We had gone thus no great distance when we heard a sound of hoofs and wheels and perceived an open travelling chaise coming up behind us. The lane was narrow and rutted and thus the vehicle was progressing at an inconsiderable pace, and as it passed us where we stood in the hedge, I saw it contained a man and a woman. This man was richly dressed, and handsome in a big, plethoric fashion, but beholding his face, the small eyes, heavy jowls and fleshy nose, I took an instant aversion to him.
"Did you notice that fellow?" I enquired, brushing the dust from me.
"Did you see—her?" exclaimed Anthony.
"A fleshly brute if ever there was one!" said I.
"Such glorious eyes and hair—a sweet angelic creature, Perry. Her eyes seemed so big and appealing. Oh, curse it, why must women have such eyes. Damn everything!"
"It will be a beautiful night!" said I, staring up at the purple vault where stars began to wink.
"She looked—miserable—almost like one afraid."
"I wonder where we shall sleep, Anthony?"
"Oh, anywhere, in some barn, under a hedge, in a rick—what matter?Why should she look afraid, I wonder?"
I made no answer, for truth to tell my mind yearned and my body hungered for the sweet, cool luxury of lavender sheets; the thought of a draughty barn or comfortless ditch appalled me, but I held my peace, only I scanned the dim road before me with eager eyes for some sign of tavern or inn.
And presently from the loom of trees I espied a twinkling light that upon our nearer approach I saw proceeded from a wayside inn with a great trough of water before it and a signboard whereon, though evening was falling apace, I could make out the legend—
and above this the dim semblance of a man in gaiters and smock, bearing a whip in one hand while in the other he upheld a foaming beaker—but never in nature did ale or beer ever so foam, froth, bubble and seethe as did this painted waggoner's painted beer.
"What now?" enquired my companion, for I had halted. "What is it,Peregrine?"
"The beer!" said I.
"Where, man, where?"
"Yonder!" and I pointed to the sign. "Did ever eyes behold beer so preternaturally frothy?"
"Of course not, Perry my lad, because reality is never so perfect as the dream! The cove who painted that was damnably dry, perishing of a noble thirst, not a doubt of it, and being a true artist he painted it all in—egad, there's thirst in every inch of that foam—it's a masterpiece!"
"It's a daub—and a bad one!" said I. "Indeed, on closer inspection the foam looks very like cheese!"
"Excellent—the poor painting-cove was hungry also, and there you are! I'd hang that thing in my dining room (supposing I had one) to get me an appetite—it's made me hungry already and as for the thirst—Oh, confound it—come on—"
"By no means!" said I resolutely. "Here is a cosy inn; here will we eat and sleep—"
"At your expense? Curse me, no, Peregrine."
"Damme, yes, Anthony."
"I say positively I'll not—"
"Look at that cheese-like foam, Anthony!"
"Curse your pitiful eighteen pounds!"
"A dinner, a glass and a downy bed with sheets, Anthony!"
"Remember I'm a man of astonishing determination, Peregrine!"
"Forget your ridiculous pride, Anthony!"
"Ha—ridiculous, d'ye say, sir?"
"And utterly preposterous, sir!"
"Preposterous! By heaven!" he exclaimed, cocking the battered hat very ferociously over one eye. "Were you a little nearer my weight and size, sir—"
"Sir," quoth I, nettled by the allusion, "does my size offend you—"
"Rather say lack of size, sir—"
"Sir?"
"Sir!"
Now while we stood glaring upon each other in this very ridiculous manner, we were startled by a clatter of hoofs from the inn yard, and the snorting squeal of a horse in pain.
"By heaven, Perry!" he exclaimed, forgetting his ferocity and settling his hat more firmly with a blow of his fist, "I believe some damned scoundrel is kicking a horse!" And away he strode forthwith and I hastened after him. Reaching the yard behind the inn we perceived an ostler and a postboy who cherished a trembling horse between them, talking together in hushed but sullen tones.
"Who's been savaging the horse, my lads?" demanded Anthony, running a hand over the sweating animal with the caressing touch of a true horseman. "Come, speak up and no mumbling!"
"'T were the genelman in the blue spencer as druv up 'ere a while ago cursing 'orrid, an' 'im wi' a young fe-male. A bad 'un by 'is looks an' ways, I think, an' I don't care if 'e 'ears me say it."
"Ah—with a lady, was he?"
"'E were!"
"A very beautiful lady—young, with hair—eyes—"
"W'y, she may 'ave 'ad heyes an' she might 'ave 'ad 'air—likewise she may not—she may ha' been as bald as a coot an' as blind as a mole for all I see—"
"That'll do, my lad, that'll do! But she was young, wasn't she?"
"'Ow should I know?" exclaimed the ostler, his manner losing all respect as he observed Anthony's general down-at-heel appearance. "I didn't think to open 'er mouth nor yet ob-serve 'er teeth—"
"That'll do, my lad, that'll do—"
"Oh, will it an' all—why then, git out o' this yere yard. Who are you t' ax questions—out wi' ye an' quick's the word!" Saying which, the tall ostler approached in a very dangerous and threatening fashion; but even as he moved, so moved Anthony, only infinitely quicker, and lo! in place of large, scowling visage were two large hobnailed shoes that wavered uncertainly aloft in air while their owner rolled upon a pile of stable sweepings.
"That was what Natty Bell would call 'one to go on with!'"
"Lorramity!" gasped the ostler, sitting up and glancing about in dazed fashion. "Lorramity—that's done it, that 'as!"
"If it hasn't, we'll try another!" suggested Anthony in cheery tone.
"By cripes!" exclaimed the ostler, taking up a handful of stable sweepings in an aimless sort of manner. "That was a one-er, that was!"
"I believe you!" quoth the postboy. "It were a leveller as you was a fair askin' an' a-pleading for, an' you got it!"
"Is the lady stopping here to-night?" enquired Anthony.
"She are, sir!" answered the postboy.
"She am, sir!" answered the other, "an' because why, sir—I'll tell ye true, if you won't go a-landin' me no more o' them one-er's—"
"Because 'is near 'orse cast a shoe, sir," explained the postboy.
"An' no smith nigher than Sevenoaks, which is seven miles away."
"Peregrine," said my companion, turning towards the inn, "remembering the foam and your magnanimous offer we will reconsider our decision. This way!" And pushing open a door, we found ourselves in a comfortable chamber, half bar, half kitchen, where was a woman of large and heroic proportions who, beholding Anthony's draggled exterior, frowned, but the sight of my silver buttons and tasseled Hessians seemed to reassure her, for she smiled and bobbed a curtsey to them and asked my pleasure. At my suggestion of supper and beds for two, she turned to frown at Anthony's attire again and called, "Susie!"
In answer to which summons presently appeared a trim maid who, at her mistress's bidding, forthwith brought us to a small chamber none too comfortable, and there left us to kick our heels.
"As lovely a pair of eyes that ever eyes looked into, Perry!"
"Why, she's a fine, plump, buxom kind of creature," said I, "but I think she squints a little—"
"Squints!" cried Anthony, turning with a kind of leap—"I'll be damned if she does—"
"Well, then, take notice when she comes to lay the table—"
"What table? Who?"
"Why, the maid—"
"Ass! I meant the Lady of the Chaise! And she was frightened, Perry—and no wonder—a man who would kick a horse would savage a woman—by heaven, there are times when murder is a virtue!" Here he rose suddenly as a heavy, trampling footstep shook the ceiling above us. "Peregrine," said he, tossing his hat into a corner, "while you remain here to observe the squint-eyed maid, I will forthwith investigate."
Left alone, I sat impatiently enough, twiddling my thumbs; but as time passed and brought neither Anthony nor the maid with supper, my impatience redoubled, so that I rose and, opening a door, found myself in a passage wherein were other doors, from behind one of which came the dull, low sound of a woman's passionate weeping. Inexpressibly moved by this, I hastened forward impulsively and, opening this door, stepped into the room beyond.
She was crouching at the table, a slender, desolate figure, her face hidden in her arms, but hearing my footstep, she lifted her head with a weary gesture and, looking into the beauty of this pale, tear-wet face, I read there a hopeless terror that went far beyond fear.
At sight of me she half rose, then sank down again, as from an inner chamber strode a tall, heavily built man in whom I instantly recognised the gentleman of the chaise. Beholding me, he halted suddenly and stood a minute like one utterly amazed, then his face was convulsed with sudden fury, his full lips curled back from strong, white teeth, and uttering a snarling, inarticulate sound, he caught up a heavy walking cane and strode towards me, whereupon I retreated so precipitately that my heel catching in the worn floor-covering, I tripped and fell; then, or ever I could rise, he stooped and catching me in merciless hands, shook me like the savage monster he was and dragging me across the floor, hurled me into the passage; lying breathless and half-stunned, I heard the slam of the door, the rattle of a bolt and thereafter the sound of his voice, hoarse and muffled and very evil to be heard. I was upon my knees and groping for my hat when powerful arms caught me and lifted me to my feet.
"Why, Perry—curse and confound it!" exclaimed Anthony. "What in the name of—"
He broke off suddenly and I felt the arm about me grow tense and rigid as from beyond the bolted door the harsh voice reached us, fiercer, louder than before.
"Let you go back—and be laughed at for a fool? Not I! Little fool…. No, by God … weep your eyes out … we're as good as married … to-morrow morning … come here … obey me—"
"God!" exclaimed Anthony between shut teeth.
"And the door is bolted!" said I.
"No matter! Out o' my way!"
I saw him leap, saw his foot shoot out, heard a rending crash and next moment he was in the room and I behind him. The man in the blue spencer was in the act of locking the door of the inner room and stood, his hand upon the key, glaring at us beneath drawn brows.
"What the devil!" quoth he, and snatching the stick where it lay on the table, turned upon Anthony with the weapon quivering in his big fist. "Out of this!" he snarled. "Back to the mud that bred you—d'ye hear!"
"One moment!" said Anthony, his grey eyes very wide and bright. "There is a lady in the room yonder and the doors are devilish flimsy, otherwise I should endeavour to describe the kind of thing you are—I intend very shortly to tread on you, but first—"
I saw the heavy stick whirl high, to fall whistling on empty air as Anthony, timing the blow, sprang lightly aside, then leapt heavily in with stiffened arm and fist that smote the scowling face reeling back to the wall. And now rose sounds evil to hear, fierce-panted oaths, the trampling of quick, purposeful feet, and a dust wherein they swayed and smote each other in desperate, murderous fashion; sickened by this beastly spectacle I shrank away, then ran to catch up the flickering lamp and with this grasped in tremulous hands, waited for the end. They were down at last, rolling upon the floor; then I saw the shabby, weather-beaten figure was uppermost, saw this figure reach for and grasp the heavy cane, saw the long arm rise and fall, heard a muffled groan, a sharp cry, a shout of agony; but the long arm rose and fell untiring, merciless, until all sounds were hushed save for a dull moaning and the monotonous sound of blows.
"Anthony—for God's sake—don't kill him!" I cried.
"Murder—sometimes—virtue!" he gasped. At this I set down the lamp in a safe place and, running in, caught that merciless arm, commanding and beseeching in turn. "Right, Peregrine—loose my arm—he's had about—enough—besides, I'm devilish blown!"
So I loosed him and, standing back, saw beyond the door a throng of pale, fearful faces, that parted suddenly to make way for a short, squat man who carried a blunderbuss. Anthony saw him too, for in a moment he was up and, thrusting hand into his bosom, drew thence a small pistol.
"Put down that blunderbuss!" he commanded; whereupon, after a momentary hesitation, the squat fellow stepped forward and laid it sulkily upon the table. "Here, Peregrine," said Anthony, "take this pistol and keep 'em quiet while I walk on this scoundrel a little!" Unwillingly enough, I took the weapon, while Anthony forthwith stood upon his prostrate antagonist and proceeded very deliberately to wipe his villainous-looking boots upon the gentleman's fine blue spencer; this done, he stepped down and beckoned the squat man to approach, who came in, though very unwillingly, and closely followed by the ostler and postillion.
"'Ave ye killed the pore soul?" questioned the squat fellow, eyeing the prostrate man very much askance.
"Alas, no—so I will ask you and these good fellows to carry him out and lay him in the horse-trough—"
"'Orse-trough?" exclaimed the landlord.
"Horse-trough!" nodded Anthony.
"Not us!" answered the landlord.
"Think again!" said Anthony, taking up the blunderbuss.
"Ye mean t' say—" began the landlord.
"Horse-trough!" said Anthony, levelling the ungainly weapon.
"Come on, master," quoth the ostler, "'e du be a mortal desp'rit cove for sure! An' what's a little water; 't will du un good!" So in the end they raised the groaning man and bore him forth, followed by Anthony with the blunderbuss across his arm. And presently from without came a splash, a fierce sputtering and a furious torrent of gasping oaths, which last sound greatly relieved me; and now, what with this and the excitement of the whole affair, I sank down in a chair, trembling from head to foot and my head bowed upon my hands. But hearing a light footstep, I looked up to behold the lady, a bewitching vision despite red eyes and pallid cheeks, where she stood surveying me—then all at once she came forward, impetuous, her hands clasped.
"Oh, sir, how can I ever thank you—and my nose so red and my eyes so dreadfully bleared!"
And in the extremity of her gratitude I believe this beautiful young creature would have knelt to me but that I caught and held her hands in mine; and it was at this moment that Anthony strode in, still a little breathless by reason of his late exertions.
"Oh, Peregrine—" he began and stopped, for at sight of him the lady shrank closer to me, viewing him with terrified eyes, as indeed well she might, for now, in addition to the woeful misery of his garments and stubble of beard, his wild and desperate appearance was heightened by a smear of blood across his pallid cheek. "Ah!" said he, beholding her instinctive gesture of aversion. "Pray assure madam that in spite of my looks she has nothing to fear!" and with one of his grand obeisances he turned to go, but in that moment I had him by the sleeve.
"Madam," said I, bowing to her as she stood viewing us with startled eyes, "I have the honour to present your deliverer and my friend, Mr. Anthony Vere-Manville!" And now I saw that her eyes indeed were very beautiful. So I turned away and left them together.
Reaching the other room I found the squint-eyed maid had set forth our supper—a goodly joint of cold beef flanked by a loaf, cheese and a jug of ale. A mere glance at this simple fare reminded me how extraordinary was my hunger which I was greatly tempted to satisfy then and there, but checked the impulse resolutely and sat down to wait for Anthony. Nevertheless my gaze must needs wander from crusty loaf to mellow cheese and thence to juicy beef so that I was greatly tempted to begin there and then but schooled my appetite to patience. At last in strode Anthony who, seizing my hand, shook it heartily.
"Peregrine," said he, staring very hard at the beef, "what perfectly glorious hair—"
"Hair?" said I.
"So silky, Peregrine, and—ripply."
"Ah!" said I, glancing from the beef to his ecstatic face. "You mean—"
"To be sure I do!" said he, and shook my hand again.
"And her eyes—you must have observed her eyes?"
"Somewhat red and swollen—"
"Tush!" said he, and catching my hand again, led me to a small and dingy mirror against the wall.
"An ill-looking scoundrel!" he exclaimed, pointing to his reflection. "A miserable wretch, a friendless dog, and Peregrine, I tell you she stooped to trust this scoundrel, to touch this wretch's hand, to speak gentle words to this homeless dog. She's a saint, begad—a positive angel and—oh, stab my vitals—she's hungry and I forgot it—"
"So am I, Anthony—so are you—and here's supper—"
"Where?" he enquired, still lost in contemplation of his villainous reflection.
"On the table, of course."
"Dammit, what a repulsive object I look!" he groaned. "And yet, what matter? Yes—it's just as well she should have seen me at my very worst! And yet—these cursed bristles! I tell you she's an angel, Perry!"
"And hungry, Anthony."
"So she is, sweet soul!" he exclaimed and was gone as he spoke, to reappear in another moment ushering in our fair guest, whose mere presence and dainty grace seemed to make the dingy chamber more sweet and homelike.
"Madam," said I, taking up the carving-knife and bowing as she seated herself between us, "I fear we can offer you but the very simplest of fare, but if you are hungry—"
"Ravenous, sir!" said she, with a little upward motion of the eyes that I thought very engaging. "I have eaten nothing since I ran away this morning—"
"And this beef cuts very well!" said I. And so we began to eat forthwith, speaking but seldom (and Anthony not at all) until our hunger was somewhat appeased.
More than once I had noticed her bright eyes flit from the elegance of my garments to the ruin of Anthony's; at last she spoke:
"And you are—two friends, I understand?" she questioned.
"Yes, madam," answered Anthony, "of about six hours standing. My friend Mr. Vereker found me upon the road and took pity on my destitution. It is to Peregrine we are indebted for the food we eat—"
"And to Anthony for your safety. As to friendship," I pursued, "it is a gift of heaven, greater than time and born in a moment—and this I hope may endure as long as time, because Anthony is the only friend I possess."
Now at this she leaned back and glanced at us beneath wrinkled brows for a moment, then suddenly and with sweet impulse she reached out a hand to each of us.
"Then let us all be friends," said she, "for I am lonely too!"
So for a long moment we sat thus, hand in hand, and neither speaking. "And now," said she at last, "since we are friends, I want you to know how I came to run such risks. I am Barbara Knollys, and my father wishes me to marry a man I hate, so I determined to run away to my aunt Aspasia, because, though I fear my father, my father fears aunt Aspasia more. Captain Danby offered to escort me to aunt's house at Sevenoaks, but once I was in his chaise I grew afraid of him and instead of following the high road he drove by desolate lanes and—oh, he was hateful and so at last we came here. And now you say that Captain Danby has gone?" she enquired of Anthony.
"Quite!" said he a little grimly. "He is, I believe, snug in bed."
"I trust, sir, you—didn't—hurt him—more than was—necessary?"
"Rest assured of it, madam."
"Heaven is very kind to have brought me out of such danger and set me safe in the care of—gentlemen," said she, glancing from one to other of us.
"Rest assured of this also, madam!" said I, while Anthony looked from her to me with shining eyes. At this moment we started, all three, as borne to our ears came the distant rumble of thunder, followed by a fierce wind-gust that rattled crazy door and lattice and, dying in a dismal wail, left behind the mournful sound of pattering rain.
"O heavens!" exclaimed our companion, clasping slender hands. "A storm—and I am terrified of thunder—"
"It will soon pass!" said I.
"But I must start at once!" she faltered. "I must reach my aunt's house to-night."
"There is the chaise!" suggested Anthony.
"Ah, no, no—impossible!" she cried. "The chaise was engaged byCaptain Danby and the postillion is in his pay—"
"The chaise shall be ready whenever you desire," said Anthony, rising, "and the postillion shall drive you wherever you appoint if—if you can trust yourself to the care of such a—a down-at-heels rogue as—myself."
"Mr. Anthony," said she, very gravely, "this morning I was a foolish girl—to-night I am a woman—my adventure has taught me much—and a woman always knows whom she may trust. And you are a friend and a gentleman, and one I can trust and so I accept your offer most thankfully." Saying which, she reached out her hand to him and with such a look as made me half wish myself in Anthony's place. So he took her hand, made as though to raise it to his lips, then loosed it and stood with bowed head, seemingly lost in contemplation of his broken boots.
"Thanks!" he mumbled. "I—I—thank you!"
"Now I must prepare for the road!" said she and sped away with never so much as a glance at me, leaving Anthony staring after her like one in a dream, and I saw his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Perry!" he exclaimed, "O Perry—did you hear her?" And crossing to the little mirror he stood to behold his reflection again. "She has given me back my self-respect!" said he. And then, "Oh, for a barber!" he groaned. "Damn this stubble. I look like an accursed gooseberry! And now for the chaise, she must be safe with her aunt to-night, sweet soul. And she trusts me, Perry—me!" Here he turned to scowl at his reflection again. "An angel!" he murmured.
"But Anthony, if one of the horses has cast a shoe—"
"Shoe?" he repeated dreamily. "The prettiest, daintiest shoe in all Christendom. I noticed it particularly as she stood there—on that old, worn mat—"
Seeing him so lost, I ventured to shake his arm and repeat my query, whereupon he roused and nodded.
"To be sure. Perry, to be sure! We must persuade our ostler and postboy to find us another—let us see to it forthwith!" So saying, he picked up Captain Danby's heavy cane and with it gripped in purposeful hand, led the way from the room.
At the extreme end of a narrow and somewhat dingy passage we came on a door, from behind which proceeded a din of voices in loud confabulation, together with much jingling of glasses, so that I judged the worthies we sought were engaged upon what I believe is known as "making a night of it."
This hoarse babel ended suddenly as, opening the door, Anthony strode in, his whole person and attitude suggestive of that air I have already mentioned as one of polite ferocity.
"Aha!" said he, feet wide-planted, Captain Danby's stout cane bending in his powerful hands. "How far is it to Sevenoaks, pray?"
"Better nor seven mile!" answered the surly landlord, setting down his spirit-glass.
"Ah, all o' that!" nodded the ostler over his tankard.
"Every bit!" added the postboy.
"An' 'oo might you be?" demanded an individual in top-boots, a large man chiefly remarkable for a pair of fierce, black whiskers and a truculent eye.
"Seven miles!" exclaimed Anthony, unheeding his interrupter. "I had feared it shorter—oh, excellent! Now my lads, we require the chaise—up with you, set to the horses and be ready to start in ten minutes at most. Come—bustle!"
"Lord!" exclaimed Black Whiskers, "You'd think 'e was a nearl or a jook to 'ear un—'oo is 'e?"
"Why, it's 'im as we was tellin' you of, Mr. Vokes!" quoth the landlord.
"'Is werry own selluf!" nodded the postboy.
"The desp'rit cove as gie me the one-er!" added the ostler.
"Aye, Mr. Vokes," continued the landlord with unction, "this is 'im as committed the 'ssault an' battery on 'is betters."
"Oh, is it?" said Mr. Vokes, nodding in highly menacing fashion.
"Ah!" nodded the landlord. "An' then goes for to make us go for to nigh drownd the pore, unfort'nate genelman in my own 'oss-trough, an' 'im now a-sneezin' an' a-groanin' an' a-swearin' in bed fit to break your 'eart. 'Ere be the desp'rit rogue as done the deed!"
"Oh, is it!" repeated Black Whiskers, scowling. "Why, very well, then—'ere's to show 'im 'oo's 'oo!" and he reached for a heavy riding-whip that lay on the floor beside him.
"Sit still, Mr. Vokes—remain seated, lest I pink you!" commanded Anthony, saluting him with the Captain's cane as if it had been a sword. The man Vokes stared, swore and rose up, whip in hand, whereupon Anthony lunged gracefully, thrusting the cane so extremely accurately into the middle of Mr. Vokes' waistcoat that he doubled up with marked suddenness and fell back helpless in his chair, groaning and gasping painfully.
"Now, my lads," quoth Anthony cheerily, as he picked up the whip, "the word is 'horses'! Come, bustle now!" and he cracked the whip like a pistol shot.
"Lord love me!" exclaimed the landlord, retreating precipitately. "I never see no thin' like this 'ere—no, never!"
"That'll do, my lad, that'll do!" said Anthony, flourishing the whip."In six minutes or so I expect the chaise at the door."
"But I can't drive a hoss wot's cast a shoe, can I, sir?" whined the postillion, his eye on the whip.
"You can get another, my lad."
"Theer ain't no other 'oss nowhere, except Mr. Vokes' mare!" quoth the ostler.
"Then of course Mr. Vokes will be glad to lend us his mare, I'm sure."
But here Black Whiskers found voice and breath for a very decided negative, with divers gasping allusions to Anthony's eyes and limbs. Hereupon Anthony betook him again to his posture ofescrime, the cane-point levelled threateningly within a foot of Mr. Vokes' already outraged person.
"Fellow," said he, "next time address me as 'sir'—and say 'yes'!"
For a moment the flinching Mr. Yokes paused to eye the levelled cane, the ready hand and fierce grey eyes behind it, then spoke the desired words in voice scarcely audible by reason of pain and passion; but they sufficed, the cane was lowered, the whip cracked, and forthwith into the yard filed landlord, ostler and postillion with us at their heels. And here by aid of flickering lanthorns, amid wind and rain, the horses were harnessed and put to, the chaise brought to the door where stood one cloaked and hooded who, with Anthony's ready assistance, climbed nimbly into the chaise.
"Anthony—your pistol!" and I handed it to him. "Take care," said I, as he thrust it carelessly into his bosom.
"Tush!" he laughed, "had it been loaded I should have blown out what brains I have days ago!"
"Good-bye, Anthony!" said I, and, or ever he could prevent, thrust a guinea into his hand. For a moment I thought he would toss it in my face, then he thrust it into his pocket.
"Egad, Perry!" said he, seizing my hand in his vital clasp. "You are a devilish—likeable fellow and—d'ye see—what I mean is—oh, dammit! Look for me at Tonbridge." Having said which, he sprang down the steps, entered the chaise and banged to the door. But now at the open window was a lovely face. "Good-bye—Peregrine," and with the word she reached out her hand to me.
"Good-bye," said I.
"Barbara," she suggested.
"Good-bye, Barbara!" said I, and lifted the hand to my lips.
"At Tonbridge, Perry!" repeated Anthony.
"At Tonbridge!" said I, whereupon the postillion vituperated the rain and wind, chirruped to his horses, and the chaise rolled away into the tempestuous dark.
For them, rain and wind and darkness, for me such comfort as the inn afforded, but of the three it was I who was desolate and forlorn.
"An' now—wot about my door?" demanded a gruff voice. Starting, I turned to find the landlord at my elbow and immediately my forlornness grew intensified. I felt miserably helpless and at a loss, for the man's sullen face seemed to hold positive menace and I yearned mightily for Anthony's masterful presence beside me or a little of his polite ferocity.
"Come—wot about my door?" demanded the landlord, more threatening than ever. "Ten shillin' won't mend my door—"
"What door?" I questioned, fronting his insolent look with as much resolution as I could summon.
"The door as you an' that desp'rit villain broke betwixt ye—fifteen shillin'—ah, a pound won't pay for the mendin' o' my door—wot about it—come!" Here he lurched towards me, shoulders hunched, chin brutally out-thrust so that I shrank instinctively from him, perceiving which, he grew the more aggressive.
"That will do!" said I in woefully feeble imitation of Anthony's masterful manner. "That will do—and what is more—"
"Oh, will it do? Wot about my door?"
"You may charge it in your bill—"
"Not me, by goles! 'T is money as I wants—thirty shillin'—in my 'and—this 'ere very moment."
"I intend to stay the night, so will you please have a fire lighted in your best—"
"Thirty-five shillin's the word—in my 'and—this moment—my fine little gent—that's wot!"
Feeling myself quite powerless to cope with this drunken creature, I shrank before him, trembling with mingled rage and disgust; perceiving which, he scowled the fiercer and thrust a hairy fist into my face. Threatened thus with bodily harm, I glanced hastily over my shoulder with some wild notion of ignominious flight, but dignity forbidding, I stood my ground sick with apprehension and with my sweating hands tight-clenched.
"Smell it!" quoth the landlord, setting his fist under my nose. "Which is it t' be,—forty shillin' or this?"
I was groping for my purse when over my shoulder came a large, plump, red hand that took my scowling aggressor by an ear and tweaked it till he writhed, and turning, I beheld the large, plump woman who, putting me aside, interposed her comfortable bulk before me.
"Oh, Sammy," sighed she reproachfully. "You been a-drinkin' again—shame on ye to go a-frightin' an' a-scarin' this poor child. Go an' put your wicked 'ead under the pump this instant, you bad boy. As for you, my pore lamb, never 'eed 'im; 'e bean't so bad when 'e's sober. Come your ways along o' me, dearie." And folding me within one robust arm she brought me into that room that was half bar and half kitchen.
"There!" she exclaimed, leading me to the great settle beside the fire. "Sit ye there, my lamb, and never mind nobody. Lor'! You be a-shiverin' an' shakin' like a little asp, I declare. Poor child!" sighed she, gustily commiserate, and patting my head with her great plump hand. "Pore little soul—never mind, then!"
"Madam," said I, somewhat overwhelmed by her solicitude, "I am not so very—so extreme youthful as you deem me."
"Ain't you, lovey?"
"Indeed, no! I am nineteen."
"Nineteen, dearie—lor', an' you s' small an' all—"
"I am five feet three—almost!"
"Are ye, dearie—lor'! But then I'm s' big, most other folks seems small to me—'specially men—men is all children—'specially my man. Which do mind me. Sammy," she called, "go into the wash'us an' let Susie pump on ye. Susie, jest you pump water on your master's 'ead—this moment."
"Yes, ma'm!" And presently sure enough, from somewhere adjacent rose the clank of a pump to the accompaniment of much splashing and gasping.
"That'll do, Susie!"
"Yes, ma'm."
"Now you, Sammy, go an' lie down—this moment. 'E'll be all right arter this, dearie. Susie!"
"Yes, ma'm."
"Go light a fire for this young genelman in Number Four. This moment."
"Yes, ma'm."
"The best chamber but one, dearie. And a feather bed!" All this as she bustled to and fro, and very quietly despite her size, while I sat gazing into the fire and hearkening to the patter of rain on the windows and the wind that howled dismally without and rumbled in the wide chimney so that I must needs wonder how it fared with the travellers and if I should ever see either of them again.
"You look very lonesome, dearie!" remarked the landlady at last, with a large wooden spoon in her hand. "Can I get ye anythink? A drop o' kind rum or nice brandy—or say a glass o' purl—a drop o' purl took warm would be very comfortin' for your little inside."
"Thank you—no!" said I, a little shortly. "But if you could oblige me with pen, ink and paper, I should be grateful."
"Why, for sure, though I'm afraid the pen's broke."
"I'll cut another."
"Ye see there ain't much writin' done 'ere, 'cept by me with my B-e-t-y for Betty and S-a-m-i-e for Samuel." So saying, she presently set out the articles in question; then, having made shift to cut and trim a new point to the quill, I wrote as follows:
NOBLEST AND BEST OF AUNTS: It is now an eternity of twenty-four hours since I left the secure haven of your loving care. Within this space I have found the world more wonderful than my dreams and man more varied than a book. I have also learned to know myself for no poet—it remains for me to convince myself that I am truly a man.
As to my sudden departure, I do beg you to banish from your mind any doubt of my deep love and everlasting gratitude to you, the noblest of women, believe rather I was actuated by motives as unselfish as sincere. Writing this, I pray that though this separation pain you as it does me, it may yet serve to bring to you sooner or late a deeper happiness than your great unselfish heart has ever known. In which sincere hope I rest ever your grateful, loving PEREGRINE.
P.S. I shall write you of my further adventures from time to time.
I was in the act of folding my epistle when I started, for above the lash of rain and buffeting wind, it seemed that some one was hailing from the road. Presently, as I listened, I heard a mutter of rough voices without, a tramp of feet, and the door swung suddenly open to admit two men, or rather three, for between them they dragged one, a short, squat fellow in riding boots and horseman's coat, but all so torn and bedraggled, so foul of blood and mire, as to seem scarce human. His hat was gone and his long, rain-soaked hair clung in black tangles about his bruised face and as he stood, swaying in his bonds, I thought him the very figure of misery.
"House!" roared one of his captors. "House—ho!" In response the landlady entered, followed by her sullen spouse (somewhat sobered by his late ablutions) and the man Vokes.
"Lor'!" exclaimed the landlord, plump fists on plump hips and eyeing the newcomers very much askance. "An' what might all this be?"
"Thieves, missus—a murderin' 'ighwayman—Galloping Jerry 'isself—a bloody rogue—"
"'E looks it!" nodded the landlady. "Bleedin' all over my clean kitchen, 'e be. Take 'im out t' barn—"
"Not us, ma'm, not us—'e's nigh give us the slip once a'ready, dang 'im!" Saying which, the speaker kicked the poor wretch so that he would have fallen but for the wall, whereupon the man Vokes laughed and nodded.
"Ecod!" quoth he. "I'm minded to try my boots on 'im myself."
"Not you, Mr. Vokes!" said the landlady. "No one ain't a-goin' t' kick nobody in my kitchen, and no more I don't want no murderin' 'ighwaymen neither—so out ye go."
"Not us, missus, not us! We be officers—Bow Street officers—wi' a werry dangerous criminal took red 'anded an' a fifty-pound reward good as in our pockets—so 'ere we be, an' 'ere we bide till mornin'. Lay down, you!" Saying which he fetched the wretched captive a buffet that tumbled him into a corner where he lay, his muddy back supported in the angle. And lying thus, it chanced that his eye met mine, a bright eye, very piercing and keen. Now beholding him thus in his helplessness and misery, I will confess that my very natural and proper repugnance for him and his past desperate crimes was greatly modified by pity for his present deplorable situation, the which it seemed he was quick to notice, for with his keen gaze yet holding mine, he spoke, albeit mumbling and somewhat indistinct by reason of his swollen lips:
"Oh, brother, I'm parched wi' thirst—a drink o' water—"
"Stow ye gab!" growled the man Tom. "Gi'e him one for 'is nob, Jimmy."But as his nearer captor raised his cudgel, I sprang to my feet.
"That'll do!" I cried so imperatively that the fellow stayed his blow and turned to stare, as did the others. "You've maltreated him enough," said I, quite beside myself; "if he desires a little water where's the harm; he will find few enough comforts where he is going?" And taking up a jug of water that chanced to be near I approached the poor wretch, but ere I could reach him, the man Tom interposed, yet as he eyed me over, from rumpled cravat to dusty Hessians, his manner underwent a subtle change.
"No, no, young sir—can't be—I knows a genelman when I sees one, but it's no go—Jerry's a rare desperate cove an' oncommon sly—"
"Then give him the water yourself—"
"Not me, sir!"
"I tell you the man is faint with thirst and ill-usage—"
"Then let 'im faint. A young gent like you don't want nothin' to do wi' th' likes o' 'im—let 'im faint—"
At this I set down the jug and taking out my purse, extracted a guinea.
"Landlord," said I, tossing the coin upon the table, "a bottle of your best rum for the officers—a bowl of punch would do none of us any harm, I think."
"Lor'!" exclaimed the landlady, sitting down heavily.
"By goles!" quoth the landlord, reaching for the guinea.
"Allus know a genelman when I sees one!" said the man Tom, making a leg to me and knuckling shaggy eyebrow. So they suffered me to take the water to their prisoner, who drank avidly, his eyes upraised to mine in speechless gratitude.
"Don't believe 'em, brother," he whispered under cover of the talk where the others clustered around the hearth watching the preparations for the punch; "don't believe 'em, friend—I'm no murderer an' my pore old stricken mother on 'er knees for me this night, an' my sweet wife an' babbies weepin' their pretty eyes out, an' all for me. I'm a pore lame dog, brother, an' here's a stile as be 'ard to come over; howsomever, whether 'tis sweet wind an' open road for me by an' by, or Tyburn Tree—why God love ye for this, brother!"
Here he closed his eyes and bowed his head as one in prayer, for I saw his swollen lips moving painfully, then glancing up, beheld the man Jimmy watching us.
"Wot's Jerry a-sayin' of, sir?" he questioned.
"Praying, I believe."
"More like cursing. Jerry's a-flamming o' ye, young sir. An' the punch is ready at last." So while the storm raged outside, we sat down at the table beside the hearth where glasses were filled from a great bowl of steaming brew and forthwith emptied to my very good health. And now to the accompaniment of howling wind and lashing rain, the Bow Street officers recounted the history of Galloping Jerry's capture.
"'T were this evenin' as ever was just about dark, on the 'ill yonder. About 'arf way up there's a biggish tree, an' we was a-layin' for 'im there, Jimmy an' me, wi' our barkers ready, 'avin' been given the office. Presently we 'ears the sound o' hoofs an' down 'ill easy-like comes a mounted cove. It's 'im!' says I. 'Sure?' says Jimmy. 'Sartin,' says I, 'I knows 'im by 'is 'at!' 'Werry good!' says Jimmy, an' lets fly an' down comes the 'oss 'eadfirst, squealin' like a stuck pig, an' away down 'ill shoots Jerry, rollin' over an' over, an' then we was on 'im wi' our truncheons an' we give 'im wot for—eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "We did!"
"And a werry pretty little job it were—eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "It were!"
"Considerin' 'im such a werry desp'rit cove an' all—an' a pair o' popps in 'is 'olsters as long as your arm—they're in the pockets o' my greatcoat yonder—you can see 'em stickin' out. Yes, a sweet, pretty bit o' work as ever we done, eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar—though 'e floored you once."
"Aye—that was when 'e slipped off the darbies—Oh, a desp'rit cove an' the more credit to us! A desp'rit villain—slipped th' darbies, 'e did, an' us was forced to truss 'im wi' rope."
Here every one vied in expressions of acclaim and all eyes turned to that shadowy corner where the prisoner sat crouched in the same posture, bloody head bowed feebly on bowed breast. And now, as the glasses emptied and were refilled (with the exception of mine), we hearkened to tales of horrid murders and ghastly suicides, of gruesome deeds and bloody affrays of hunters and hunted until the landlady gasped and, calling the maid for company, went off to bed, while the men turned to stare uneasily behind them and I myself felt my flesh creep. But as the great bowl emptied, tongues began to stutter, and in the midst of a somewhat incoherent reminiscence of Tom's, the man Vokes snored loudly, whereupon Tom blinked and pillowing his bullet head on the table, promptly snored also; and glancing drowsily around upon the others, I saw they slumbered every one. Hereupon I rose, minded to seek my chamber, but before I reached the door I was arrested by a hoarse whisper:
"Brother—for th' love o' God!"
Peering towards the captive, I saw him upon his back, his face ghastly in the shadow. "Oh, brother," he whispered faintly, "I think I'm a-dyin'! Show kindness to a dyin' man an' ease my poor arms a bit." Moved by pity for his misery and seeing how cruelly he was bound, I contrived, with no small ado, to loosen his bonds somewhat, whereupon he blessed me faintly and closed his eyes. "If ye could bring me a drop more water, death 'ud come easier," he whispered.
So I rose and, coming to the table, found the jug empty, therefore out I went to the place beyond where I judged was the pump, and here found a bucket brimming with water wherewith I filled the jug. Creeping back to the kitchen, I stopped at once, my heart thumping, for to my wonder and dismay I beheld the prisoner on his feet, free of his bonds and rubbing and chafing his wrists and hands and arms. Then all at once this pitiful creature leapt to swift and terrible action, for at one bound, as it seemed, he had reached the chair where hung the officer's greatcoat, whipped forth and cocked the pistols and with these murderous things levelled in his hands, crept upon the sleepers. The jug slipped from my nerveless hold and, roused by the crash of its fall, the man Tom lifted his head only to stare dazedly into the nearest pistol muzzle and the awful scowling face behind it; while the highwayman, reaching out his second pistol, awoke Mr. Vokes with a smart rap on the crown, whereupon, cursing drowsily, he sat up, clasping his hurt and immediately sank cowering in his chair, which action roused the landlord who stared, gasped a feeble "Lorramighty!" and sat motionless.
"Norra word!" quoth the highwayman. "Let a man s' much as whisper an' I blow that man's face off. Ah, an' by hookey, I would, whether or no, if I was th' bloody rogue ye tell me for, 'stead of an 'ighly respectable genelman o' the road with a eye to business. So now turn out your pockets all—an' quick about it."
It was strange to see with what apparent eagerness each man stripped himself of such valuables as he possessed, all of which the highwayman appraised with expert eye.
"Young master," quoth he, beckoning to me with a flourish of his nearest pistol, "come you here!" Trembling I obeyed and at his command transferred the spoil to the capacious pockets of his muddy coat—in I thrust them with unsteady fingers,—rings, purses, a couple of watches, silver snuff and tobacco boxes, etc.: which done, he bade me fetch the ropes that had bound him.
"Now you," quoth he, tapping the flinching Tom's bristly cheek with his pistol barrel, "you're a likely cove at tying knots—get to work, my lad, and sharp it is!"
So under his watchful eye, Tom proceeded to bind his companions very securely to their chairs, which done, the highwayman again summoned me and commanding Tom to remove his belt, constrained me to bind the officer's arms behind him therewith and scarce knowing what I did, I lashed the man Tom fast to his chair. This done, the highwayman showed me how I must gag them and when this had been done to his satisfaction, he nodded:
"And now," quoth the highwayman, his battered features twisted in a wry smile as they sat thus gagged and helpless, "hearken all. If I was the murderous cove you name me, I might cut your throats as ye sit, which would be a j'y, or I might shoot ye or set the place afire an' roast ye, 'stead o' which I spits on an' leaves ye. An' now, young master, for your own sake—come along o' me; they'll likely be arter you too for this as a accomplice o' the fact. So come along o' Jerry an' damn their eyes an' limbs, say I!" With which, having stayed to kick Mr. Vokes and the two Bow Street officers, he thrust pistols into pockets and seizing me in powerful grip, hurried me away.