As Iwheeled the mare out of the gateway into the gloom of the night the lighted windows of the inn winked on me with yellow eyes. A cold sleet was falling, very piercing to the flesh, and I rolled my collar higher about my neck. It came upon me then that I was a fool to leave that warm and comfortable tavern on such a savage night; but 'twas Christmas Eve, and seven of the clock, and I was for Bristol on the following day, where was a doxy that I knew, as pretty a parcel as ever I did see, saving Polly Scarlet, and she was in London.
The landlord had joined me in a bottle well-laced with brandy, and being of a lively and generous disposition had furnished another himself. 'Twas a lonely inn that stood on the border of the moor, and says he that he was mightily gratified to be in company.
So 'twas with a full belly and a merry heart that I turned into the welter of the night. 'Twas rarely cold, and I whistled as I went, though the breath of my nostrils went up like reek. NowI was in the mind, being amply loaded and light-spirited, to be amiable with the devil himself, if so be he should come that way, though 'twas, for sure, not the night for him. Certainly I was not thinking of rumpadding any mortal man, but would have taken him to my bosom for a fellow-traveller. For 'tis a vulgar error to suppose that gentlemen of the road are for ever with an eye to goldfinches. Money is muck for us as often as not, at least to such of us as maintain a proper dignity. But as for Dan Creech and his lousy pack, or that much-boasted Jeremy Starbottle, why, they are no better than common cutpurses or tally-thieves. No; to ride the high toby has its obligations as well as its privileges, and on that Christmas Eve, damme, the whole world and his wife might have gone secure for me.
Well in this humour, despite of the night, I rode on, sometimes at a jog, but mostly at a walk, for the snow was heavier as I reached the moor. Upon the stretch of broken land it lay uneven, for I suppose 'twas caught by the rough winds on that upland heath and blown into the hollows, and upon the furze and thorn. But the continuous spread of whiteness had absorbed the road, and Calypso had to feel her way mighty patiently. 'Twas thus we arrived at the cross-roads near the middle of the moor,where the ways divide 'twixt Bollingham and Messiter; and reining in on the impulse, to make sure of my path, I perceived even through the blackness another figure on horseback under the sign-post.
"Is't anyone?" says a voice, pretty clear.
"Ay," says I, "'tis a traveller."
"Is there a village near by?" says he out of the dark.
"Within three miles two upon either road," said I.
"I am bound for Bath," says he, "and have met with a mishap this cursed night," and began to deliver oaths as they had been sword-thrusts in a duello. Now I can tolerate a man that has been put to sore discomfort and is enraged, and as for a few mouth-filling oaths, why, they are neither here nor there. But there was something in the way of his voice, manner and address that grated on me, and so I answered him pretty coolly.
"Well, you can take your choice of roads with an easy heart," I said.
"Look ye here," says he, after a moment. "From what I catch of you through your voice, my man, you should be a sturdy fellow. What think you of carrying a message for help to the village for a guinea-piece. 'Twill serveyou with good wine, mulled ale, or a doxy, I'll warrant."
That maddened me for all my good humour, to be taken for granted as a common fetch-and-carry, and to be so addressed like a footboy by his grace. I heard insolence and overbearing in his accent, and I would have sworn patronage and contempt was in his face.
"Be damned!" says I, angrily, "I am no lackey. Find your own village," says I.
At that he uttered an oath. "You are impudent!" said he, and moved his horse nearer, as though he would take action. But, Lord, I was awaiting him, and this muckworm would have eaten snow in two minutes had he so ventured. But prudence came to him, so he hesitated. "Ye're the sort of man that is the better of the whip and the pillory," says he. "Rogue, were it not for the darkness I would beat you for your insolence."
"Damme, what's amiss with the darkness?" said I. "For sure I can well make out your ugly body against the snow. 'Tis a monstrous, unsightly blackness against so much innocent whiteness." He cursed me, and then dug his rowels into his nag so deeply that the poor beast started and reared. But that was enough for me, for I hate to see acreature that is so kindly in its services so mishandled; and so says I, driving at him,—
"Rip me, you muckworm, I'll give you that which will recall this moor to you. Deliver, damn ye!" says I, "or I'll make you food for maggots;" and I had the barker at his head ere he knew what had happened.
Well, he made much ado, but 'twas of no avail, for I had the mastery from the outset, and he was perforce obliged to plumb his pockets, the which yielded but a score of guineas and a ring or so. But that was of no consequence to me, for I had no care for his money, merely for his discomfiture, along of his arrogance.
As I left him, foully imprecating, I threw a laughing word at him. "Messiter," says I, "lies on the left, and Bollingham to the right. Turn round three times, my cock, and choose which you will," whereat I rode laughing into the darkness, yet ere I did so I saw him savagely wheel into the Messiter Road, cutting viciously at his horse.
As for me, I rode on, singing cheerfully enough, for the encounter had warmed my blood, and I no longer felt the cold so greatly. But I had not got farther than a mile from the cross-roads when I was aware in the pause of my singing of a sound near by, of a voice thatcalled on the unquiet air, very faint and melancholy. I reined in, and listened, and presently the cry came to me again from the right; and so, jumping off the mare, I left her in the road, standing obedient as she was used to do, and walked gingerly in that direction. I did not trust myself in that profound darkness and the treacherous snow, and, sure enough, I was right to be careful, for in a little I was plunged up to my waist in a hollow.
"Where are you?" I called aloud, and the voice, so clearly now a woman's, came back.
I made my way to it with difficulty, and soon solved the riddle; here was a chaise wandered out of the road and buried in a deep drift, and by the body of the carriage a poor lady in the direst state of distress and terror.
"Why, madam," said I, "are ye alone?"
At which she broke out that her husband was gone for help, as was the postilion, but in different directions, and that they had took the horses, and that she, poor delicate creature, was thus solitary on a naked and solitary moor, with never even a wild-fowl to scream with her for company.
"Oh," says I, "we will soon mend that, madam, or call me catchpole," and I took hold of her. "Ye're in a drift, mistress," I said. "I'll give ye company, if ye will haveit, until your husband shall return"—and then all of a sudden it flashed upon me that her husband was he who had abused me so grossly, and whom I had rumpadded.
"Phew!" says I to myself, "why, here's a pretty comedy." But the lady was all that occupied my thoughts just then, and so I conducted her to the road, and encouraged her into talk as I did so, for she was in a terrible fluster, what with the loneliness and the cold and the darkness.
"Now," says I, "what you need, madam, is a posset of hot brandy and a warm and virtuous couch," I says, "and with the help of my good nag here 'tis what you'll have."
"Oh, sir, you are very good," says she, tremulously. "You are good beyond Christian seeming."
That tickled me pleasantly, as you may think, and I was the more disposed to take charge of this poor creature thus left to starve of the perishing winds of heaven. It rains not clemency from December skies in this brisk isle of England. So says I, in a cheering voice,—
"I'll warrant you shall toast your toes and warm your stomach with victuals within the better part of an hour. Faith, pin your hopeson me, mistress, and you shall not be disappointed. Tis not the first time Dick Ryder has comforted and succoured the fair. There's Dick's luck, madam."
She smiled in a weak way, but began to take some confidence, as I could see from the new note in her voice.
"Is it far, sir, to shelter?" she asked, and I told her there was an inn some two miles distant, at which she plucked up her heart once more, not knowing (bless her folly) that two miles on that wild moor, and with that drift of snow, was no matter for spoon-fed babes. But as chance had it, she made the discovery pretty quickly, and that through no fault or neglect of mine. For I put her upon Calypso—as gentle a mare, when needs be, as ever was straddled; and, sure enough, she was straddled now. For my lady could keep no seat otherwise, and so says I to her, if she would play the man for the nonce we should maybe be the sooner out of our troubles. 'Twas then for the first time that I saw there was good blood and spirit to her; for instead of crying out in protest that she could not, or she would not, or that she dared not, says she,—
"Oh, think you so?" and over she cocks her foot with the best grace in the world, anda charming genuflexion to boot. "I fear I trouble you greatly," says she.
But, Lord, with such an one (duchess or doxy, dame or dirty-face) I would have gone to the farthest verge of trouble and made no odds of it. 'Tis spirit that ever has appealed to me.
Well, we were no sooner astir, Calypso pegging slowly along with me at her mouthpiece, than there comes over us a flurry of snow, driving full and hard in our faces, the which blinded me for the time. But when I recovered the mare was gone from the road and had took a step into a hollow. She staggered, and plump goes the lady over her head into the drift. I hauled her forth, breathless as she was, and all she cried out when the wind was in her again was,—
"I fear I did not hold to her properly. I fear I am a bungler."
"Bless your heart, no," says I. "It would have took a king's regiment to have sat that fall. You do mighty well," said I, "and I'd wring his nose that said no to that;" with which I assisted her once more into the saddle.
What with the drift and the darkness, and the squalls of snow, it was an hour and more before we reached the inn which lay on the road to Bollingham. Arrived here I rappedout the landlord, who was surprised to see me returned—"not but what you are wise," says he. But when he saw the lady and heard my tale he was, being a decent kindly fellow, all of a bustle. Madam was all a-wet from her sojourn in the snow, to say nothing of her tumble, and so she was set afore a great fire in the ingle to dry herself, which she did with sincere appreciation, the while the host prepared supper. She sat there, her hands extended, drawing in deep breaths of comfort from the grateful blaze, and I watched her. Twas the first I had seen of her face, which was of a delicate beauty, pink from the whipping wind, and crowned with disordered hair. I judged she was of a quality deemed proper in courts, and she was young withal. Presently says she, looking round at me with bright soft eyes,—
"Do you think," said she, "that my husband has reached safety?"
"Why, yes," said I, "for though he be not here, he may have taken the other road and be at Messiter," the which I knew it was likely he had done.
"Oh!" said she, as if thinking, and said no more.
But nearby after that supper was served, and madam was set to take in company withyour faithful servant, by your leave! Not but what I have not often supped with the quality, ay, and made merry with them too, man and woman, and of all ages; for we are served in our calling with strange accidents. Yet I will confess that to be seated there at table with her tickled me handsomely, and I fell to with a will. But the lady showed little appetite, and had an anxious look, and thought I that she was troubled for her husband; but I soon made out that she was not so concerned, for said I, to stimulate her,—
"Maybe he is supping like us in a cosy room at Messiter."
"Oh!" said she, and I saw her mind had come back from another quarter. "He is like to sup and be comfortable wherever he is. He will emerge scatheless;" and there was that in her tone which was all but a sneer.
"Oh, well, damn the husband," says I to myself, "I take no interest in him;" and I gave my attention to the lady. The glow had now receded from her face, leaving it pale, according to what I took to be its true habit, and she answered in a pleasant and engaging way, with an emphasis of her gratitude for my assistance. But this I pooh-poohedin curt terms, for I was more than repaid for my trouble by the figure she cut over against the board, and the honour she did me. And I was in the midst of rebuffing her thanks for the third time when the door opened from the flagged passage and a man entered.
He was followed by the innkeeper, suave and bowing, and the first thing was that madam says, in an even, pleasant voice,—
"So you are behind us after all, Charles." At that I studied him the closer, for it must be her husband, and perhaps he that had put an affront on me, and I knew for certain who he was when he spoke.
"It seems so," said he, scowling at me; and then "Why did you not wait? I found you gone from the chaise."
"It was so cold. I was chilled to death," she answered, "and this gentleman happened upon me, and was so good as to offer me his services for a rescue."
He turned a glowering, arrogant eye on me, but said nothing at the moment, save a demand to the innkeeper to fetch mulled wine. Now, 'twas clear he was in ignorance of my identity, and so I was emboldened to make trial of him, maybe, you will say, with some rashness; but I have ever found the boldest course is the wisest.
"Perhaps, sir," said I, "you will honour me with a share of this bottle in the meanwhile."
He hesitated, and then lowered his eyes. "I thank you, no, sir," he returned briefly, and sat down to the fire to wait.
His ungraciousness nettled me, all the more that he thus deranged the comfort of his own lady, who was manifestly put about by his incivility. Seeing that he knew not I had rumpadded him he might have thrown thanks at me for her care, even if 'twere only as you may throw coins at a beggar. But not he. He sat and frowned, and then looked up at her.
"The next time I pray you will have faith and patience to remain where you are set, my lady," says he, curtly.
"Why, husband—" she began, but I broke in, for I was infuriate with his grossness of manner.
"Look you, sir," said I, "would you have a tender lady bare to the snow and sour winds to await your convenience? Sink me, I should be glad to think she was warming of her ankles, what fate soever came to mine."
"Your opinion," said he, pompously, and looking at me inquisitively, "is naturally of weight, sir."
He was a full-faced, big-nosed man, with small eyes, and a hard mouth, but was manifestlyof some dignity from his dress and style.
"Sir Charles," says she, with a little pride in her voice, "you forget my plight. I should have perished but for this good gentleman."
"Humph," says this pig, puffing out his nostrils, and leaned over the fire to warm himself, but cast narrow glances at me.
But here comes in mine host with the wine, and Sir Charles (if that was his name) sits to the table, and takes a draught, which served to loosen his tongue.
"These roads," says he, "do no credit to your country, my man."
"Sir, they are such as we must endure," says the innkeeper.
"They are a disgrace to any country," says he; "they are the haunt of thieves and cut-throats," he says, and thumped on the table.
"Why, I've heard of none, your honour," says the fellow.
"I tell you, sir," he went on, "that no more than a mile or so from here I was stopped by a ruffian and robbed—yes, robbed, sir; and you boast of your secure roads. I am a justice and will see to it when I reach London."
"Lord, sir, you say not so?" said the innkeeper, and the lady called out in surprise,
"Robbed, Charles; why, what is this?"
"Stopped and robbed," says the man, with emphasis on his words and looking from one to another of us. "Stopped and robbed by a dastard with pistols and swords, when I had been looking for a friendly voice in the night and the snow—rings, guineas and all," he says, addressing his wife.
"I have my purse," says she, fumbling in her bodice with nervous fingers.
"I will bring down the law on this wretched place," he declared formidably, ignoring her. "I will see that his Majesty's processes do clean these parts of the gentry, and of all who harbour them," he added, with suspicious beady eyes on the innkeeper.
"Nay, sir, there is no house on this road but what is honest," says he, hastily.
"Why," says Sir Charles, as importantly as if he were examining a prisoner, "this fellow must have come from here, and no doubt was in waiting for me. You cannot deny it."
"There was none such here, sir, all the day," says the landlord, humbly; "there was none but honest folk."
"Ah, but how mark you the difference?" he asked triumphantly. "I ask you, how do you discriminate? Does a man wear his virtue on his nose?" And at that, looking athis blobbed nose, I chuckled to myself, for I minded in no way that he was thus cross-questioning the taverner. Lord, I would not have cared two sucking straws for such as he. So I broke in,—
"There is some that has an honest look," said I, "and there's some that wants it."
"That is so," said the lady. "'Twere easy to tell the difference."
"You are very confident," said he, sourly, "and maybe then you could read the faces in this room, madam?"
She glanced about her with a flush at his rudeness. "I think there is no question of this room," she answered.
He said nothing, but shot a glance at me, and then took a draught of wine.
"And how was it this kind gentleman happened upon you, Betty?" he asked.
"Sir, 'twas a delicate voice, as of a lamb bleating in the cold darkness, that I heard, and went for to rescue," I answered him coolly.
"Oh!" he says, and looked at the table as if thinking. "And whence came you?" he asked bluntly.
Now it entered into my mind then for the first time that he had conceived a suspicion of me. It was true that his bearing might be part of his customary gross conduct, but 'twaspossible that his questions were pursuing some point. And so, as the landlord was gone from the room, I said indifferently, "I am from Bristol and go south for Taunton."
"Ho!" he said, "then you came along the road after me?"
"Very like," I said with the same indifference. "I know not which way you came, as the chaise was buried deep in the drift."
"That brings to my memory," said he, rising, "a neglected duty. The postilion must take aid to rescue the carriage;" and he marched to the door with his heavy gait and determined mien.
When he was gone I looked across at the lady, but she avoided my eye, embarrassed (I made no doubt) by her husband's arrogant behaviour. And now I recalled that 'twas high time for me to be on my way after this interlude, and I put my hand into my pocket to bring forth a coin wherewith to discharge my reckoning. And I pulled out a handful of guineas. As I was picking out one I heard an exclamation, and raising my eyes, perceived that the lady was staring in astonishment at my hand.
"Where got you that?" she asked in an excitement, pointing with her hand. "Where got you that ring?"
And then to my chagrin I saw that I had pulled out some of the jewellery I had took from Sir Charles. "That?" says I, thinking to gain time. "Why that?"
"The ring I gave my husband," she almost whispered across the table, and her eyes met mine. In them suddenly arose a light of understanding, and of something else commingled. Damme, I am not ashamed to ply the high toby, but there is some matters that do not concern women, and which they do not understand. She turned of a red glow to her neck. "What—you?" she murmured faintly. "It was you?"
And I, like a fool, had never a word, but sat glum and still, staring at her. To look at her it would have seemed that she it was that had took the ring and been discovered.
"Oh, why did you that?" she asked in her low voice. "Was it that you were in need?"
"Faith, no," said I, with a laugh, and never attempting to deny. "There's a plenty of King's pictures to my pockets. But if ye will have it, 'twas his voice annoyed me. I thought 'twas any man's duty and right to take toll of such complacency."
She eyed me sadly, as I hate to be eyed. I can endure the devil's own temper, and ascold's tongue (for I have my own cure for them), but tears, and shining eyes, and melancholy looks—I cannot abide 'em. So says I gruffly,—
"Ye are welcome to them back. I have no use for them. Maybe 'twill teach him a lesson in manners, and that will serve;" whereat I turned the contents of my pocket upon the table and thrust them towards her. She sat looking at the gold and the jewels for some moments in silence, while I looked at her. She was, I'll warrant, a pious good woman, and though such are not generally to my taste, I can appreciate ripe goodness and beauty, and it irked me to think of her being bound with such a surly and unmannerly boar. But presently, with a start, she put out her hands and began to collect the pieces with fever in her haste, glancing fearfully at the door; and no sooner had she disposed of them than in stalks my portentous friend, with an ugly look on his phiz.
"You come from Bristol, sir," says he in a loud voice, "and maybe can explain why you set forth for Taunton from this very house two hours agone by the Bristol Road?"
I gave him a steady stare, for it was plain to me now how he had come by his information, and that he had been questioning theinnkeeper about me. It mattered not a rap to me, for he could prove nothing against me, and even if he had, I would have kissed the beam if I could not have settled with that hulking dung-fork. So said I equably,—
"Why the devil should I explain to you?"
"Well, to the justices, if you like it better," said he with an angry snort. "I had a notion that I recognised that voice, and now I know it for certain. You are the thief that made me deliver in the snow on the heath. You have stolen my guineas and my jewels."
Now, he had no witnesses against me, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have deceived him, and played him off, and got him into a tangle of fact and evidence and imaginings. But, bless me, ere I could get fairly started upon the sally the poor lady darts in and shoves the fat in the fire.
"Oh, Charles," she cried trepidantly, going towards him, "this gentleman has preserved my life. I pray you forget not that. 'Tis Christmas Eve," says she, "'tis the eve of our Lord's birth, and should teach us mercy. Sir Charles," she says, poor thing, a-bleating, "as you hope for Christ's compassion for yourself visit not this short-comingon one that has shown himself so full of tenderness and pity."
"The devil!" thinks I to myself, pulling a lugubrious face. "She plays King's prosecutor to me. What's to do?"
"Stand aside," says he to her sharply, and glowering on me. But I looked him in the phiz with a smile; I was not incommoded by this silly business, not I. "You make no denial," said he, restraining himself with an effort, as I could see. "You are a ruffianly gallows-bird. You shall hang."
"Oh, Charles," pleaded the poor lady in despair, "he has made restitution. Here's all that was yours—rings, guineas and all. Spare him, I implore you, for his kindness and consideration to me."
"He showed me nice consideration," said he, with a sneer, for he was now confident and a-swagger; "we will dispose of him with as gentle a consideration, madam."
And at that he moved to the door, I doubt not to summon the landlord; but I stepped in his way, for I was tired of his mustard looks and arrogance.
"Rot me," said I, "you mistake my kidney. If 'tis a gentleman of the road you have to deal with, you have yet to learn his quality."
He drew himself up, while the lady looked at me breathless. He was a vastly bigger man than I, but I drew my toasting-fork.
"Madam," said I to the lady, "you have a great heart, but it breaks itself too readily. I would not have that ample heart for half the kingdom. I'll warrant it troubles you. Here you be fretting yourself over this poor carcase which is worth no tears nor tremors, and moreover can look after itself; and I will swear you waste your blood and tissue on this same hulk that I must spit, damn him! Sir," says I to the man, "if ye will stand aside I will learn you to toast or roast as you will, your toes and midriff, afore this fire; but if ye will not you shall taste the sawdust under the table. For I have an appointment in Bristol, and I wait no man's pleasure."
"You threaten me," says he, haughtily, and pulled out his sword.
"Oh, no," says I, "'tis but a plain statement. Will ye go by or go down? Choose ye."
For answer he came at me, for the man was no coward, and did not lack spirit; and we were presently engaged in the discharge of thrusts. He plied his blade not unskilfully, but, Lord, I have learned in a rough school, and 'twas not long ere I was under the cully'sguard and took him in the ribs. He collapsed like a log, and the lady uttered a scream, and flying to him bent over him. I dropped my point.
"Faith, my lady," said I, "'tis no more than letting of some of that superfluous blood that animates him. 'Twill fetch down his proud stomach, the which he needs. Let him bleed. 'Twill serve your turn also."
"Sir," says she, remembering me, even in her trouble and confusion, "you were best to go. Fly, fly! 'twas not your fault. He attacked you. Fly!"
Dear heart, there was none in those parts and on that night that might aspire to stop or catch Dick Ryder; but she knew not that, the innocent. I bowed to her.
"Give ye good cheer, madam," said I; "maybe I have served you better than ye think, first with the cold night, and second with the eclipse of this hot blood."
She threw me a wistful, wondering and pitiful glance, and then a groan drew her attention to her husband and she stooped over him tenderly.
At that I swung out of the door and sought my horse; and as I mounted Calypso, says I to the innkeeper, who attended me all unconscious, "I have stuck a point in thatmuckworm's shoulder," says I, "and ye had better relieve the lady's fears; but," says I, as I rode off, "if I had stuck it in his gizzard, as I had a mind to do, 'twould have served her better." And with that I plunged into the wind and snow of the night.
'Twastwo o'clock of a bright mild March day that I cleared St Leonard's Forest and came out upon the roads at the back of Horsham. I was for London, but chose that way by reason of a better security it promised, which, as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony. Horsham, a mighty quiet pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun, enduring the sallies of a dusty wind, and feeling hot and athirst after my long ride I pulled up at an inn and dismounted.
"Host," says I, when I was come in, "a pint of your best burgundy or canary to wash this dust adown; and rip me if I will not have it laced with brandy."
"Why, sir," says he, "a cold bright day for horseback," and shakes his head.
"Damme, you're right," says I. "Cold i' the belly and hot in the groin. Here's luck to the house, man," and I tossed off the gallipot, though the brandy barely saved exceeding thin swipes that he had the impudence to pass for wine. "Why, goodman, ye'll make yourfortune on this," I said with a laugh and flung open the door to go out, when all of a sudden I came to a silence and a pause.
"'Tis the officers," says the landlord, who was at my ear. "Gadslife, 'tis the sheriff's men from Lewes."
"Lewes!" says I, slowly. "What be they here for?"
"Why," says he, in a flutter, "there was him that was taken for a tobyman by Guildford. He was tried at Lewes, and will hang."
"If he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned," says I, carelessly.
When I was got upon my horse I began to go at a walk down the High Street, for though, as was according to nature, I was inquisitive about the matter I was too wary to adventure ere I was sure of my ground. And this denial of unnecessary hazards, as is my custom, saved me from a mishap; for as the procession wound along, the traps and the carriage between 'em, there was one of them that turned his head aside to give an order, and, rip me, if 'twas not that muckworm traitor and canter, the thief-taker Timothy Grubbe. I had an old score with Timothy, the which I had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the opportunity, and so I pulled in and lowered my head, lest by chance his evil eyemight go my way. As I did so, something struck on the mare's rump, and, looking back, I saw a young man a-horseback that had emerged from a side street.
"Whoa, there!" says I, cheerfully, "are you so blinded by March dust as not to see a gentleman when he goes by?"
He was a slight, handsome-looking youth, of a frank face but of a rustic appearance, and he stammered out an apology.
"Why, I did but jest," I said heartily, "think no more on't, particularly as 'twas my fault to have checked the mare of a sudden. But to say the truth I was gaping at the grand folks yonder."
He stared after the traps, and says he in an interested voice, "Who be they? Is it my Lord Blackdown?"
Now this comparison of that wry-necked, pock-faced villain Grubbe to a person of quality tickled me, but I answered, keeping a straight face,—
"Well, not exactly," says I, "not my lord, but another that should stand, or hang, as high maybe, and shall some day."
"Oh," says he, gazing at me, "a friend of yours, sir?"
He was of a ruddy colour, and his mouth was habitually a little open, giving him anexpression of perpetual wonder and innocence, so that, bless you, I knew him at once for what he was at heart—a simple fellow of a natural kindliness, and one of no experience in the world, and a pretty dull wit.
"Not, as you might call him, a friend," said I, gravely, "but rather one that has put an affront upon me."
"You should wipe it out, sir," says this innocent, seriously. "I would allow no man to put an affront on me, gad, I would not."
"Why," said I, dryly, "I bide my time, being, if I may say so, of less mustard and pepper than yourself. Nevertheless, it shall be wiped out to the last stain."
"Gad, I like that spirit," says he, briskly, and, as if it constituted a bond betwixt us, he began to amble slowly at my side. "If there is any mischief, sir," says he, "I trust you will allow me to stand your friend."
Here was innocence indeed, yet I could have clapped him on the back for a brick of good-fellowship and friendliness, and, relaxing my tone, I turned the talk on himself.
"You are for a journey?" says I.
He nodded, and his colour rose, but he frowned. "I am for Effingham," said he.
"So am I," said I, "at least I pass that way," which was not so, for I was for Reading,and had meant to go by Guildford. Yet I was in no mind to risk an encounter with Grubbe and his lambs, who were bound for Guildford, if what the innkeeper said was true, and the way by Effingham would serve me as well as another. He looked pleased, and says he,—
"Why, we will travel in company," says he.
"With all my heart," said I.
The traps had disappeared upon the Guildford road in a mist of dust, and we jogged on comfortably till we came to cross-roads, where we turned away for Slinfold, reaching that village nearby two of the clock. Here my companion must slake his thirst, and I was nothing loth. He had a gentlemanly air about him for all his rustic habit, and very pleasantly, if with some awkwardness, offered me of a bottle.
"You mind me," said I, drinking to him, for I liked the fellow, "of a lad that I knew that was in the wars."
"Was you in the wars?" says he, eagerly.
I had meant the wars of the road, which indeed are as perilous and as venturesome as the high quarrels of ravening nations.
"I served in Flanders," said I.
"My father fought for his gracious Majesty, Charles I.," says he, quickly, "and took a deepwound at Marston Moor. There was never a braver man than Squire Masters of Rockham."
"I'll warrant his son is his spit," said I.
He bowed, as if he were at court. "Your servant, sir," says he, smiling well-pleased, and eyed me. "You have seen much service, sir?" he asked.
"Why, as much as will serve, Mr Masters," said I.
He looked at me shyly. "You have my name now," said he, and left his question in the air.
"You may call me Ryder," said I.
"You have had your company, sir?" he went on in a hesitating voice.
"Not always as good company as this," I replied laughing.
"I knew it," said he, eagerly. "You are Captain Ryder?"
"There have been those that have put that style on me," I answered, amused at his persistence.
"I am glad that I have met you, Captain," said this young fool, and put his arm in mine quite affectionately. "I have been unhappily kept much at home, and have seen less than I might of things beyond the hills. Not but what Sussex is a fine shire," he says with a sigh.
"Why, it is fine if so be your home be there," I replied.
"My home is there," he said, and paused, and again the frown wrinkled up his brow.
He said no more till we were in the saddle again and had gone some half a mile, and then he spoke, and I knew his poor brain had been playing pitch and toss with some thought.
"Captain Ryder," said he, abruptly, "you have travelled far and seen much. You might advise one junior to you on a matter of worldly wisdom."
Sink me (thinks I), what's the boy after; but says I gravely from a mutinous face, "You can hang your faith on me for an opinion or a blow, Mr Masters."
"Thank you," says he, heartily, and then thrust a hand into his bosom and rapidly stuck at me a document. "Read that, sir," said he, impulsively.
I opened it, and found 'twas writ in a woman's hand, and subscribed Anne Varley; and the marrow of it was fond affection. Why, 'twas but a common love-billet he had given me, of the which I have seen dozens and received very many—some from persons of quality that would astonish you. But what was I to do with this honest ninny and hismistress? I had no nose for it, and so said I, handing him back his letter,—
"It has a sweet smack and 'tis pretty enough inditing."
"Ah," says he, quickly, "'tis her nature, Captain—'tis her heart that speaks. Yet is she denied by her parents. They will have none of me."
"The more to their shame," I said.
"They aspire high," says he, "as Anne's beauty and virtues of themselves would justify. Yet she does love me, and I her, and we are of one spirit and heart. See you how she loves me, poor thing, poor silly puss! And they would persuade her to renunciation. But she shall not—she shall not, I swear it," he cried in excitement. "She shall be free to choose whom she will."
"Spoken like a man of temper," said I, approvingly. "You will go win her forthright."
"I am on my journey to accomplish that now," says he. "She has wrote in this letter, as you have seen, that her father dissuades her, and she signs her renunciation, adding sweet words of comfort that her affection will not die—no, never, never; and that she will die virgin for me. Say you not, sir, that this is beautiful conduct, and say, am I notright to ride forth and seize her from her unnatural parents, to make her mine?"
"Young gentleman," said I, being struck by his honest sincerity and his bubbling over, "were you brother to me, or I to Mrs Anne, you would have my blessing."
At that he glowed, and, his spirits having risen with this communication, he babbled on the road of many things cheerfully, but mostly of love and beauty, and the virtues of Mrs Anne of Effingham Manor.
I will confess that after a time his prattle wearied me; 'twas too much honey, and cloyed my palate. If he had known as much of the sex as has fallen to my lot he would have took another stand and sung in a lower key. Well, 'twas late in the afternoon when we reached the hills beyond Ewhurst and began to climb the rugged way to the top. The wind had gone down with the sun in a flurry of gold in the west to which the eastern breeze had beat all day; and over the head of Pitch Hill last year's heather still blazed in its decay. When we had got to the Windmill Inn that lies packed into the side of the hill and woods there we descended for refreshment, and I saw the horses stalled below for baiting. Now that house, little and quiet, perches in a lonely way in the pass of the hill,and upon one side the ground falls so fast away that the eye carries over a precipitous descent towards the weald of Surrey and the dim hills by the sea. And this view was fading swiftly in the window under a bleak sky as Masters and I ate of our dinner in the upstairs room that looked upon it. He had a natural grace of mind, despite the rawness of his behaviour, and his sentiments emerged sometimes in a gush, as when, says he, looking at the darkening weald,—
"I love it, Captain. 'Tis mine. My home is there, and, God willing, Anne's too shall be."
"Amen," said I, heartily, for the boy had gone to my heart, absurd though he was.
And just on that there was a noise without the door, the clank of heavy feet rang on the boards, and Timothy Grubbe's ugly mask disfigured the room.
He came forward a little with a grin on his distorted features, and, looking from one to the other of us, said he,—
"My respects, Captain, and to this young plover that no doubt you're plucking. By the Lord, Dick Ryder, but I had given you up! Heaven sends us good fortune when we're least thinking of it."
Masters at his word had started up. "Who are you, sir, that intrudes on two gentlemen?"he demanded with spirit. "I'll have you know this is a private room. Get you gone."
"Softly, man," says Grubbe in an insinuating voice, "but maybe I'm wrong, and you're two of a colour. Is it an apprentice, Dick, this brave lad that talks so bold and has such fine feathers?"
"If you do not quit," said I shortly, "I will spit your beauty for you in two ticks."
"Dick Ryder had always plenty heart," said he, in his jeering way; "Dick had always a famous wit, and was known as a hospitable host. So I will take the liberty to invite to his sociable board some good fellows that are below, to make merry. We shall prove an excellent company, I'll warrant."
Masters took a step towards him. "Now, who the devil soever you may be, you shall not use gentlemen so," he said, whipping out his blade.
But Grubbe turned on him satirically. "As for you, young cockchafer," said he, "it bodes no good to find you in this company. But as you seem simpleton enough I'll give you five minutes to take your leave of this gentleman of the road. Dick, ye're a fine tobyman, and you have enjoyed a brave career, but your hour is struck."
I rose, but ere I could get to him young Masters had fallen on him.
"Defend yourself, damn ye!" he said, "you that insult a gentleman that is my friend. Put up your blade, curse you," and he made at him with incredible energy.
Uttering a curse, Grubbe thrust with his point and took the first onrush, swerving it aside; and ere I could intervene they were at it. My young friend was impetuous, and, as I saw at once, none too skilful, and Grubbe kept his temper, as he always did. He stood with a thin, ugly smile, pushing aside his opponent's blade for a moment or two, until, of a sudden, he drew himself up and let drive very low and under the other's guard. The sword rattled from Masters's hand and he went down on the floor. I uttered an oath.
"By God, for this you shall die, you swine," said I, fiercely, and I ran at him; but, being by the door, he swept it open with a movement and backed into the passage.
"The boot is on t'other leg, Dick," says he, maliciously. "'Tis you are doomed;" and, closing the door sharply behind him, he whistled shrilly.
I knew what he intended, and that his men were there, but I stooped over the boy's body and held my fingers to his heart. 'Twas deadand still. I cursed Grubbe and started up. If I was not to be taken there was only the window looking on the deeps of the descending valley. I threw back the casement and leaped over the sill. Grubbe should perish, I swore, and, doubled now my oath. I could have wept for that poor youth that had died to avenge my honour. But my first business was my safety, and I crept down as far as I might, and dropped. By that time the catchpoles were crowding into the room above. I struck the slanting hill and fell backwards, but getting to my feet, which were very numb with the concussion of the fall, I sped briskly into the darkness, making for the woods.
I lay in the shelter of the woods an hour, and then resolved on a circumspection. 'Twas not my intention to leave the mare behind, if so be she had escaped Grubbe and his creatures, and moreover, I had other designs in my head. So I made my way back deviously to the inn, and reconnoitred. Stillness hung about it, and after a time I marched up to the door mighty cautiously and knocked on it.
The innkeeper opened it, and, the lamp burning in my face, started as if I were the devil.
"Hush, man," said I, "is the officer gone?" He looked at me dubiously, andtrembling. "Come," said I, for I knew the reputation of those parts, "I am from Shoreham Gap yonder, and I was near taken for an offence against the revenue."
"You are a smuggler?" said he, anxiously. "They said you were a tobyman."
"They will take away any decent man's name," said I. "Come, I want my horse. You have no fancy for preventive men, I'll guess."
And this was true enough, for he had a mine of cellars under his inn and through the roadway.
"But your friend?" said he, still wavering. "Him that is dead—"
"As good a man as ever rolled a barrel," said I.
He relaxed his grip of the door. "'Tis a sore business for me this night," he complained.
"Nay," said I, "for I will rid your premises of myself and friend, by your leave or without it," says I.
He seemed relieved at that, and I entered. The horses were safe, as I discovered, for Grubbe must have been too full of his own prime business to make search, and getting them out, I made my preparations. I strapped the lad's body in the stirrups, so that he lay forward on the horse with his heada-wagging but (God deliver him!) his soul at rest. And presently we were on the road, and threading the wilderness of the black pine-woods for the vale below towards London.
The moon was a glimmering arc across the Hurtwood as I came out on the back of Shere, and pulling out of the long lane that gave entry to the village, reined up by the White Horse. From the inn streamed a clamour of laughter, and without the doorway, and well-nigh blocking it, was drawn up a carriage, with a coachman in his seat, that struck my eyes dimly in the small light. I was not for calling eyes on me with a dead man astride his horse, so I moved into the yard, thinking to drain a tankard of ale, if no better, before I took the road over the downs to Effingham. But I was scarce turned into the yard ere a light flung through the window peered on a face that changed all the notions in my skull. 'Twas Grubbe!
Leaving the horses by I went back to the front of the inn, and says I to the coachman that waited there, as I rapped loud on the door,—
"'Tis shrewish to-night."
"Ay," says he, in a grumbling, surly voice, "I would the country were in hell."
"Why, so 'twill be in good time," said I,cheerfully; and then to the man that came, "Fetch me two quarts well laced with gin," says I, "for to keep the chill o' the night and the fear o' death out."
The coachman laughed a little stoutly, for he knew that this was his invitation.
"Whence come you then?" said I, delivering him the pot that was fetched out.
He threw an arm out. "Lewes," said he, "under charge with a tobyman that was for chains yonder."
He nodded towards the downs and drank. I cast my eyes up and the loom of the hill just t'other side of the village was black and ominous.
"Oh," says I, "he hangs there?"
"At the top of London road," says he, dipping his nose again. "There stands the gallows, where the roads cross, and near the gate."
"Gallows Gate," said I, laughing. "Well, 'twas a merry job enough."
"Ay," says he, "but by this we might ha' been far towards London Town, whither most of us are already gone. But 'twas not his meaning. He must come back with the Lewes sheriff and drink him farewell."
"Leaving a poor likely young man such as yourself to starve of cold and an emptybelly here," said I. "Well, I would learn such a one manners in your place; and you shall have another tankard of dog's-nose for your pains," says I; whereat I called out the innkeeper again, but took care that he had my share of the gin in addition to his own. By that time he was garrulous, and had lost his caution, so keeping him in talk a little, and dragging his wits along from point to point, I presently called to him,—
"Come down," said I, "and stamp your feet. 'Twill warm you without as the liquor within;" and he did as I had suggested without demur.
"Run round to the back," says I, "and get yourself a noggin, and if so be you see a gentleman on horseback there asleep, why, 'tis only a friend of mine that is weary of his long journey. I will call you if there be occasion."
He hesitated a moment, but I set a crown on his palm and his scruples vanished. He limped into the darkness.
'Twas no more than two minutes later that I heard voices in the doorway, and next came Timothy Grubbe into the night, in talk with someone. At which it took me but thirty seconds to whip me into the seat and pull the coachman's cloak about me, so that I satstark and black in the starlight. Grubbe left the man he talked with and came forward.
"You shall drink when ye reach Cobham, Crossway," says he, looking up at me, "and mind your ways, damn ye."
And at that he made no more ado, but humming an air he lurched into the carriage. I pulled out the nags, and turned their heads so that they were set for the north. And then I whistled low and short—a whistle I knew that the mare would heed, and I trusted that she would bring her companion with her. Then the wheels rolled out upon the road and Timothy Grubbe and I were bound for London all alone.
As I turned up the London road that swept steeply up the downs I looked back, and behind the moon shone faintly on Calypso, and behind her on the dead man wagging awkwardly in his stirrups.
I pushed the horses up the steeps of the London road as fast as might be, but the ruts were still deep in mud, and the carriage jolted and rocked and swayed as we went. The wind came now with a little moaning sound from the bottom of the valley, and the naked branches creaked above my head, for that way was sunken and tangled with the thickets of nut and yew. And presently I was forcedto go at a foot pace, so abrupt was the height. The moon struck through the trees and peered on us, and Grubbe put his head forth of the window.
"Why go you not faster, damn ye?" says he, being much in liquor.
"'Tis the hill, your honour," said I.
He glanced up and down.
"What is't comes up behind?" says he, shouting. "There is a noise of horses that pounds upon the road."
"'Tis the wind," says I, "that comes off the valley, and makes play among the branches."
He sank back in his seat, and we went forward slowly. But he was presently out again, screaming on the night.
"There is a horseman behind," says he. "What does he there?"
"'Tis a traveller, your honour," say I, "that goes, no doubt, by our road, and is bound for London."
"He shall be bound for hell," says he, and falls back again.
The horses wound up foot by foot and emerged now upon a space of better light. I looked round, and there was Grubbe, with his head through the window and his eyes cast backwards.
"What fool is this," says he, "that rides so awkwardly, and drives a spare horse? If he ride no better I will ask him to keep me company, if he be a gentleman. Many gentlemen have rode along of me, and have rode to the gallows tree," and he chuckled harshly.
"Maybe he will ride with you to the Gallows Gate, sir," says I.
"Why, Crossway," says he, laughing loudly, "you have turned a wit," says he; and once more withdrew his head.
By now we were nigh to the top of the down, and I could see the faint shadow of the Triple Beam. With that I knew my journey was done, and that my work must be accomplished. I pulled to the horses on the rise, and got down from my seat.
"Why d'ye stop, rascal?" called Grubbe in a fury, but I was by the door now and had it open.
"Timothy Grubbe," said I, "ye're a damned rogue that the devil your master wants, and he shall have ye."
He stared at me in a maze, his nostrils working, and then says he in a low voice,—
"So 'tis you."
"Your time has come, Timothy," said I, flinging off my cloak, and I took my sword. "Out with you, worm!"
He said never a word, but stepped forth and looked about him. He was sobered now, as I could see from his face, which had a strange look on it.
"Ye're two rascals to one, Dick," says he, slowly, looking on the dead man on his horse which had come to a stop in the shadows.
"No," says I. "This gentleman will see fair play for us."
Grubbe took a step backward. "Sir," says he, addressing the dead man, but at that moment Calypso and her companion started and came into the open, and the moon shone on the face of the dead. Grubbe uttered a cry and turned on me. His teeth showed in a grin.
"No ghost shall haunt me, Dick," says he. "Rather shall another ghost keep him company;" and his wry neck moved horridly in the wan light.
I pointed upwards where the tobyman hung in chains, keeping his sheep by moonlight. "There's your destiny," said I, "there's your doom. Now defend ye, damn ye, for I'll not prick an adder at a disadvantage."
He drew his blade, for no man could say that Timothy Grubbe, time-server, pander, and traitor as he was, lacked courage. Suddenlyhe sliced at me, but I put out and turned off the blow.
"If you will have it so soon," said I, "in God's name have it," and I ran upon him.
My third stroke went under his guard and took him in the midriff. He gave vent to an oath, cursed me in a torrent, and struck at me weakly as he went down. He was as dead as mutton almost ere he reached the ground.
I have never been a man of the Church, nor do I lay any claim to own more religion than such as to make shift by when it comes to the end. No, nor do I deny that I have sundry offences on my conscience, some of which I have narrated in my memoirs. But when it comes to a reckoning I will make bold to claim credit in that I rid the world he had encumbered of Timothy Grubbe—the foulest ruffian that ever I did encounter in the length of my days on the roads.
I climbed the beam and lowered the poor tobyman, and it took me but a little time to make the exchange. The one I left where he had paid quittance in the peace of this earth, and t'other a-swinging under the light of the moon on Gallows Gate.
I have said my journey was done, but that was not so. There was more for me to do,which was to deliver poor Masters at his ladylove's and break the unhappy news. And so, leaving the carriage where it stood, with the patient horses, that were cropping the grass, I mounted the mare and began to go down the long span of the downs to the north. 'Twas late—near midnight—when I reached Effingham and found my way to the manor. I rapped on the door, leaving Calypso and t'other in the shadows by the house, and presently one answered to my knock. "What is it?" says she.
"'Tis a stranger," says I, "that has news of great import for Mrs Anne Varley, whom I beg you will call."
"She cannot hear you," said she, "'tis her wedding-night."
"What!" said I, in amazement, and instantly there flowed in upon me the meaning of this. Damn all women, save one or two, thinks I. And I turned to the maid again, with my mind made up.
"Look you, wench," said I, "this is urgent. I have an instant message that presses. And if so be your mistress will bear with me a moment and hold discourse, I'll warrant she shall not regret it—nor you," says I, with a crown piece in my palm.
She hesitated, and then, "Maybe she willrefuse," says she. "She hath but these few hours been wed."
"Not she," said I, "if you will tell her that I bring good news, great news—news that will ease her spirit and send her to her bridal bed with a happy heart."
At that she seemed to consent, and with my coin in her hand she disappeared into the darkness of the house. It must have been some ten minutes later that a light flashed in the hall, and a voice called to me. "Who is it?" it asked, "and what want you at this hour?"
I looked at her. She was of a pretty face enough, rather pale of colour, and with eyes that moved restlessly and measured all things. Lord, I have known women all my life in all stations, and I would have pinned no certainty on those treacherous eyes. She was young too, but had an air of satisfaction in herself, and was in no wise embarrassed by this interview. I had no mercy on her, with her oaths of constancy writ in water that feigned to be tears, and her false pretences.
"Madam," said I, civilly, "I hear you're wed to-day to a gentleman of standing."
"What is that to you, sir?" she asked quickly.
"'Tis nothing, for sure," said I, "but to afriend of mine that I value deeply 'tis much."
"You speak of Mr Masters," said she, sharply, and with discomposure. "Sure, if he be a gentleman he will not trouble me when he knows."
"Anne!" cried a voice from the top of the stairs, "Anne!"
'Twas her bridegroom calling. Well, she should go to him in what mood she might when I had done with her.
"He will never know," says I, "unless he have it from yourself."
"Anne!" says the voice above the stairs.
"He shall not—I will not," she cried angrily. "I will not be persecuted, 'twas all a mistake."
I whistled, and Calypso emerged from the night, and behind Calypso was the horse with its burden.
An anxious look dawned in her face. "I am insulted—" says she, and paused quickly. "Edward!" she called, and put a hand to her bosom.
"Anne, my dove!" cried the voice, "where are you? Come, child, 'tis late."
The horses came to a stop before the door, with the body in the saddle, bound to the crupper.
"What is it?" she cried in alarm, andsuddenly she shrieked out, clutching at the door-post. "It is an omen—my wedding-night."
"Ay," says I, "which be your bridegroom, he that calls out or he that is silent? Call on him and he hears not."
Peal after peal went up now from her, and the house was awake with alarm. I turned away, leaving her on the door-step, and mounted the mare. As I cantered off into the night I cast a glance behind me, and a group was gathered at the door, and in that group lay Mrs Anne fallen in a swoon, with the sleeping figure on the horse before her.
COLSTON AND COY. LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH