CHAPTER V.THE PLAYER PROVES HIMSELF A GENTLEMAN.
"Warrants and pursuivants! Away! warrants and pursuivants!"—The Wise Woman of Hogsdon.
Sir Valentine Fleetwoodwas a thin man, with regular features and sunken cheeks, his usually sallow face now flushed with fever. His full round beard was gray, but there were yet streaks of black in his flowing hair.
"Sir Valentine," Hal began, suppressing his excitement, "there is private news I must make known to you instantly." And he cast a look at the doctor, who frowned, and at Anthony, who remained motionless near the door, with his lanthorn still in hand, as if expecting that he should soon have to escort Hal out again.
"Sir Valentine is not in a condition to hear—" broke in the doctor, in a voice of no loudness, but of much latent authority.
"But this is of the gravest import—" interrupted Hal, and was himself interrupted by Sir Valentine, who had gathered breath for speech.
"Nay, Harry, it may wait. I am in no mind for business."
"But it requireth immediate action," said Hal, who would have told the news itself, but that he desired first the absence of the doctor and the steward.
"Then 'twill serve nothing to be told," said Sir Valentine, lapsing into his former weakness, and with a slight shade of annoyance upon his face. "As thou see'st, boy, I am in no state for action. A plague upon the leg, I can't stir it half an inch."
"But—" cried Harry.
The physician rose, and Anthony, with an outraged look, took a deprecatory step toward Harry.
"No more, young sir!" quoth the physician, imperatively. "Sir Valentine's life—"
"But that is what I have come to speak of," replied Hal, in some dudgeon. "Zounds, sir, do you know what you hinder? There are concerns you wot not of!"
"Tut, Master Marryott," said Sir Valentine. "As for my life, 'tis best in the doctor's hands; and for concerns, I have none now but my recovery. Not for myself, the blessed Mary knoweth! But for others' sakes, in another land. Oh, to think I should be drawn into an unwilling quarrel, and get this plagued hurt! And mine opponent—hast heard yet how Mr. Hazlehurst fares, Anthony?"
"No, your honor," said the Puritan; but he let his glance fall to the floor as he spoke, and seemed to suffer an inward groan as of self-reproach. Sir Valentine could not see him for the bed-curtains.
"Tis a lesson to shun disputes, boy," said Sir Valentine, to Hal. "Here were my old neighbor's son, young Mr. Hazlehurst, and myself, bare acquaintances, 'tis true, but wishing each other no harm. And two days ago, meeting where the roads crossed, and a foolish question of right of way occurring, he must sputter out hot words at me, and I must chide him as becometh an elder man; and ere I think of consequences, his sword is out, and I have much to do to defend myself! And the end is, each is carried off by servants, with blood flowing; my wound in the groin, his somewhere in the breast. I would fain know how he lies toward recovery! You should have taken pains to inquire, Anthony."
"Sir Valentine," said the physician, "thou art talking too much. Master Marryott, you see how things stand. If you bear Sir Valentine friendship, you have no choice but to go away, sith you have paid your respects. He would have it that you be admitted. Pray, abuse not his courtesy."
"But, sir, that which I must tell him concerns—"
"I'll hear naught that concerns myself," said Sir Valentine, with the childish stubbornness of illness. "Tell me of thine own self, Harry. 'Tis yearssince I saw thee last, and in that time I've had no word of thee. Didst go to London, and stay there? My letter, it seems, availed thee nothing. How livest thou? What is thy place in the world?"
Hal decided to throw the physician and Anthony off guard by coming at his news indirectly. So he answered Sir Valentine:
"I am a stage player."
Sir Valentine opened eyes and mouth in amazement; he gasped and stared.
"A stage player!" he echoed, horrified. "Thy father's son a stage player! A Marryott a stage player! Sir, sir, you have fallen low! Blessed Mary, what are the times? A gentleman turn stage player!"
Old Anthony had drawn back from Hal, vastly scandalized, his eyes raised heavenward as if for divine protection from contamination; and the physician gazed, in a kind of passionless curiosity.
"A stage player," said Hal, firmly, having taken his resolution, "may prove himself still a gentleman. He may have a gentleman's sense of old friendship shown, and a gentleman's honesty to repay it, as I have when I come to save thee from the privy council's men riding hither to arrest thee for high treason! And a gentleman's authority, as I have when I bid this doctor and this Anthony to aid thy escape, and betray or hinder it not, on pain of deeperwounds than thine!" And Hal, having drawn his sword, stood with his back to the doorway.
Sir Valentine himself was the first to speak; he did so with quiet gravity:
"Art quite sure of this, Harry?"
"Quite, Sir Valentine. We stage players consort with possessors of state secrets, now and then. The warrant for thy apprehension was signed this day. A council's pursuivant was to leave London at three o'clock, with men to assure thy seizure. I, bearing in mind my family's debt to thine, and mine own to thee, started at two, to give thee warning. More than that, I swear to save thee. This arrest, look you, means thy death; from what I heard, I perceive thy doom is prearranged; thy trial is to be a pretence."
"I can believe that!" said Sir Valentine, with a grim smile.
"'Tis not my fault that these two have been let into the secret," said Hal, indicating the physician and Anthony.
"And it shall not be to Sir Valentine's disadvantage, sir, speaking for myself," said the physician.
"His honor knows whether I may be trusted," said Anthony, swelling with haughty consciousness of his fidelity, as if to outdo the physician, toward whom his looks were always oblique and of a covert antipathy.
"I know ye are my friends," said Sir Valentine. "I could have spoken for you. But what is to be done? 'Tis true I cannot move. Think it no whimsy of the doctor's, Harry. Blessed Mary, send heaven to my help! Think not, Harry, 'tis for myself I moan. Thou knowest not how my matters stand abroad. There are those awaiting me in France, dependent on me—"
"And to France we must send you safe, Sir Valentine!" said Harry. "You could not be supported on horseback, I suppose?"
The physician looked amazed at the very suggestion, and Sir Valentine smiled gloomily and shook his head.
"Or in a coach, an one were to be had?" Hal went on.
"'Twould be the death of him in two miles," said the physician. "Moreover, where is a coach to be got in time?"
"Is there no hiding-place near, to which you might be carried?" asked Hal, of Sir Valentine, knowing how most Catholic houses were provided in those days.
Sir Valentine exchanged looks with the physician and Anthony, then glanced toward the wall of the chamber, and answered:
"There is a space 'twixt yon panelling and the outer woodwork of the house. It hath air throughhidden openings to the cracked plaster without; and is close to the chimney, for warmth. In a hasty search it would be passed over,—there is good proof of that. But this pursuivant, not finding me, would sound every foot of wall in the house. He would, eventually, detect the hollowness of the panelling there, and the looseness of the boards that hide the entrance. Or, if he did not that, he and his men would rouse the county, and occupy the house in expectation of my secret return; they would learn of my quarrel and wound, and would know I must be hid somewhere near. While they remained in the house, searching the neighborhood with sheriff's and magistrate's men, keeping watch on every one, how should I be supplied and cared for in that hole? It would soon become, not my hiding-place, but my grave,—for which 'tis truly of the right dimensions!"
"But if, not finding you in the first search, they should suppose you gone elsewhere?" said Hal, for sheer need of offering some hope, however wild.
"Why, they would still make the house the centre of their search, as I said."
"But if they were made to believe you had fled afar?"
"They would soon learn of my wound. It hath been bruited about the neighborhood. They would know it made far flight impossible."
"But can they learn how bad thy wound is? Might it not be a harmless scratch?"
"It might, for all the neighborhood knoweth of it," put in Anthony; and the physician nodded.
"Then, if they had reason to think you far fled?" pursued Hal.
"Why," replied Sir Valentine, "some of them would go to make far hunt; others would wait for my possible return, and to search the house for papers. And the constables and officers of the shire would be put on the watch for me."
"Need the search for papers lead to the discovery of yon hiding-place?"
"No. The searchers would find papers in my study to reward a search, though none to harm any but myself. The other gentlemen concerned are beyond earthly harm."
"But," quoth Hal, the vaguest outlines of a plan beginning to take shape before him, "were the pursuivant, on arriving at your gate, to be checked by certain news that you had fled in a particular direction, would he not hasten off forthwith on your track, with all his men? Would he take time for present search or occupancy of your house, or demand upon constable's or sheriff's men? And if your track were kept ever in view before him, would he not continue upon it to the end? And suppose some of his men were left posted in thy house.These would be few, three or four at most, seeing that the main force were close upon thy trail. These three or four would not look for thy return; they would look for thy taking by their comrades first. They would keep no vigil, and being without their leader,—who would head the pursuing party,—they would rest content with small search for papers; they would rather be industrious in searching thy wine-cellar and pantry. Thus you could be covertly attended from this chamber, by nurse or doctor, acquainted with the house. And when you were able to move, these men, being small in force, might be overpowered; or, being careless, they might be eluded. And thus you might pass out of the house by night, and into a coach got ready by the doctor, and so to the sea; and the men in thy house none the wiser, and those upon thy false track still chasing farther away."
"Harry, Harry," said Sir Valentine, in a kindly but hopeless tone, "thou speak'st dreams, boy!"
"Ne'ertheless," said Hal, "is't not as I say, an the false chase were once contrived?"
"Why," put in the physician, "that is true enough. Send me away the pursuivant and most of his men, and let those who stay think Sir Valentine thus pursued, and I'll warrant the looking to Sir Valentine's wants, and his removal in nine days or so. Nine days he will need, not an hour less; andyet another day, to make sure; that is ten. But should the pursuers on the false chase discover their mistake, and return ere ten days be gone, all were lost. E'en suppose they could be tricked by some misguidance at the gate, which is not conceivable, they'd not go long on their vain hunt without tangible track to follow. Why, Master Marryott, they'd come speeding back in two hours!"
"But if a man rode ahead, and left tangible track, by being seen and noted in the taverns and highways? He need but keep up the chase, by not being caught; the pursuivant may be trusted to pick up all traces left of his travels. These messengers of the council are skilled in tracing men, when there are men to leave traces."
"What wild prating is this?" cried Sir Valentine, somewhat impatiently. "I know thou mean'st kindly, Harry, but thy plan is made of moonshine. Let a man, or a hundred men, ride forth and leave traces, what shall make these officers think the man is I?"
"They shall see him leave thy gate in flight when they come up. And, as for his leading them a chase, he will be on one of thy horses, an there be time to make one ready, otherwise on mine,—in either case, on a fresher horse than theirs. So he shall outride them at the first dash, and then, oneway and another, lead them farther and farther, day after day."
"But, man, man! Wilder and wilder!" exclaimed Sir Valentine, as if he thought himself trifled with. "Know you not their leader will be one that is well acquainted with my face?"
"So much the better," cried Hal; "for then he will take oath it is you he sees departing!"
"I he sees departing?" echoed Sir Valentine, and began to look at Hal apprehensively, as if in suspicion of madness, a suspicion in which the physician and Anthony seemed to join. "I departing, when I am in yon narrow hole between timbers? I departing, when I am hurt beyond power of motion, as their leader will doubtless learn at the village ale-house, on inquiring if I be at home."
"Yes, sir," said Hal, "he shall think it is you, and the more so if he have heard of your wound. For, in the lanthorn's light, as he comes in seeing distance, he shall perceive that you sit your horse as a lame man doth. And that thy head is stiffly perched, thy shoulders drawn back, in the manner peculiar to them. And that thy left elbow is thrust out as is its wont. And that thy hat, as usual, shades thy brow thus. But more than all else, sir, that thy face is of little breadth, thy beard gray and round, as they have been these many years."
And Hal, having realized in attitude each previouspoint in his description, took from his pocket the false beard that had lain there since the first performance of "Hamlet," and tying it on his face, which he had thinned by drawing in his cheeks, stood transformed into the living semblance of Sir Valentine Fleetwood.
CHAPTER VI.AND THE GENTLEMAN PROVES HIMSELF A PLAYER.
"Let the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip at an instant."—Every Man in His Humor.
Therewas a moment's silence in the chamber. Then—
"Play-acting!" muttered Anthony, with a dark frown, followed by an upturning of the eyes.
"Thou'lt pass, my son!" said the physician, his eyes alight with approval and new-found hope. "Truly, I think he will, Sir Valentine,—with a touch of the scissors to shape his beard more like!" And he took up from the table a pair of scissors, doubtless used in cutting bandages for the wounded man, and striding toward Master Marryott, applied them with careful dexterity. "Behold," said he, when he had finished. "Thou'lt surely fool them in the lanthorn's light and the haste. By close work thou mightst truly lead them off in the night, but in daylight the falseness of thy beard may easily be seen, for the strings 'tis tied withal."
"But the officers shall not see my face after thestarting. I'll not stay near enough to them for that. 'Tis by word of innkeepers and townspeople and country-folk, of my passage through the country, that I shall be traced. And mark: save to officers that keep note of Catholics, Sir Valentine is scarce known ten miles hence, so much hath he lived abroad. And I'm not known out of London and Oxfordshire. So who's to set the pursuers right?"
"But what then?" said the physician. "Those same innkeepers and such can but report the passage of a man with a false beard, at best. More like, they will cause thy detention as a questionable person, till the council's men come up to thee. Either way, the pursuivant will see the trick, and speed hotfoot back to this house."
"Why, look you," said Hal, "early in the morning I will hastily enter some inn, my face muffled as for cold. There, in a private chamber, I will take off the beard, and come forth as if I had but shaved. And so report will remain of me, that I came bearded and departed shaven; and the men in pursuit will take this very shaving as a means of disguise. They'll be the more convinced I'm the man."
"Ay, but there you risk their losing trace of you; for the absence of the beard will show your youth, and make you at odds with their description of you."
"Why, the loss of a beard will sometimes give an elder man a look of youth. And the same companionshall ride with me,—he that now keeps watch without. By the description of him as my attendant, 'twill be known I am the gentleman that rode from Fleetwood house. And to make my trace the more certain, let a second accompany me,—one of Sir Valentine's servants that live here constantly and are better known than their master is. And he shall also guide me on the roads hereabouts, in my first dash from the gates; for, look you, there will be fleet riding for an hour or two!"
"Thou hearest, Sir Valentine," said the physician, turning to the wounded gentleman.
"Ay," replied the knight, "and being weak of breath, have waited for a breach to put my word in. 'Tis all madness, this ye talk of! E'en were't possible. I should let no man risk life for me as this young gentleman offereth. Why, lad, they'd catch thee, of a surety—"
"I make question of that, Sir Valentine," quoth Hal.
"Some time or other, they would," said the knight. "And thou knowest the penalty of aiding the escape of one accused of treason! The act itself is treason."
"And what if I have already incurred penalties as grievous, on mine own account? And what if I have some running away to do, for myself? May not one flight suffice for both? While I lead these men ona false chase from thee, I but put distance 'twixt myself and danger," said Hal, with less regard for truth than for leading Sir Valentine into his plans.
"What, Harry?" cried Sir Valentine. "Is it true? But still, thou'rt yet in good way to make thine own escape. To wait for these officers, and to keep them at thy tail, will doubly imperil thee. Thou shalt not multiply thine own danger for me,—by Mary, thou shalt not!"
"But I mean not to be caught, Sir Valentine. Have I no skill, no hardihood? Shall youth serve nothing, and strong arms, and hard legs? I will elude them, I swear! But first I will keep them on my tail time enough for thy removal. Ten days, the doctor said. An I lead off these fellows a five days' ride from Fleetwood house, straight north toward Scotland, and then drop them, 'twill take five days for them to ride back. And there, of but five days' work on my part, come the ten days' delay thou needest!"
"But thou canst not do it, Harry," persisted Sir Valentine, while the physician silently paced the floor in thought, and the Puritan looked on with outward indifference. "Why, bethink you! To escape thy pursuers, and yet not to let them lose trace of thee; to outride them ever, yet never ride too far away from them; to elude them, yet not to dropthem; this for five days, and then to break off the track and leave them baffled, at the last! Tis impossible!"
"'Tis a glorious kind of sport, Sir Valentine!" cried Hal, his eyes aglow. "'Tis a game worth playing! Nay, 'tis a stage play, wherein I undertake to act the part of Sir Valentine Fleetwood in flight and disguise! Ods-body, I shall prove I am a player! Thou shalt not refuse, Sir Valentine! Do as thou wilt, I am for the gate, and when the officers come up, the devil seize me an I do not lead them off again!"
"Sir Valentine doth not refuse," cried the physician, who had manifestly made up his mind. "Thou need'st fresh horses? Anthony shall fetch them to the gate. And one of Sir Valentine's known servants, to show the road and leave the better trace? Anthony shall go. Continual residence here, in his master's absence, hath made him as well known for Sir Valentine's man as Sir Valentine is little known for Anthony's master. On your way to the stable. Anthony, send Mary hither, and John. They shall help me house Sir Valentine yonder, with store of food and drink. Straight north toward Scotland, sayest thou, Master Marryott? The right road for thy wild-goose chase. We shall do our part, my son. Only gain us the ten days."
And the physician strode to the side of the chamber,put aside some faded hangings, and began to loosen a section of the panelling.
Anthony, frowning haughtily at the physician's giving him orders, looked inquiringly at Sir Valentine.
"But, my good father," began the knight, addressing the physician. Hal shot a glance of discovery at the latter. My father! This "doctor" was a doctor of other than the body, then! Hal had wondered to see a physician of such mien and manner in this country place, and had thought he might have been summoned from London. But now all was clear. He was a popish priest, disguised in ordinary habit, to escape the severity of the Elizabethan statutes; though, doubtless, he knew enough of surgery and medicine for the treatment of Sir Valentine's wound.
"There is no time for talk, my son," said this doctor, interrupting Sir Valentine. "Remember those in France. And let Anthony do as I said."
"Thou hast heard, Anthony," said the knight, compliantly, after a moment's reflection. "Lead out the horses—"
"Three, Sir Valentine," put in Hal, to whom time was beginning to appear extremely precious, "as Anthony is to go with us. I shall leave my two for thy use."
"And take money, Anthony," went on Sir Valentine,while the priest continued to open the way to the secret closet.
"I have money, sir," said Hal.
"But Anthony shall take some,—the half of what is in the chest, Anthony. The rest will serve me to France, an this plan indeed be not madness."
"You have sure ways of going to France, I doubt not," said Hal to Sir Valentine.
"Ay," said the knight, with a smiling side glance at the busy priest, "we have made that voyage when ports were e'en closer watched than now. And hear this, Anthony, before you go,—Anthony will show thee, Harry, how to make for France on thine own account, if indeed thou dost ride free of these messengers. And he will tell thee where in Paris I am to be found. When we meet there,—the saints intercede that we may!—I shall have a way of thanking thee, perchance. Go, Anthony!"
The servant left the room, with a glumness belonging rather to a general habit of surly disapproval than to any particular objection to the task before him.
"This house and land," Sir Valentine went on, "will be confiscate, of course, and myself outlawed. But thou see'st how this estate hath fallen, Harry. I keep here but two servants besides Anthony, where once I kept twenty. But in all these years I have built up some means of living, across thenarrow seas; and thou shalt not want in France. Harry!"
"Think not of me, but of thyself, Sir Valentine. I'd best leave thee now, and hasten Anthony with the horses. I can find him by his lanthorn's light. We have lost much time."
But Sir Valentine would embrace him ere he left, as well as a man so wounded might; and the knight, touched with gratitude, wept as the youth bent over him. Hal then turned to take swift leave of the priest, who had now caused a dark hole to gape in the wooden panelling. The latter, at this, took up a cloak from a chair, detached Hal's own shorter cloak, and put the other over the youth's shoulders, saying:
"'Tis Sir Valentine's own cloak, and more befitting the part thou hast to play, Master Actor! Take my blessing, and the saints watch over thee!"
With no more ado, Hal hastened from the room, and down to the hall, where Anthony, bearing the lanthorn, was ordering the two other servants to their master's chamber. Hal held his cloak over his face till they were gone up the stairs; then he bade Anthony show him quickly to the stables, adding:
"As for the money, if you must obey orders, you may get it while I am saddling the horses."
The steward gave a grunt, and led the way out to the stables, where he indicated the three best horses. He then returned to the house, leaving the lanthorn; but presently reappeared, in time to help Hal with the horses, and to receive at the same time the player's explicit directions for the conduct of matters on the arrival of the officers.
The two men then led the horses to the front gate, where Anthony tied a pair of them, that he might take Hal's London horse to the stable. Master Marryott mounted and rode toward the village to acquaint Captain Bottle with what was to be done. On perceiving Kit's stalwart figure, black against the dim night, Hal called out to him to follow back to the mansion. While the two were covering the distance thereto, Hal briefly put the soldier in possession of what it was needful for the latter to know. Anthony had now returned from the stable, and the lanthorn revealed Hal's transformation, which the captain viewed with critical approval while transferring himself from his tired horse to one of the fresh ones.
"And the Puritan rides with us?" queried Bottle, while Anthony was gone with the second horse to the stable. "Sad company, sad company! An the dull rogue sermon me upon the sins of the flesh, I'll knock in his teeth to shut up his throat withal! Well, well! This mixing in matters of state makethstrange bedfellows. I mind me once—lend ear. Hal! Hoofs yonder, or I'm an owl else!"
Hal listened. Yes, horses were crossing the wooden bridge of the brook on the Londonward side of the village.
"Should these be the men?" whispered Hal in a low voice. "They come slowly."
"Who else should be on the road at this hour?" replied Kit. "They know not any reason for haste."
"A red murrain on that Puritan, then!" said Hal. "What holds him so long at the stable? All is lost, without his lanthorn. I'll ride in and fetch him."
"Nay, they must use time enough in coming hither. Hark! They have halted in the village. Mayhap they must needs ask the way to Fleetwood house."
"'Tis well, then. They will learn of Sir Valentine's hurt."
There was then a very trying time of silence and waiting, during which Hal's heart beat somewhat as it had beaten in the tiring-room before the performance of "Hamlet."
"Hear them again," he said at last, through his teeth. "And that rascal Puritan—"
"Save thy breath! Here he comes."
Anthony indeed now appeared with the light, crossing the yard with longer strides than he hadpreviously taken; he, too, had heard the approaching horses.
"Into thy saddle, dog!" muttered Hal. "And a plague on thee for thy slowness! Now do as I bid, or I'll give thee a bellyful of steel!"
The steward having got on horseback, Hal led the way back into the yard. The three then wheeled about, and stood just within the now wide-open gate. Anthony at Hal's right and bearing the lanthorn in his left hand, Kit at Hal's left. Hal measured with his ears the constantly decreasing distance of the hoof-beats on the hard road, as they advanced at a steady walking pace. Through the silence came the sound of a far-off clock striking eight, and then of the approaching horsemen talking to one another in low tones.
At last Hal said, "Now!" and rode forth into the road, which was here of exceptional width. The three, riding abreast, turned toward London, as if intending to ride southward. Had they continued, they would soon have met the approaching horsemen face to face. But suddenly Hal, as if he now for the first time discovered the presence of newcomers, stopped short, as did also his two attendants. Anthony, in pretence of enabling the make-believe Sir Valentine to perceive who the horsemen were, held the lanthorn up, a little to the right and rear of Hal's body, so that it revealed his attitude and left his facein shadow. Leaning forward, as in pain, yet with head stiffly set, shoulders forced back, hat low on brow, left elbow thrust out, and beard well outlined against the light, Hal peered anxiously into the gloom. Out of that gloom there came, after a startled exclamation and a hush of low voices, the clear greeting:
"Give you good even, Sir Valentine!"
Hal uttered a swift order to his men. Anthony instantly wheeled around, to take the lead, and rode northward. Hal did likewise, and was immediately followed by Captain Bottle. As soon as Hal made sure that Kit had turned, he called to the steward ahead to make speed; and a moment later the three were galloping over the frozen road at the devil's gait.
"Halt! In the queen's name!" rang out of the darkness behind, in the voice that had been heard before.
"Go to hell, Roger Barnet!" shouted back Kit Bottle, to Hal's astonishment.
"You know him?" queried Hal, as the horses flew onward.
"Yes, and a taker of traitors he is, sure enough!" growled Kit through the night. "A very hell-hound, at a man's heels! Hear him cursing, back yonder, for his pistol will not go off! They have whipped up; the whole pack is on the scent!"
"Good!" cried Hal. "Sir Valentine and the priest will have plain sailing. The chase is begun, old Kit! Five days of this, and the hounds must neither lose nor catch us! Ods-body, the Puritan's lanthorn is out! I hope he knows the road in the dark!"
CHAPTER VII.MISTRESS ANNE HAZLEHURST.
"I have got the start;But ere the goal, 'twill ask both brain and art."—The English Traveller.
Manifestlythe Puritan knew the road, and manifestly it was known to the horses, also; for without decrease of swiftness the few black objects at the roadside—indistinct blurs against the less black stretches of night-sky—seemed to race back toward the men in pursuit. Soon the riders had a wood at their right, a park at their left. Then there was perforce a slowing up, for a hill had to be ascended. But by this time the enemy was left almost out of ear-shot. Hal, knowing his party to be the more freshly mounted, took heed to make no further gain at present. While in the vicinity of Fleetwood house, the chase must be so close that the officers would not for a moment drop it to consider some other course of action. As long as they were at his heels, and saw imminent possibility of taking him, it was not probable that they would separate for the purpose of searching Sir Valentine's house, or of causing proclamation to be sent broadcastby which port wardens might be put on guard, or of taking time to seek the aid of shire officers, justices, and constables. It was not for himself that Hal had most to fear a hue and cry of the country, for by keeping ahead of the officers by whom that hue and cry must be evoked, he should keep ahead of the hue and cry itself; but such a raising of the country would direct to Fleetwood house an attention which might hinder Sir Valentine's eventual removal. Once the pursuers were drawn into another county, Hal might gain over them sufficient time for his own rest and refreshment, and for his necessary changes of horse. When committed to the hunt by several hours' hard riding, the officers, for their own reputation, would be less likely to abandon it for a return to Fleetwood house; and though, as the hunt should develop into a long and toilsome business, they would surely take time to enlist local authorities in it, those authorities would not be of Hertfordshire, and their eyes would be turned toward Hal himself, not toward Fleetwood house.
"Tell me more of this Barnet," said Hal to Captain Bottle, as the three fugitives rode up a second hill. The sound of the pursuers, galloping across the level stretch between the two heights, came with faint distinctness to the ears of the pursued, in intervals of the noise made by their own horses,—noiseof breathing, snorting, treading the rough earth, and clashing against the loose stones that lay in the ditch-like road.
"Why, he is a chaser of men by choice," answered Kit. "I knew him years agone, in Sir Francis Walsingham's day. Beshrew me if he is ever happy without a warrant in his pouch. I'm a bottle-ale rascal an he hath not carried the signature of the secretary of state over more miles than any other man! A silent, unsocial rogue! When I knew him first, he was one of Walsingham's men; and so was I, i' faith! We chased down some of the Babington conspirators together,—that was fifteen years ago. For, look you, this raising of the country against a traitor is well enough, when he is a gentleman of note, that openly gathers his followers and fortifies his house and has not to be hunted out like a hare. But when traitors are subtle fellows that flee and disguise themselves, these loutish constables' knaves, that watch for hunted men in front of ale-houses, are sad servants of the state, God wot!—and I have seen with these eyes a letter to that effect, from Lord Burleigh to Sir Francis, when this same Barnet and I were a-hunting the Babington rascals."25
"Then this Barnet is like to keep on our track?" interrogated Hal.
"Yea, that he is! 'Tis meat and drink to therogue, this man-hunting! He takes a pride in it, and used to boast he had never yet lost his game. And never did he, to my knowledge, but once, and that was my doing, which was the cause of our falling out. When Sir Francis Walsingham died, we remained in service as pursuivants—to attend the orders of the council and the high commission. That was a fat trade! Great takings, rare purse-filling! Old Kit had no need of playing coney-catcher in those days! We would be sent to bring people up to London, to prison, and 'twas our right to charge them what we pleased for service and accommodation; and when they could not pay, it went hard with them. Well, Roger Barnet and I disagreed once about dividing the money we meant to squeeze out of a Gloucestershire gentleman, that some lord his neighbor had got a council's order against, for having troubled his lordship with a lawful suit in the courts. Rather than take the worse of it from Roger Barnet, I got up when he was asleep, at the inn we were staying overnight, and set the gentleman free. Roger would have killed me the next day, had he been as good a swordsman as he is a man-hunter. But, as it was, he had to be content with my losing so fat a service. For he was in favor with Mr. Beal, the clerk of the council, and might have made things hard for me but that I took forthwith to the wars."
"God look to it he may not have chance of making things hard for thee in this business!" said Hal.
"Why, one thing is sure," replied Kit, "he will stick to our heels the longer for my being of the party. 'Twould warm his heart to pay off old scores. He'll perchance think 'twas I that got word of Sir Valentine's danger and brought warning. And, certes, he finds me aiding an accused traitor, which brings me, too, under the treason statutes. 'Twould be a sweet morsel to Roger Barnet to carry me back prisoner to London! An thy plan be to keep Roger on our track, 'tis well I made myself known by word of mouth, as I did. Though, for that matter, I say it again, Roger is not the dog to quit any scent, let him once lay his nose to the earth."
Ahead rode the Puritan, in a silence as of sullenness, his figure more clearly drawn against the night as Hal's eyes were the better accustomed to the darkness. Hal now spoke so that both Anthony and Kit might hear, saying:
"My men, ye are to plant it in your minds that I am Sir Valentine Fleetwood, none other; but ye will seem to wish to hide from people that I am he. Hence ye will call me by some other name, it matters not what; and the better 'twill be an ye blunder in that name, and disagree in it from time to time. The more then will it appear that I, Sir Valentine,am trying to pass myself off as another. But sometimes seem to forget, and call me Sir Valentine, and then hastily correct yourselves as if ye had spoke incautiously."
"The lie be on your own head, though my mouth be forced to speak it," replied Anthony Underhill, dismally.
"Willingly," said Hal; and Kit Bottle put in:
"An the weight be too heavy on thy head, Master Marryott, let old Kit bear some of it. Ods-body, some folk be overfearful of damnation!"
Anthony muttered something about scoffers, and rode on without further speech. So they traversed a hamlet, then a plain, then more hills and another sleeping village. Varying their pace as the exigencies of the road required, they were imitated in this—as they could hear—by Barnet's party. The narrowness of the highway, which hereabouts ran for a good distance between lines of wooden fence, compelled them to ride in single file. They had been on the road an hour, perhaps, and made about five miles, so that they were probably a mile from Stevenage, when Anthony called back to Hal:
"There be riders in front, sir, coming toward us."
"So my ears tell me," said Hal, after a moment's listening. "Who the devil can be abroad at this hour? I hope we suffer no delay in passing them."
Barnet's men were now a half mile behind, evidentlynursing the powers of their horses for a timely dash. A stopPage_of any kind might nip Hal's fine project in the bud. Hence it was with anxiety that he strained his eyes forward. The newcomers were approaching at a fast walk. One of them, the foremost, was carrying a light. As they drew nearer, riding one behind another, they took a side of the road, the more speedily to pass. But the leader, as he came opposite Anthony Underhill, and saw the Puritan's face in the feeble light, instantly pulled up, and called out to one behind in a kind of surprise:
"Here's Sir Valentine's steward, Anthony Underhill!"
"Give ye good even, Dickon, and let us pass," said Anthony, sourly; for the other had quickly turned his horse crosswise so as to block most of the narrow road.
"Is that thy master I see yonder?" he asked, holding his light toward Hal, who had promptly ridden up abreast of Anthony.
"What is that to you, fellow?" cried Hal.
'Tis something to me!" called out a voice behind the fellow,—a voice that startled Hal, for it was a woman's. "Are you Sir Valentine?"
"Who wishes to know?" inquired Hal, putting some courtesy into the speech.
"I do—Anne Hazlehurst!" was the quickanswer. And the light-bearer having made room for her, she rode forward.
Hazlehurst! Where, Hal asked himself, had he recently heard that name?
"Well, are you Sir Valentine?" she demanded, impatiently.
"I do not deny it," said Hal.
"Then here's for you,—slayer of my brother!" she cried, and struck him full in the face with the flat of a sword she had held beneath her cloak. In doing this she thrust her hooded head more into the lanthorn's light, and Hal recalled two things at the same instant,—the name Hazlehurst as that of the gentleman with whom Sir Valentine had fought, and the woman's face as that with which he, Master Marryott, had fallen in love at the theatre during the play of "Hamlet."
CHAPTER VIII."A DEVIL OF A WOMAN."
"From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us!"—The Taming of the Shrew.
"Andnow, my men, upon him!" cried Mistress Hazlehurst, backing to make room in which her followers might obey.
These followers tried to push forward; the horses crowded one another, and there ensued much huddling and confusion. But the lantern-bearer, holding his light and his bridle in one hand, caught Mr. Marryott's bridle with the other. Hal struck this hand down with one of his pistols, which were not prepared for firing. He then drew his sword, with a gesture that threw hesitation into the ranks of his opposers.
"Madam," he cried, in no very gentle tone, "may I know what is your purpose in this?"
"'Tis to prevent your flight," she called back, promptly. "The officers of justice are slow; I shall see that you forestall them not."
For a moment Hal, thinking only of the officers behind him, wondered if she could have heard of thecouncil's intention, and whether it was to the royal messengers that she alluded.
"What have officers of justice to do with me?" he asked.
"To call you to account for the killing of my brother!"
Sir Valentine's fight, in which wounds had been given on both sides, again recurred to Hal's mind.
"Your brother is dead, then?" he inquired.
"I am but now from his funeral!" was her answer.
In that case, Hal deduced, her brother must have died two days before, that is to say, on the very day of the fight. The news must have come belated to the sister, for she had been at the performance of "Hamlet," yesterday. And here was explanation of her departure from the theatre in the midst of the play. The summons to her dead brother's side had followed her to the playhouse, and there overtaken her. Afterward, Hal found these inferences to be correct.
For a second or two of mutual inaction, he marvelled at the strange ways of circumstance which had brought this woman, whom he had yesterday admired in the crowded London playhouse, to confront him in such odd relations on this lonely, night-hidden road in Hertfordshire. But a sound that a turn of the wind brought—the sound of Roger Barnet's men riding nearer—sharpened him to the necessityof immediate action against this sudden hindrance. Yet he felt loath to go from this woman. Go he must, however, though even at the possible cost of violence to her people.
The Puritan retained his place at Marryott's side. Kit Bottle was close behind, and with horse already half turned so that he might face Barnet's men should they come up too soon; he had drawn his sword, and was quietly making ready his pistols.
"Madam," said Hal, decisively, "I did not kill your brother. Now, by your favor, I will pass, for I am in some haste."
"What!" she cried. "Did you lie just now, when you said you were Sir Valentine Fleetwood?"
Now, Hal might tell her that he was not Sir Valentine; but, doubtless, she would not believe him; and thus the situation would not be changed. And, on the other hand, if she should believe him, so much the worse,—she would then bend her energies toward the hindrance of the real Sir Valentine; would ride on toward Fleetwood house, be met and questioned by Roger Barnet, and set him right, or at least cause him to send a party back to Fleetwood house to investigate. So Hal's purpose would be speedily frustrated. His only course was to let her think him really the man he was impersonating; indeed that course would make but another step in the continued deception of Roger Barnet, and Halwas bound to take such steps—not avoid them—for the next five days.
"Mistress Hazlehurst," replied Hal, taking a kind of furtive joy in using her name upon his lips for the first time, "I do not deny that I am Sir Valentine Fleetwood; but I did not kill your brother. I wish you heaven's blessing and a good night, for I am going on!" With that he started his horse forward.
"Take him!" she shouted to her men. "Ye shall pay for it an he escape!"
The threat had effect. The attendants crowded upon Hal, some with swords drawn, some with clubs upraised; so that his horse, after a few steps, reared wildly upon its haunches, and sought a way out of the press.
"Back, dogs!" commanded Marryott, striking right and left with sword and pistol. There were cries of pain from men and horses; the men wielded their weapons as best they could; but a way was somehow opened. Mistress Hazlehurst herself was forced against the fence at the roadside, one of her followers—a slender, agile youth—skilfully interposing his horse and body between her and the crush. She would have pressed into the midst of the blows and of the rearing beasts, had not this servant restrained her horse by means which she, in her excitement, did not perceive. But she continued calling out orders, in a loud, wrathful voice.
As Hal opened way, Anthony and Bottle followed close, preventing the enemy from closing in upon his rear. The Puritan used a short sword with a business-like deliberation and care, and with no word or other vocal sign than a kind of solemnly approbative grunt as he thrust. Bottle, who rode last, handled his long rapier with great swiftness and potency, in all directions, swearing all the while; and finally let off his two pistols, one after the other, at two men who hung with persistence upon Hal's flanks, while Hal was forcing the last opposition in front. One of these two fell wounded or dead, the other was thrown by his maddened horse; and finally the three fugitives were free of the mass of men and beasts that had barred the way. One of the horses was clattering down the road ahead, without a rider. Hal informed himself by a single glance that Anthony and Kit were free and able, and then, with an "On we go!" he spurred after the riderless horse toward Stevenage.
"After him, you knaves!" screamed Mistress Hazlehurst, in a transport of baffled rage; but her servants, some unhorsed, some with broken heads or pierced bodies, one with a pistol wound in his side, and the rest endeavoring to get the horses under control, were quite heedless of her cries.
"A sad plight to leave a lady in!" said Hal, who had heard her futile order. He and his two menwere now riding at a gallop, to regain lost advantage.
"A devil of a woman!" quoth Captain Bottle, in a tone of mere comment, void of any feeling save, perhaps, a little admiration.
"Why did she not know me, either as Sir Valentine, or as not being Sir Valentine?" asked Hal, calling ahead to Anthony, who had resumed his place in front.
"She hath dwelt most time in London with a city kinswoman," was the answer, "and Sir Valentine hath lived usually in France since she was born."
"'Tis well Master Barnet knew Sir Valentine better, or knew him well enough to take me for him in my disguise," said Hal.
"Trust Roger Barnet to know every papist in the kingdom," called out Kit Bottle, "and to know every one else that's like to give occasion for his services. It is a pride of his to know the English papists whereever they be. Roger is often on the Continent, look you. He is the privy council's longest finger!"
"Tell me of this Mistress Hazlehurst," said Hal to the Puritan, to whose side he now rode up. "Is't true she is the sister of the gentleman Sir Valentine fought?"
"His only sister," returned Anthony. "His only close kin. She is now heiress to the Hazlehurst estate, and just old enough to be free of wardship."
"A strong love she must have borne her brother, to fly straight from his funeral to see him avenged!"
"Nay, I know not any great love betwixt 'em. They could not live in the same house, or in the same county, for their wrangles—being both of an ungodly violence. 'Twas her brother's unrighteous proneness to anger that forced the brawl on Sir Valentine. 'Twas that heathenish quarrelsomeness, some say, that kept Mr. Hazlehurst a bachelor. 'Tis a wonder the evil spirit of wrath in him brought him not sooner to his death. He fought many duels,—not hereabouts, where men were careful against provoking him, but in France, where he lived much. 'Twas there, indeed, that he and Sir Valentine best knew each other."
"And yet this sister must have loved him. Women are not commonly so active toward punishing a brother's slayer," insisted Hal.
"Why," replied Anthony, "methinks this woman is a hothead that must needs do with her own hands what, if she were another woman, she would only wish done. 'Tis a pride of family that moveth her to look to the avenging of her brother's death. A blow at him she conceiveth to be a blow at herself, the two being of same name and blood. This sister and brother have ever been more quick, one to resent an affront against the other from a third person, than they have been slow to affront eachother. I am not wont to speak in the language of the lost, or to apply the name of the arch-enemy to them that bear God's image; but, indeed, as far as a headstrong will and violent ways are diabolical, yon profane man spoke aptly when he named Mistress Anne a devil of a woman!"
"All's one for that," said Hal, curtly. "But, certes, as far as a matchless face and a voice of music are angelical, I speak as aptly when I name this Mistress Anne an angel of a woman! It went against me to leave her in the road thus, in a huddle of bleeding servants and runaway horses."
"Tis a huddle that will block the way for Roger Barnet a while," put in Captain Bottle.
"Doubtless he and his men have ridden up to her by now," replied Marryott. "I'd fain see what is occurring betwixt them." Then lapsing into silence. Hal and his two attendants rode on, passing through slumbering Stevenage, and continuing uninterruptedly northward.
Barnet's party had indeed come up to Mistress Hazlehurst's, and the scene now occurring between them was one destined to have a strange conclusion.
Anne's followers,—raw serving men without the skill or decision to have used rightly their numerical superiority over the three fugitives,—all were more or less hurt, except two,—the slight one who had personally shielded her, and the lantern-bearer, who hadbeen taken out of the fray by the intractability of his horse. Not only was her escort useless for any immediate pursuit of the supposed Sir Valentine, but the condition of its members required of her, as their mistress and leader, an instant looking to. The necessity of this forbade her own mad impulse to ride unaided after the man who had escaped her, and whom she was the more passionately enraged against because of his victory over her and of his treatment of her servants. Nothing could have been more vexatious than the situation into which she had been brought; and she was bitterly chafing at her defeat, while forcing herself to consider steps for the proper care of her injured servants, when Barnet's troop came clattering up the road.
Mistress Hazlehurst's horses, except the runaway, had now been got under command; some of her men, merely bruised in body or head, stood holding them; others, worse hurt, lay groaning at the roadside, whither she had ordered their comrades to drag them. Anne herself sat her horse in the middle of the road, the little fellow, still mounted, at her left hand. Such was the group that caused Barnet and his men to pull up their horses to an abrupt halt. Peering forward, with eyes now habituated to the darkness, the royal pursuivant swiftly inspected the figures before him, perceived that Sir Valentine and his two attendants were not of them, wondered whata woman was doing at the head of such a party, dismissed that question as none of his business, and called out:
"Madam, a gentleman hath passed you, with two men. Did he keep the road to Stevenage, or turn out yonder?"
"Sir Valentine Fleetwood, mean you?" asked Anne, with sudden eagerness.
"The same. Way to pass, please you. And answer."
Roger Barnet was a man of middle height; bodily, of a good thickness and great solidity; a man with a bold, square face, a frown, cold eyes, a short black beard; a keeper of his own counsel, a man of the fewest possible words, and those gruffly spoken. Anne, because her mind was working upon other matter, took no offence at his sharp, discourteous, mandatory style of addressing her. Without heeding his demand for way, she said:
"Sir Valentine hath indeed passed! See how he dealt with my servants when I tried to stay him! Are you magistrate's men?"
"I am a messenger of the queen," said Barnet, deigning an answer because, on looking more closely at her horses, a certain idea had come to him.
"In pursuit of Sir Valentine?" she asked.
"With a warrant for his apprehension," was the reply.
"What! For my brother's death? Hath her Majesty heard—"
"For high treason; and if these be your horses, in the queen's name—"
But Mistress Hazlehurst cut short his speech, in turn.
"High treason!" she cried, with jubilation; and this thought flashed through her mind: that if taken for high treason, her enemy, a Catholic of long residence in France, was a doomed man; whereas a judicial investigation of his quarrel with her brother might absolve Sir Valentine from guilt or blame. True, the state's revenge for an offence against itself would not, as such, be her revenge for an offence against her family, and would not in itself afford her the triumph she craved; but Sir Valentine was in a way to escape the State's revenge; she might be an instrument to effect his capture; in being that, she would find her own revenge. She could then truly say to her enemy, "But for me you might be free; of my work, done in retaliation for killing my brother, shall come your death; and so our blood, as much as the crown, is avenged." All this, never expressed in detail, but conceived in entirety during the time of a breath, was in her mind as she went on:
"God's light, he shall be caught, then! He went toward Stevenage. I will ride with you!"
"Nay, madam, there are enough of us. But your horses are fresher than ours. I take some of yours, in the queen's name, and leave mine in your charge." And he forthwith dismounted, ordering his men to do likewise. But ere he made another movement, his hand happening to seek his pouch, he uttered an oath, and exclaimed:
"The queen's letters! There's delay! They must be delivered to-night. Madam, know you where Sir William Crashaw's house is? And Mr. Richard Brewby's?"
"Both are down the first road to the right."
"Then down the first road to the right I must go, and let Sir Valentine Fleetwood gain time while I am about it. Which is your best horse, mistress? And one of your men shall guide me to those gentlemen's houses." And, resigning his horse to a follower, he strode into the midst of the Hazlehurst group.
"But why lose this time, sir?" said Anne. "Let my man himself bear these letters."
"When I am charged with letters," replied Roger Barnet, "they pass not from me save into the hands for which they are intended. I shall carry these letters, and catch this traitor. By your leave, I take this horse—and this—and this. Get off, fellow! Hudsdon, bring my saddle, and saddle me this beast. Change horses, the rest of you."
"But will you not send men after this traitor,while you bear the letters?" queried Anne, making no protest against the pressing of her horses into the queen's service,—a procedure in which no attempt was made to include the horse she herself was on.
Barnet gave a grunt of laughter, to which he added the words, "My men go with me!" Perhaps he dared not trust his men out of his sight, perhaps he wished no one but himself to have the credit of taking the fugitive, perhaps he needed the protection of his complete force against possible attack.
"But, man," cried Anne, sharply, "you will lose track of Sir Valentine! You will take two hours, carrying those letters!"
"Why, mistress," replied Barnet, as the change of horses from one party to the other went rapidly on, "will not people in farmhouses and villages hear his three horses pass?" Though he assumed a voice of confidence, there was yet in it a tone betraying that he shared her fears.
"He ought to be followed while he is yet scarce out of hearing," said Anne, "and overtaken, and hindered one way or another till you catch up."
Barnet cast a gloomy look at her, as if pained at the mention of a course so excellent, but in the present case so impossible.
"My horse is the best in the county," she went on. "I can catch him,—hang me if I cannot! Ican delay him, too, if there be any way under heaven to do so! Dickon, look to thy wounded fellows! See them taken home, and show this gentleman the way to Sir William Crashaw's and Mr. Brewby's. Come, Francis!"—this to the small attendant who kept always near her—"God be praised, you are well-mounted, too!" And she turned her horse's head toward Stevenage.
"But, Mistress Anne," cried Dickon, in dismay, "you will be robbed—killed! Ride not without company!"
"Let go, Dickon, and do as I bid! I shall ride so fast, the fiend himself cannot catch me, till I fall in with that traitor; and then I shall have him and his men for company till this officer come up to him. Master Messenger, for mine own reasons I promise to impede Sir Valentine; to be a burden, a weight, and a chain upon him, holding him back by all means I can devise, till you bear your letters and o'ertake him. Dickon, heed my orders! Follow me. Francis! Ods-daggers, must I be a milksop, and afraid o' nights, because I wasn't born to wear hose instead of petticoats?" And having by this time got her horse clear of the group in the road, she made off toward Stevenage, followed by her mounted page. Francis.
"It may turn out well for us that Sir Valentine Fleetwood happened to kill her brother," was theonly comment of Roger Barnet, as he mounted the horse his man Hudsdon had newly saddled. He had seen much and many, in his time, and was not surprised at anything, especially if it bore the shape of a woman.