lindley, Master Lindley, are you not here? Are you not waiting?”
Lindley advanced somewhat slowly until he saw that a woman stood half in, half out, of the shadow.
“But is it not you, Johan?” he asked, with some hesitation.
“Nay, ’tis I, Lady Barbara Gordon,” a girl’s voice answered. “Judith – Johan, the lad that came to Judith, told me that you were to take him to-night in my guise to Lord Farquhart. But I would speak to Lord Farquhart myself. I must see Lord Farquhart myself. I may not have another chance. You have the permits of which the boy spoke? You will take me in his place?”
She advanced slowly, still hesitating, her manner pleading as her words had pleaded; her trembling voice seeming but an echo of the tremors that shook her frame.
Lindley hurriedly tried to reassure her. Yes, he said, he had the permits. Assuredly he would take her. And yet, even as he spoke, he chafed at the woman’s interference with Johan’s plan of rescue. Why could she not have let the boy offer Lord Farquhart a chance to escape? But nothing of this was in his manner. Instead he soothed her fears, assuring her that ’twas but a short distance to the place where Farquhart was lodged, and, undoubtedly, the stormy night would aid their purpose, for few inquisitive stragglers would be abroad.
With faltering steps the lady moved by his side. Once he thought he heard a sob, and he laid a hand on her arm to comfort her.
“You must have courage, my lady,” he muttered. “You must take courage to Lord Farquhart.”
Once in the flare of a passing torch he saw the girl quite distinctly. She was draped all in scarlet, a scarlet velvet coat and hood, and, underneath, a scarlet petticoat. One hand held a corner of the cloak about her chin and lips, and, under the drooping hood, he saw a black silk mask. She shrank toward him as the light fell on her and caught his arm with her free hand. He laid his hand protectingly on hers, and after that, until they reached the sheriff’s lodge, she held fast to him.
Even when Lindley showed his permits to the guard on duty, she still held him fast, and it was well that she did, for she seemed almost to swoon when their entry was denied.
All permits to see the prisoner had been revoked at sundown, the fellow said. The prisoner’s case had come before the court that afternoon. He was to be sentenced in the morning at ten o’clock. No, Lord Grimsby had not been present. Lord Grimsby had been summoned from Padusey, however, to pronounce the highwayman’s doom.
For an instant the Lady Barbara seemed about to fall forward. Her entire weight hung on Lindley’s arm. He supported her as best he could, but his own voice shook as he whispered once more:
“Courage, courage, my lady!”
Then his anger vented itself upon the guard.
“Have you no sense, blockhead?” he cried. “How dare you blurt out your tidings in such a careless fashion? Do you not see the lady? Did I not tell you that it was the Lady Barbara Gordon’s name in that permit? You’ve likely killed her with your words.”
For, indeed, it seemed a dead weight that he held in his arms. The guard thrust forward a bench, and Lindley tried to place the lady down upon it, but she clung to him almost convulsively. When he attempted to take the cloak from over her mouth, he heard her whispered words.
“Ah, get me away from here, away from here – anywhere. I can walk, I – Indeed I can walk!”
Then she stood erect and turned away from the guarded door, but Lindley still hesitated there.
“At ten o’clock you said the prisoner would be sentenced?” he asked.
“Ay, at ten o’clock, they said.”
Then Lindley heard the Lady Barbara’s voice.
“You said Lord Grimsby would come to-night from Padusey?” she asked, faintly.
“Yes, from Padusey, to-night,” the guard answered once again.
Why did she care from where Lord Grimsby would come, Lindley demanded, savagely, of himself. Was this a time to think of trivial things like that? And although he supported her as tenderly, as courteously, as he could, he felt in every fiber of him that it was this woman alone who was responsible for Lord Farquhart’s fate, and he longed to be free from her. Monotonously he was counting the distance that must be traversed with her clinging to his arm, when suddenly she drew away from him and stopped short.
“Enough of this, Master Lindley!” It was Johan’s voice that came from the hidden hooded face.
“Johan!” cried Lindley, now in a frenzy of indignation. “What do you mean by bringing your cursed play acting into a tragedy like this? Have you no heart whatsoever?”
“Nay, I’ve heart enough and to spare,” the boy returned. “And ’tis not all play acting, by any means. Did I not tell you that I would personate the Lady Barbara? Did I not have to practice my part before I passed the guards? Did you not serve me as well for that as anyone? But there’s no time for more of it. And I’ve no time for foolish words and explanations, either.” He had thrown aside the mask, the scarlet coat and hood, and at last he stepped from the scarlet petticoat, standing slim and long in black silk hose and short black tunic, his black curls that fringed his small black cap alone shading his eyes. “Listen to me, Master Lindley, and save your reproaches until I’ve time for them. There are still more chances to save Lord Farquhart, and not one must be lost. Not one second can be wasted. Take these woman’s togs and throw them inside Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gate, where they’ll be found in the morning. I – I leave you here.”
“But where are you going?” demanded Lindley. “You cannot cross London at night in that guise, with no coat or cloak about you. You’ve woman’s shoes on your feet. You’re mad, boy, and you’ll be held by the first sentry you pass.”
Johan, who had turned away, stopped and came back to Lindley’s side.
“Ay, perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Give me your coat and lend me your sword. I may have need of it, and you’ve but to pass Master Ogilvie’s, and then to reach your own lodging, a safer transit than mine by many odds. And – and, Master Lindley, wait in your lodgings until you hear from me. Wait there unless it nears ten o’clock. If you’ve not heard from me by then, you’ll find me there, where Lord Farquhart is to be sentenced, and – and be on the alert for any signal that may be made to you by anyone, and – and – ” He had buckled Lindley’s sword about his waist, he had wrapped himself in Lindley’s coat, and still he hesitated. Suddenly he dashed his hand across his eyes. “Ah, I’ve no time for more,” he cried, “save only – only good-by.”
He was gone into the darkness, and Lindley was left alone – coatless and swordless – with a bundle of scarlet garments under his arm, and, in his heart, an inexplicable longing to follow the boy, Johan, into the night.