The earl maintained a great retinue and a kind of military state, and the courtyard of his castle was alive this morning with pages and serving-men in his livery, exercising or bustling about on various errands; but I had little fear any of them would know me, for not many of the gentlemen of the isle chose to enter his train, nor did the common folk relish the restraint and weariness of his service, so the bulk of those who wore his colours were enlisted from distant parts of the country. My confidence was justified, no one accosting me or taking any heed of me. I told the porter, using the style of speaking which matched my apparel, I had tidings for the earl of the first importance. He conducted me to a little room, where he bade me wait the leisure of the steward and left me. The door of the room stood ajar, and I heard voices in a room opposite, one of them being Boswell's. Needless to say I listened with both ears.
"Oh, sir, persuade the earl to hear me for one moment—I beg for only a moment."
"You do but waste my time. I tell you the earl will not see you."
"Then for pity's sake, good Master Nicholas, go you to him and let him know Vavasour is found. He is in hiding at Lindholme. If the earl will order a dozen men to go with me, the murderer shall be in his hands this afternoon. The frost makes the bog like stone."
"His lordship shall hear this, certainly."
"And beg him to spare my girl until I bring Vavasour. Entreat him to be so far merciful, Master Nicholas!"
"I will let you know his lordship's pleasure," answered the steward, and crossed the passage to the room in which I awaited him.
"And what is your business, my man?" he asked loftily, toying with his gold chain of office.
"To give up the man that killed my Lord Sheffield and get my reward," I answered in rustic fashion.
"And where is the man?"
"By your leave, that is for his lordship's ear."
"Art insolent, knave? May'st take thyself off. Thy information is late. We happen to have one of the murderer's familiars on the rack."
"Who knows no more than you do."
"Which chances to be all that is needful. In a few hours we shall have the villain."
"If I give him up to you, not else. 'Tis a fool's errand to go to Lindholme to look for him."
"Ah! how know you that? To be sure the doors were open. There's a big reward offered for the apprehension of the rascal, and a percentage is due——"
"You shall have one pound out of every ten," I broke in. While this man delayed and chaffered, poor Bess might be suffering horribly.
"'Tis a bargain; follow me," he said.
He led me to the chamber in the tower which, I knew, was used for "questioning" accused prisoners and stubborn witnesses. Bidding me remain outside, he entered, closing the door behind him, and in a minute reappeared and beckoned me in. The old earl sat wrapped in furs on one side of the hexagonal room. Behind him stood a man whom I took to be a physician; in the corner, to the earl's right hand, stood another with writing materials on a small, high table in front of him.
The rack lay at his lordship's feet, two stout fellows at each end of it, with long staves in their hands, the ends inserted in the sockets of the poles on which the cords are wound. Bess was stretched by the wrists and ankles, so that no part of her body touched the floor, with nothing to cover her save a short smock. On the instant she knew me, and a hot flush came into her face; and I turned away my eyes unable to bear the sight of her pain and shame. For a moment the same red haze came over my sight as I saw when Staniforth fell by my side at Thorne, and a mad humour of smiting them that did the cruelty seized me. But I was brought to my senses by the thin, piping voice of the old nobleman—
"My steward informs me you pretend to know where Vavasour is to be found."
How hard he strove to control himself! But his voice shook with eager desire.
"You shall have him safe within the hour, my lord, if you will give me the reward I ask."
"You speak positively, fellow, of the capture of a man who has evaded all pursuits for more than a month."
"He has not the ghost of a chance to escape me, my lord. You shall have him as fast as a bird in a cage."
"But you want a larger reward than a hundred pounds? How much?"
"I don't want a penny, my lord. I ask for what will cost you nothing."
"Shalt have it, whatever it is, only make thy word good," said he, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me.
"The boon I ask is liberty for the prisoner on the rack."
"Release her," he ordered. "And now where is Vavasour."
"Here, my lord—I am he."
The earl rose from his seat, and sank back again, staring. The clerk let fall the pen with which he had been making notes. The four men who had lowered Bess to the floor gazed on me open-mouthed.
She was the first to speak. "Your lordship, this is a poor fellow who has had his head turned by trouble, and his craze is to think himself Frank Vavasour; but his true name is Jack Unwin. He has J.U. tattooed on his chest."
At a sign from the earl, the men laid hands on me and bared my breast, while the old nobleman sat choking with rage and mortification, glaring from me to Bess, and from Bess to me.
"My lord," said I, "you have given me your word to let the prisoner go free. Her subsequent lie, meant to shield and save me, will not hinder the fulfilment of your promise. As for these marks on my breast, and these scars on my face, the man who inflicted them is now in your steward's room, and may be compelled to say why he made them, if that be your pleasure. But of a surety I am Frank Vavasour, at one time your son Edmund's boyish friend, and familiar with everything in this castle."
The earl rubbed his hands. "Vavasour, assuredly," he said. "The matchless impudence proves the breed."
He turned to Bess, who had taken her stand in the utmost shadow she could find.
"Get you gone, jade, before I order you a whipping."
Then he gave instructions to the steward and the scribe.
"Nicholas, bring hither the fellow Boswell, saying nothing of what has passed here. Fetch your book of depositions and informations, Pennington."
Bess looked at me reproachfully as she went out, and I answered her with a smile, glad to note she walked not amiss for one who had been stretched on the rack. For the minute or two, while the steward and clerk were absent, the earl leaned back in his chair, gloating on me like a cat on the mouse she has struck. When they returned, he said—
"Boswell, look at this fellow, who says he is Frank Vavasour. What sayest thou?"
For half a second the gipsy hesitated.
"Quick, man, speak the truth, or——" and his lordship finished his sentence by a motion of the hand toward the rack.
"It is the man, your lordship."
"Pennington, read me the description of Vavasour given in our proclamation."
When the clerk had done so, the earl turned on Boswell.
"How comes it that you, who were in my son's service, and knew this man, did not inform Pennington of the errors in this document? There is not a word here of scars on the face or marking on the breast. What is the meaning of this? Subornation?"
"No, my lord. I did not know of the scars; or if I did, I had forgotten them."
It was amazing to me that the ready, crafty villain should bungle and blunder so.
"Forgotten your own handiwork?" asked the earl, in the silkiest tone.
Boswell was so confounded by the question that he had nothing to say. Before he could recover himself, the earl cried—
"Into the rack with him."
In little more than the twinkling of an eye, the men had pounced on him, stripped him to his shirt, and tied his feet and hands. It made one shudder to think what long practice had made them so dexterous at the work. They plied their levers, until their victim was stretched, and one heard wrists and ankle-joints crack sickeningly.
At a downward wave of the earl's hand they stayed.
"Why did you not report to my secretary the errors in this description?"
"The proclamation had been posted far and wide before I knew of it; and I was afraid to mention the marks, lest I should be further questioned concerning them, and I thought to take Vavasour myself."
Again the earl's hand moved, and the levers moved.
"Mercy, my lord, mercy!" groaned the gipsy.
"You kept the knowledge to yourself, at the imminent risk of the murderer's escape, in hope to make sure of the reward."
"Yes."
"When and where did you inflict the wounds?"
"Last August in Melwood Priory. Mercy, my lord."
"To what end?"
"Because my Lord Sheffield desired to have him sent to the plantations under the name and likeness of one Jim Ulceby."
The earl sat silent for what seemed a long time, Boswell moaning feebly the while. Then again the hand waved, the levers moved, and Boswell shrieked in agony.
"My son gave you order to mutilate Vavasour?"
"Yes; I did all by his lordship's command.'"
"Take both prisoners away and bestow them safely in separate dungeons," said his lordship; "and bring me a cordial, Nicholas."
The secretary motioned to me to follow him, and two of the men came behind me. Pennington led the way down the winding stairs to a dungeon lighted only by a slit in the wall, and containing no other furniture than a stone table.
"'Tis more than a trifle cold here, Master Pennington," said I. "Some straw for one's feet, and a wrap for one's body, would be welcome."
"I will take my lord's pleasure on the matter," replied the secretary, who, to do him justice, had little of the Jack-in-office in his manners.
"Pray remind him, Master Pennington, that I have saved him a hundred pounds, which deserves acknowledgment."
I thought I saw a faint smile on the man's face as he answered—
"You take things easily for a prisoner charged with the murder of the heir to an earldom."
"Charged with nothing as yet, and well prepared to clear myself from any such accusation, when I am brought into court of law."
"The President of the Council has large discretion and plenary powers; nay, has in a sense the royal prerogative," rejoined the secretary.
"Give you my word, I never heard that the King had prerogative to hang a man without trial."
Master Pennington made me no answer to this, but withdrew, barring and locking the door on the outside.
I know not how it was that I rose to a jesting temper, now that the worst had come to me. Perhaps that was the reason, or it may be my pleasure in saving Bess from further torment raised me to a jocund spirit, or the look I saw on the old earl's face, when he heard Boswell's confession, put heart into me, but truly I was in better cheer than I had been for many a day. I knew well enough the scope of the earl's authority, and how he might override the law in his black vengeance, but I was nowise daunted. I could have sung a ballad, if my lips had not trembled with the cold.
About noon, Master Pennington entered my dungeon, accompanied by two serving-men, who brought food and wine, and a truss of straw and blankets.
"His lordship is liberal," said I.
"You owe your provision to the former steward," answered the secretary. "He still has authority, though past service, and charged me to say that his rheumatic joints forbid his coming to you, but whatever a bedridden old man can do shall be done on your behalf."
"The kind old man! I pray you give him thanks for me. I owe Master Wintringham gratitude for many a favour in bygone days."
Three times a day, good food was brought to my dungeon by a serving-man, but the half-friendly secretary did not come again for days, and the servitors could not, or would not, tell me news of any kind. My condition, so far as bodily comfort went, would have been tolerable, but for lack of warmth. I paced the floor, slapped my shoulders, held boxing bouts with an invisible adversary, jumped till I had no breath left, all to get me some heat into my body, able to think of nothing but that I was like to die of cold. Of nights I wrapped the coverlets tightly round me, and burrowed in the straw, but could not sleep for shivering. After a while, the rigorous weather abated somewhat, or I became hardened to it, though it was November. But I was now to suffer no less by thinking. My gamesome temper had soon left me, and I have no words for a description of the heaviness which followed.
I knew it was in vain to revolve thoughts of escape, for watch was kept continually, and I had no means to enlarge the long, narrow slit in the wall that served to give me light and air. I could do nothing but sit wondering and waiting miserably, for such was the strange commotion in my brain, that my prayers for deliverance brought me no hope or consolation.
So I passed a fortnight, and then the secretary appeared again to summon me to the presence of the earl, who lay on a couch, looking worn and feeble, his hands trembling as if he had no control of them. Behind his couch stood a youth, whom at first I did not know, not having seen him since he was a child. He was the earl's heir now, Lord Butterwick by proper title, but in our country usage, Lord Sheffield. He inclined his head to me, saying, "Be seated, Mr. Vavasour."'
What this courtesy might portend I could but wonder. The secretary sat down at a desk, and I in front of the couch, half stifled by the heat of the chamber.
"My father wishes you to hear a sworn deposition read, and afterwards to give your own account of the affair," said the young man.
Pennington took up a paper and read. It described the doings at Thorne, when my friend Staniforth was killed, but falsely. According to the deponent, the business began by my inciting my comrades to attack the earl's men, myself leading the assault. Staniforth's death was recorded as happening in the thick of the fray. When the secretary had finished the reading, I told the story from beginning to end, as I have before told it in this book.
Lord Butterwick asked me for the names of eyewitnesses, which I gave.
Another deposition was to the effect that I had been seen to go to the cottage where Daft Jack (John Temperton he was named in the document) lived; that the deponent had followed me, and heard me use language tending to encourage him in a design on the life of the King's Commissioner. What I had said to Jack, after the event, was cunningly perverted, and reported as having been said before the scene at the White Hart. Again, I gave the true account. All the time the earl said not a word, but kept his eyes steadily on me. Now he turned to his son, saying something in a voice too low for me to hear, and Lord Butterwick replied also in a low tone, but I caught the words, "able to bear more." After they had spoken together in this manner, Lord Butterwick turned again to me.
"The earl bids me request your report of the enmity between you and my late brother."
"My lord, it began long ago in this house; as I think you will remember, but it came to no more than flouts on his part and scornful answers on mine, when we chanced to meet, which was not often. But of late it has been quickened because we were rivals for the love of Mistress Goel, whom you know. Once I smote him on the face, because he slandered her, but I have done no other ill to him, save a blow with the fist, defending Mistress Goel from his lust and violence. God knows I had no intent to kill him, as may be evident from my smiting with the fist, when I had weapons at my side and in my belt, nor do I believe the blow would have given him his death, had he not turned aside, so that he took it below the ear. At the time I thought him no worse than insensible for the moment."
The earl's face grew dark while I spoke, and when I had ended, he said—
"Thepeine forte et duremight extort a less plausible story."
"The prisoner to be laid on his back, and to have iron placed on his breast, as much as he can bear and more, and to be fed with bad bread and stagnant water on alternate days until he testifies truly or dies," murmured the secretary, as if he read from a book.
I saw no reason why I should answer, and there was a long silence. At last the earl asked—
"Who were present when you struck the blow?"
"Doctor Goel, his daughter, and their serving-maid."
"Where are they now?"
"As I hope and believe, in their own country."
"They fled at your suggestion?"
"Not because they feared to bear testimony for me, but having too much reason to dread persecution themselves."
The earl's countenance darkened yet more, and his hands shook violently. His son bent over his couch, pleading with him, as I judged by the tone, but did not hear what was said.
"Take away the prisoner," at length the earl commanded; and the secretary opened the door, and called two men to conduct me again to my dungeon. There I remained yet another fortnight; but since I have dilated upon my suffering there more than enough, I will say nothing further thereon.
On the last day of November, hearing a dolorous sound of trumpeting, I climbed on the stone table, from which I could see through my window a little piece of the road. Across this small space passed a number of the earl's serving-men, two by two, in long black cloaks, with black bands streaming from their hats; then two trumpeters in black, making mournful music; then an esquire, mounted, and bearing a pennon or guidon, one half black and the other white. Next came two grooms on foot, leading a horse covered with black caparison, the reins being held by a gentleman on horseback. A number of gentlemen in mourning followed two by two, and then two trumpeters. Was Earl Mulgrave dead and this his funeral, I asked myself, with a thrill of hope, God forgive me. The next comer determined me—a rider, carrying a black banner with the Mulgrave arms silver-embroidered. After other gentlemen in mourning, one passed bearing a black staff with a pair of spurs on the end of it. Then came another, who bore the gauntlets in the same manner, and one carrying sword and target. Shortly appeared a gentleman carrying the coronet on a cushion, with two others, one walking on either side of him. After them, came one who bore the mantle, helmet, wreath, and crest. Then a number of clergymen, two by two, and one who walked alone. And now the pall-covered coffin was carried shoulder-high, pall-bearers, on each side, attended by six banners, three on the one side, and three on the other. Another horse was led behind his master's coffin, and the coach of state followed, drawn by four horses, all draped in mourning fashion. Other coaches rolled by, and after them a long train of gentlemen on horseback passed slowly, and I sank down to wonder what the old nobleman's death might mean to me. Within twenty-four hours I knew. Master Pennington came to my dungeon, and, briefly informing me of the late earl's death, bade me go with him to meet the new lord of Mulgrave Castle.
He dismissed the secretary, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, said—
"Mr. Vavasour, I am not President of Council, or in any kind of judgeship, and therefore have no right to detain you prisoner in my house; but as the brother of the man you killed, it is my duty to hand you over to the rightful authorities, that you may stand your trial for the deed."
I bowed my head.
"I am advised there is no evidence against you but your own confession," continued the young earl.
What a fool I had been to make it, was my first thought.
"But that confession bore so much the seal of truth, and all you said has been so strongly confirmed by the avowal of the gipsy Boswell, and by more credible witnesses, that, considering what you have endured from us, and, to be frank with you, considering how little creditable to the house of Mulgrave it might be to publish what you have suffered at our hands, although you and I may not be friends, I incline to think we might be generous enemies."
I had no answer ready to his surprising speech, which he had either taken some pains to prepare, or had had prepared for him. He went on—
"Will you give me your word, Mr. Vavasour, to take your trial, if I call upon you to do so?"
"Assuredly, my lord," I replied.
"Then you are at liberty to go whither you will. But worthy Master Wintringham desires much, to see you before you leave the castle."
How good it was to be free! How beautiful the country was! Never before had I seen how graceful is the tracery of bare boughs against the sky, or what loveliness there is in a snowdrift, or what grandeur in a wide white prospect. To swing my legs, and to hear the crunch of the snow under my feet, were pure delight, and I turned off the causey again and again, to try the strength of the ice on the marsh, like an urchin just let out of school. In sheer wantonness, I threw a snowball at a solemn heron, who stood in a place where the ice had been broken, and laughed to see him start and flap sulkily away. I shouted greeting to every reed-cutter I passed within hail, and the men looked up from their work and stared as at some wandering madman.
By the time I reached Belshaw I had sobered down a little, but sang lustily as I walked, and the noise brought John out in no small amazement.
"What hallooing and what stir is this to-day?" he cried, as he came to meet me. "Why, man alive! what is the meaning of this? Here are we scribbling petitions to this and that great one of the earth, sending post-haste to Lincoln and London, and Lord knows where, and making such pitiful dole over the pining captive as never was, and behold him as merry as a cricket! Hast broken prison? Burned down Castle Mulgrave? The answer, quick, before I burst with curiosity."
By this he had both my hands in his.
"'Tis very simple; the young earl gave me my liberty."
"And not too much for him to give thee for his earldom; though whether he be wise to pay his debt so quickly—well, that's no matter to us."
"What is your news?" I asked.
"That you shall hear over a turf fire with a cup of mulled claret at your lips or in your fist; not here, where we are like to freeze."
Within an hour I had heard of my friends and their efforts on my behalf, while I had been in durance, which I need not here set down.
John dashed my spirits no little by his account of Mr. Ulceby's affairs, who had trusted overmuch in the honour and prosperity of one with whom he had large dealings, now become bankrupt, so that there was fear his own business might be ruined.
"Whatever be the upshot," said he, "there can be no present question of your entering his service, and, so far as you are concerned, I am content it should be so. As well cage a swallow, or try to keep salmon in a pond, as to pen you in a counting-house. We must cast about for some likelier means to push your fortune. What say you to offering our swords to the King of Sweden in his war against the Poles? I have acquaintance with some of his officers, who would be more than willing to take two such soldiers of fortune."
"You would go?"
"That would I gladly. And we are comrades, not to be parted, until you are Benedick, the married man."
I took a little time to think before I gave answer, for I doubted whether my small store of valuables would sell for as much as would provide a soldier's outfit and pay my passage to Sweden. Then I had my horse's keep to think on. He had been stabled, fed, and exercised at Belshaw this long time.
"That cloudy brow says you lack the wherewithal, I suppose. Surely, I need not say 'my purse, my person, my extremest means, lie open to your occasions.' And while I have lain here, my money has grown to a heap that will take some spending. 'Tis a kindness to help me, for a sort of miserliness has been creeping on me of late."
I laughed at this, but John would have it that 'twas no laughing matter.
"As soon as a heap of gold is big enough to hide one of Satan's imps, there he lurks like a wood-louse under a stone, and whenever you go to take a piece, he whispers, 'Don't minish the pile, but make it bigger; dear brother devil, do.' And he can find fifty diabolical reasons why you should."
After more talk of this kind, we fell into serious debate, of which the conclusion was, that we should enter the Swedish army with what speed we might; so, leaving John to do what was necessary, I rode to Crowle, rejoicing to be again astride my gallant Trueboy, who gave every sign a horse can make that he was as well pleased as I.
How my good aunt received me, I lack words to describe. She threw herself into my arms, clasped my neck, and then held me off to look at my face, and wept and laughed and wept again, and in spite of her sobbing and choking, spoke faster than I ever heard her do before or since.
"My poor, dear Frank, to think you were alive and well, or at least alive, while I was breaking my heart over your death! And the money I wasted in mourning! Not that I grudge it, now you are safe and sound. And Graves spoke so beautifully of you in his sermon, so much more hopeful you were in heaven than one expected from him, that I cried like a child in church! And all the time you were in the hands of tormentors! And of all men in the world, that addle-pated Canon Fell must be here, when you came, seeking a friend in need! Never again does the man cross the threshold of my house. And you were thrust into a vile prison among thieves and murderers. Well, we must be thankful you didn't die of gaol-fever. 'Reckon every misery you miss as a mercy,' Graves often says; but you have missed few, I am sure. How I want to see the dear, good man who delivered you! And now, they tell me, he is likely to come to want; truly the ways of Providence are strange, and not all the sermons in the world will convince me they are not. And Lord Sheffield had a hand in the mangling of your dear face. I shall never believe in man again. But, Frank, how did you escape? I had clean forgotten in the joy of seeing you. How have you got out of Castle Mulgrave? Perhaps they are pursuing you, while I am gabbling like the foolish old woman I am."
"Not so, auntie. The young earl set me free this morning."
"God bless him! This morning, did you say? And now it is near supper-time. You must be starving."
The kind soul did not stay to listen to my protestations, but flew to her kitchen to hasten supper.
Over that meal, which we had by our two selves, the vicar being away at a meeting of clergymen, my aunt told me the contents of a letter which she had received from my father, or part of the contents. The letter she did not show me. He wrote from Amsterdam, whence he purposed to go to Venice and the East, saying that a Dutch gentleman, with whom he had made acquaintance, and who had done him service with the Stadtholder, turned out to be Doctor Goel, and the doctor had informed him I was still alive, and of all he knew concerning my affairs, which did not go further than that I was in hiding. My father took shame to himself for having been so easily deceived as to my death, and wrote remorsefully of my mischance and suffering, and bade my aunt convey to me his forgiveness.
I thought his letter somewhat less than fatherly, even in my aunt's account, but I said nothing. She read my silence.
"Bear in mind, Frank, that your father has been hurt in the tenderest part of him—his pride. All his life he has been looked up to as the chief man in the Isle, barring the nobility, and he was confident of carrying all before him against Vermuijden and the King himself. And he has utterly failed. To such a man as he is, that is tenfold more bitter than death. Doubtless, he thinks he would have won the day, if you had fallen in with his plans."
My aunt desired a full relation of my adventures, and asked many questions, so that it was late when I retired. (She sat up to wait the coming of her husband.) I found a cheerful fire in my bedroom, and some hot elderberry wine ready for my drinking, which was better stuff than some I have paid for as wine of Oporto. And then I crept to bed, a feather-bed, with abundant covering, such as I had not lain in for many weeks, and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
My aunt made great outcry against my going soldiering in foreign service. She had a score of plans for me which she thought better than pursuit of fortune through cannon smoke and the perils of war; and, in her anxiety to keep me at home, declared I might become barrister, or physician, or clerk in holy orders; and when I showed some wonder at her new estimation of my talents, she was constrained to defend her opinion by disparaging the parts and learning necessary to lawyers, doctors, and divines. She dared to say one might become a sergeant by dint of brazen face and ready tongue; or win repute as doctor by saying little, and shaking one's head wisely. And she even made bold to say that, in her judgment, the less Greek and Latin a clergyman had the better. To such arguments I could find no answer, save that I knew I was fit for nothing but to be a plain country gentleman, and since that was denied me, to turn soldier.
We had plenty of leisure to discuss the matter, for it was not until after Christmas that John heard from his Swedish friends, assuring us of welcome. In the meantime I had little to do. I wrote a long letter to my love, who replied, agreeing with me, though sorrowfully, that soldiership was my best occupation.
Mr. Ulceby's affairs were in so much confusion, as he told me, when I paid him a visit, that he knew not in the least how they would turn out; and all I could understand, from the account he gave me, was that two or three thousand pounds would straighten them. It was great comfort to him that no man doubted his integrity, or even much impugned his prudence; for many other merchants had fully trusted the man by whom he had been deceived. John Drury had given him no small consolation, finding where and when his son had died; learning from the labourer's wife, who nursed him, that the young man had spoken of his sin against his father with shame and penitence.
"So, I confidently trust," said the good old man, "that the Father in heaven is not less forgiving than the unworthy one on earth."
In this time of waiting, I took opportunity to see my friend Dick Portington, and found him at first somewhat dry and cold; but he came by degrees to a more cordial manner, and at last let me into the secret of the change which had come over him.
"Hast no grudge against me, Frank?"
"What grudge can I have against thee? It passes my wit to guess."
"For one thing, I am to be master of thy inheritance."
"It comes to thee, I suppose, as the dower of thy bride? What offence can that be to me?"
"Thou might'st have had it, if the lady could have been brought to favour thy suit. Can'st be friendly with thy rival?"
"Can give thee joy of thy success, man, and dance at thy wedding, if I am invited, and not too far away to come to it."
After that we were on the old terms for the while, and had good sport together among the half-duck and mussel-duck which abounded at Tudworth. Dick did me the kindness to take Luke into his service for the time, who had come to me at the vicarage in hope to be employed; but there was no work for him, and I had no right to burden the vicar with another idler's maintenance.
When, at length, John received letters from Sweden, I went to take farewell of Bess, who remained with her father and grandmother in a cottage on the east of Belton; the rest of the tribe having gone, as was their custom at this time of the year, to Nottingham. When I entered the house, the grandmother, looking fearfully old and wrinkled, was cowering over the fire, and Bess sat opposite her, doing some kind of sewing. The aged crone turned her head, and, seeing me, began to laugh, jabbering in her gipsy tongue, as if to bid me welcome, and would have risen, but Bess gently forced her back into her seat. This mightily incensed the old woman, and she chattered and screamed in anger at Bess, beckoning me to come nearer. As I stood, unable to comprehend all this, Bess said to me—
"Go outside, and I will come to you when she is pacified."
In a little time she appeared.
"Poor Grannie takes you for her husband, who left her in her youth, and went back to his own people."
"His own people?" I echoed.
"He was a gentile who joined our tribe and took the name of Boswell. What his name was, or whence he came, I know not, for Grannie had grown feeble in mind with age, before I heard anything of the story; but my father has brooded on it for years, and persuaded himself that his father was some one of note and wealth, and the marriage lawful, and he himself the heir by right to an estate. He has some papers and trinkets by which he sets great store, as proofs of his notion. 'Tis his belief that if he had money wherewith to fee lawyers, he might oust some man now in wrongful possession of his place and property."
"Is this all you know, Bess?"
"All, except Grannie's name for her faithless husband. She calls him 'Harry.'"
While Bess was speaking I recalled to mind a tale of my grandfather Henry Vavasour, which Mr. Butharwick had told me; how he had left home to wander with the gipsies for some years, a very mad-cap, full of pranks, and returned to his proper station on his father's death. Could it be that the gipsy-girl and I were cousins, and she, perchance, by right the mistress of Temple Belwood? I knew that my likeness to my grandfather had struck some who knew him. Was the old woman not altogether crazy, but only forgetful of the lapse of time?
"Suppose your father's fancy should be true, Bess, and you the heiress of some rich man, or noble of the land."
Bess laughed. "I give no credent ear to the dream; and if it should come true, the gentile might remain undisturbed for me. I love the tent—even now I choke for air inside cottage walls."
"But a mansion, Bess, a house like Temple, say."
"So much the more a prison, room within room, and the life a slavery to bells and striking clocks, a dull round of doing the same thing at the same hour. I suffocate to think of it."
"There are comforts and conveniencies, Bess."
"You think them so because custom makes them necessary. You shut yourselves in a stuffy chamber and heap blankets and sheets on you, for it is bedtime, whether you are drowsy or not; whether the night be dull, or more splendid than the day. To rest, when you are weary, on sweet smelling heather, lulled by the still noises of the night, the wind in the grass, the cries of night-birds, the faint sound of moving water—is not to your liking. How should it be, when you have not tried it? Or to roam, the night through, under a sky shining with stars, when the trees have donned their robes of lovely mist, and the creatures which are afraid of man are abroad, the beasts and birds and creeping and flying things that love the dark, hold stillness of the night; what do you know of this, you who are never out in the dusk, except to kill, or to hurry from this house to that?"
"Not so delightsome in midwinter, methinks."
"If there is anything on earth more gay and glorious than a ramble by night, when there is a moon, and a nor'west wind blows, bringing snow showers, followed by calm spells, during which the heaven is clear, and the world is wrapped in whiteness and light, I don't know of it."
"But do you never wish for some better shelter than the tent on these same winter nights, when the frost bites shrewdly? You cannot always be wandering by moonlight."
"Better shelter there is none. You gentiles have coddled yourselves in hot, close rooms, so that the wholesome cold, which should strengthen you, gives you wheezy lungs and rheumatic diseases."
"'Tis good hearing that a tent is so healthy, for I shall soon have no better dwelling. Am going for a soldier."
"To France?"
"No; such war as Buckingham may make will be no schooling in the military art, or give promotion to those who deserve it. Drury and I are bound for Sweden the day after to-morrow, and I came to say good-bye."
Bess's face took on its look of musing, her eyes gazing into the distance. Then with perplexity in her face, she said—
"It is strange I have had no forewarning of this."
"What mean you? You don't in sober truth believe in the gift of prophecy, which your tribe pretend to!"
"I don't believe in it: I have it. We who live in Nature's bosom, and do not corrupt soul or body, hear and see what you house-dwellers cannot. Perhaps the spirits of the dead whisper to us, I know not; but we see pictures, and hear voices, and dream dreams, that warn us of things to come. Why should it be incredible to you? Did not your lady see you in peril? By that token I knew her heart and nature."
"And you deal in all honesty when you promise rich husbands to farmers' daughters, and astound them by knowing what the kitchen wench told you?"
Bess laughed merrily.
"What harm is done by giving them pleasant dreams? But of your affairs now? Are you taking no steps against my father?"
"I have taken none."
"Then in kindness to me, do not. He is a broken man, and has not recovered the full use of his limbs, since he was racked by the old earl. He was overcome by your giving up yourself to save me, for he loves me in his fashion, and he made a clean breast to the young lord of all the practice against you."
"If I bore him malice never so much, it should be thrown to the wind for your sake, Bess, to whom I owe more than can be repaid."
"When you come back from the wars with honour and riches, you may repay any service the gipsy girl has done you a thousandfold."
"How?"
"By using voice and influence to protect a persecuted people."
"I never heard of your folk being persecuted in the Isle."
"No; the cruel laws do not trouble us in this corner of the land, but this very year, twenty of our men were burned in Haddington, and as many women hanged."
"Had they been sheep-stealing?"
"Their only crime was their gipsy blood. They were condemned 'for being Egyptians.' And just now we are being harried in Durham and in Yorkshire. You don't know your law, justice of the peace that you would have been, if you had come to be squire of Temple."
"In truth, I don't, if this be law. Are you sure on't?"
"I have seen a woman of our own tribe flogged along the streets, half naked, with her baby at her breast, sheltering its little body from the lash of the scourge with her bare and bleeding arms, and, after the flogging, she was branded in the cheek with a hot iron 'for being an Egyptian.'"
"Why do your people abide in England, then?"
"Because it is worse for them elsewhere."
"If ever I come to be in any kind of authority, things shall be so far better in England as one man can make them, that I swear."
"God be with you, your Shield and Preserver, and bring you home again to your own country, able and willing to keep your vow."
So we clasped hands and parted.
A letter from Anna awaited me on my return to the vicarage, from which I copy as much as it is fit for other eyes than mine to see.
"An armourer in Amsterdam has made himself a name and great gain by a shirt of mail, which is said to be verily pistol proof, and, at the same time, more light and flexible than any heretofore made. I have sent one for you, and one for your friend, and trust they will come to hand in time, and prove as useful as our military friends say they are. It will be great joy to me, if the idle gew-gaws with which they were bought have been converted into stout and serviceable covering for the breast of my reckless soldier and his comrade. I try to persuade myself that danger flees from those who court it, for well I know you will ever be in the forefront of battle, when you anywise may. But for my sake, pray remember that there is a soldierly prudence.
"We have been here at the Hague for some weeks, my father having been called in to consult with the Stadtholder's physician; but in a few days we go to Leyden, where a professorship has been found for my father. Strangely enough, my father has made acquaintance with yours, who had some business with the Stadtholder, and they fell into a mutual liking, before either knew the other's name. If they had but met in Axholme, how many evils might have been averted! Mr. Vavasour is about to go on some secret embassy to the East, at the instance of friends, who are in authority at Venice. Doubtless you know more of these Italian gentlemen. He spent more than an hour with us in our lodging, and made me think him a great and magnanimous man, who might have done the state much service, if he had been more highly placed. But he has sorely lacked woman's counsel to remind him of the near duty and the plain, homely wisdom which women have by instinct. Be you warned in time, my Frank. Your father has ruined his estate for want of a housewife's wit!
"You will be pleased to know that his leave-taking with me had a touch of fatherliness....
"There is high dispute among the natural philosophers at Leyden whether it be true that some trees produce flowers but no fruit, and others fruit without flowers. My father bids me ask your answer to these questions following: Do oaks and beeches bear no flowers? Do the elm, poplar, and box bear neither flower nor fruit? He is reconciled to having you as a son-in-law, partly by the quickness and sureness with which you see and observe! Said he to me but yesterday, 'If Frank were here, I believe I could prove that fruit is preceded by blossom far more often than has been supposed.' Yes; he called you 'Frank.' How I wish you were here, instead of preparing for Sweden and all the chances and horrors of the battlefield! Is it utterly impossible for you to come here before you join the army of King Gustavus?"
When I had read and re-read my letter, and while I was giving my aunt the news it contained, and the messages for herself, Dick Portington came in to bid me to a supper the next evening at the White Hart, where a number of old friends would meet, to wish me a good voyage, and drink to our next merry meeting. Although I had no great inclining to a banquet on the last evening before my departure, I could not bring my mind to offend my well-wishers by a refusal.
Dame Hind outdid herself in the provision she made for the feast, which was spread in the "court-room," the same in which Commissioner Tunstall had trouble with the wasps. Squire Stovin presided, whose ancestor was chief of the bowmen in the army of the Conqueror at Senlac Field. He was accounted one of the wisest and boldest gentlemen of the Isle. With him was his son George, a little older than I, and a good comrade. There were present also Squire Mell of Belton, and his son, who had stood by me at Belshaw, and Dick Portington and his father, the Squire of Tudworth, and some other gentlemen (twelve or more) whose names have not appeared in my pages, besides a few men of humbler condition, among them being Daft Jack and my man Luke.
Over supper the talk at our table ran on the affairs of the nation; the seizure of our ships by the Duke of Epernon, and the coming war with France; the mystery of the policy of the King, or rather of the Duke of Buckingham. Some one voiced the opinion that the favourite had deep designs, incomprehensible to the vulgar. Squire Stovin laughed in contempt.
"Say 'contradictory to all the adages of common folk' and I am with you. 'You cannot have your cake and eat your cake,' runs the saw; Buckingham thinks he can. He believes the sky will rain potatoes, if he wishes it. He rules England just as much as the weathercock on my barn rules the wind."
"We may hope for better days, think you not," asked Squire Mell, "since the judges have at last taken a stand, and declared the new loan illegal?"
"I see not much promise in that, since the King's answer is to dismiss Sir Randal Carew from his Chief Justiceship," replied Stovin. "That is as high-handed a piece of tyranny as the sale of our land over our heads to the Dutchman; and the country takes it as tamely as we have ta'en the loss of our property and our rights."
"There are more than fifty gentlemen of the county committed to prison for refusing to pay the money demanded," said one.
"Ten of them had been appointed commissioners to collect the loan," said another.
"I heard a rumour the other day," said a third, "that the Earl of Lincoln is to be sent to the Tower."
"These are not times for our young men to be enlisting for foreign service; there will be civil war in England before we are much older," declared Squire Portington.
"There's not much sign of it yet," growled Stovin. "We are too white-livered for 't. But 'tis no bad thing some of our lads should learn how to win battles under a master of the art."
"Vavasour and Drury will be apt pupils, I warrant," said the younger Mell. "He is a good captain who knows how to get the victory when he is outnumbered three to one, and the enemy has horsemen and he footmen only. How the Mulgrave men fled at Belshaw!"
"Nay, the chief credit for that must be put down to thee," I replied.
"The Mulgrave men are not likely to be the tools of oppression in future," remarked Squire Mell. "The young earl is reducing the number of his train. And I have it on good authority that he has put the case of the Isle Commoners to my Lord Scrope in a new light. He is a just young man, and judicious beyond his years."
"The guest of the evening has reason to think so," some one said.
"Owes Frank for his coronet," another shouted.
"His earldom came to him by the judgment of the Almighty," answered Mell, gravely. "We know Vavasour had no intent to kill Lord Sheffield on the best of testimony—that of Frank himself, who would not lie to save his neck."
"'A speaks as straight as 'a hits and shoots," cried a voice from the other table.
"For my part," continued Mell, "I applaud the earl's courage in despising misconstruction."
"What is the meaning of the uproar below?" asked Portington, as we all listened to a noise of voices in anger and alarm, which came through the side door, just opened for the carrying out of the remnants of supper.
At the same moment, a servant rushed into the room, almost breathless.
"Would your honour condescend to come to give order what's to be done with a murthering villain?" she panted toward Squire Stovin.
A dozen men hurried forward, but the squire called out—
"Order, gentlemen. Be so good as to remain until I have seen what's the matter. Portington, Drury, Vavasour, follow me."
At first we could scarcely see, the change being great from the light of many wax candles to the dimness of the few tallow dips in tin sconces of the common room of the inn; but shortly we discerned a fellow held down on a chair by two men, Host Hind standing over him with a stout cudgel in his hand, and a group of labourers and the like, who had been disturbed at their potations, as was plain by an overturned table, and a quantity of liquor spilled on the floor, and the shards of a broken jug. Briefly told, the matter stood thus: the man now on the chair had come, wrapped in a horseman's long cloak, and wearing a big beard; had called for Schiedam, and sat drinking by himself. A wandering cripple who played a pipe had entertained the company with the tricks of a Barbary ape, which made the round of the room after the performance, holding out a box for the gifts of the liberal. When the man in the cloak took no heed of him, the animal had pulled at his beard, which came off in his paw, whereupon the man had struck the beast, and the beast had instantly fastened his teeth in the man's hand. A scuffle followed, the stranger beating and trying to shake off the ape, its owner endeavouring to save the animal from the heavy blows which the stranger dealt on its head, and the company making confusion worse by crowding on the queer combatants. As soon as the ape had been struck down, the stranger had kicked it furiously, and also its owner the cripple, which stirred the ire of the spectators, who seized him, calling him a brutish villain. In struggling with them, the man had lost his cloak, revealing pistols in his belt, one of which he had pulled out, threatening to shoot. Host Hind had rapped him over the knuckles with his cudgel, called on two stout fellows to hold him, and sent a servant to Justice Stovin.
"Hold up your head, and let me have a closer sight of you; you and I have met before, or I am grossly mistaken."
So saying, the Squire took a candle from the wall, and passed it before the man's face, and I saw it was Vliet.
"Let every man in the room go elsewhere for a few minutes, barring the landlord and the gentlemen who accompanied me."
When the order had been obeyed, the Squire bade Hind to pinion the prisoner. Vliet looked at me with murderous eyes, but sullenly submitted.
"Now I have saved you from being made dogs' meat," said the Squire. "If the honest fellows in the house knew you were the Sebastian Vliet who escaped from arrest on the charge of attempted murder, and guessed you were lurking here, disguised, expecting that it would be easy to shoot a man, merry with wine, and thinking no evil, they would tear you limb from limb—small blame to them. Do you understand me?"
"If you permit," said John to the Squire, "I will be your interpreter."
Squire Stovin nodded, and there ensued some interchange of speech between the two.
"You have said much more than I did," quoth the Squire.
"I added a word of advice about the ape's bite, for which I received some choice Dutch blasphemy."
"What was the advice?"
"To allow me to apply a white-hot poker to the wound. The bite of an ape is a nasty thing."
"And what was the reply?" asked Dick.
"Stripped of the cursing, it was to the effect that my gentleman could make better use of a hot poker than to burn himself with it. Excuse me from repeating the precise terms: they were not in the best taste."
"Give him to understand that he will be removed to the lock-up, where he will be strongly guarded, and committed to Lincoln to-morrow."
"And you will give order that his hurt be looked to, will you not, Squire?" I put in.
"Why, in Heaven's name, should I concern myself about his rascally carcase? Why you should, God only knows."
I certainly did not know; but, nevertheless, a sort of pity had filled me for the wretched man, who had lost so much; love, above all, health, as his bloated face and body showed, his money, as I suspected from his threadbare garments, and every remnant of gentility and self-respect, as he proved by look and word and tone. Poor soldier of fortune though I was, I had infinite wealth in comparison.
"Well, be it so," said the Squire. "I will send for Tankersley."
Then Vliet burst out into a torrent of oaths in English, and the Squire bade John and me return to our friends, while he took measures for the safe custody of the prisoner. When we had satisfied the curiosity of our friends, and the Squire reappeared, the festivities went on again. After the King's health had been drunk, the Squire wishing him "wiser counsellors," my old friend made a speech about me, in which he said far more than it would be decent for me to write, even if I could remember it all. But some of his words dealt with the state of things in the Isle, and are, in my judgment, well worthy of remembrance.
"There have been Vavasours at Temple Belwood more than two hundred years, and most of them gentlemen of a public mind, but none more so than our 'solicitor,' Thomas Vavasour. He has lost his patrimony in defending our rights and properties. In all likelihood, he would not have relinquished his estate, but for his belief that his son was dead, and right sure I am that every gentleman in the Isle would have done what in his power lay, to retain the honourable family of Vavasour in its rightful seat. I may say that I, for one, endeavoured to persuade our solicitor to accept contributions from the Isle Commoners, towards the expenditure needful to maintain our cause, and I think it an error in judgment that he declined, but it was the error of a proud and generous man, and, moreover, of a man who had confidence in the administration of law in this country. His confidence was so far justified, that the highest court of law in the land decided in his favour, as it was bound to do. Mr. Vavasour did not expect that law and justice would be overridden by royal prerogative. No man expected that. We have fallen on evil times, when a man's property may be taken from him by a stronger than he, on the plea that the stronger man can make a better use of it than the rightful owner. You may by and by have Charles and Cornelius walking into your grounds. They see a lake. Says Cornelius to Charles, 'I should like to fill up that lake, and grow potatoes there.' 'Says Charles to Cornelius, 'Give me so much, and you may.' And in spite of law and equity and reason, because Charles and Cornelius are giants, and you are a man of ordinary size, they do as they please. And they have the impudence to call themselves benefactors for growing potatoes where no potatoes grew before! But I crave pardon, gentlemen, for threshing this old straw over again. I will add but this: We have learned to our cost that the Dutchman's plans are as bad as his title. So the men of the south of the Isle have learned, and those who live on the border of the West Riding. I am sure the outfall will be choked up in a few years. The whole business is wrong, and will end in the ruin of the projectors, and then the inhabitants of the Isle may regain their rights. We are not likely to receive amends for our losses, I fear. One of our losses is the banishment of our solicitor and of his son, our guest."
The remainder of the Squire's speech was given to commendation of me, and good wishes for my future prosperity. The health was drunk with cheering enough to shake the rafters, which was renewed, when I made the best reply I could to the kind things said by the Squire, and shouted from end to end of the tables.
Then the younger Mell called on us in a pleasant vein of talk to drink the health of John Drury; and John made a speech, full of merry quips and jests, that set us all laughing and put formality to rout.
While tongues were wagging of blithesome days in the forest, now no more to be enjoyed, of salmon-spearing in Trent, of otter hunts in Don, of duck-shooting on the meres, and the like sports and pastimes of the Isle, the wine flowing freely, and every other man blowing a cloud of tobacco-smoke from his lips, the landlord came to whisper in my ear that some one, whose name I did not catch, begged to have a word with me.
"Speak up, mine host," said I. "Who is it?"
"'Tis lawyer Gibberd from Hatfield, on pressing business, he says. And pressing it must be to bring such as he out on this bitter night. His feet were frozen to the stirrups, and his face and hands were awmost dead, but we've rubbed 'em well with snow. Says he's been well-high flayed out of his wits by highwaymen. He's been to the vicarage, and they sent him on here."
Before Hind had ended, nearly every one in the room was listening; and when I rose to go with him, wondering what this Gibberd, whose name I did not remember having heard, could want with me, Squire Stovin said—
"We have had one queer fish here this evening. By your leave, Vavasour, I will see whether the man is Gibberd."
I bowed and sat down, and the Squire went out, the younger Mell attending him. They returned shortly, bringing an elderly man with them, who blinked and coughed and trembled, as he took the chair placed for him.
"Fill a cup of brandy-wine for Mr. Gibberd," ordered the Squire. "Drink it off, man, and then tell Vavasour your news."
When the man of law had quaffed his drink, and coughed again, he began—
"You will pardon my intrusion on this festive occasion, and at this late hour, urgent business being my excuse. Indeed, if it had not been of a most pressing nature, I should not have faced the rigour of the weather, and the perils of the road, for I am by habit a home-keeping man, and not accustomed to be abroad after dark, especially at this time of the year. But as I chanced to hear, quite by accident, of your intention to leave the country to-morrow, though I was not fully assured of the truth of the information, I thought myself in duty bound to use the utmost haste and diligence in acquainting you with facts of the utmost consequence, being, in a sense, your professional adviser, at least for the immediate present, and as I hope and trust in the future also."
"Poor man! the frost has touched his brain," said Dick.
"But not his tongue," laughed John.
"If you can come to the point, I shall be obliged, Mr. Gibberd," said I.
Mr. Gibberd coughed, helped himself to a little more liquor, and continued—
"I had the honour to be the legal adviser of the late Mr. Staniforth, who died yesterday, very suddenly at the last, poor gentleman, though in my experience it is always sudden. Perhaps I should more correctly say 'observation,' but no matter. Of late, Mr. Staniforth has found comfort in making several testamentary dispositions of his property; since the death of his much-lamented son, he has done so often——"
"Let's have an end to this prolixity, man," thundered Squire Stovin. "You made poor old Staniforth's last will and testament? Is that what you mean?"
"I did."
"And he has left something to Mr. Frank Vavasour, eh?"
"He has left to Mr. Frank Vavasour, on condition of his taking the name of Staniforth, his house known as Staniforth Hall, his——"
"Cut it short, Mr. Gibberd; spare us the language of the law," said I.
"Everything he had is yours, Mr. Vavasour; his property in Staniforth, Sykehouse, Fishlake, Cowick, Baln, and Pollington; his money out on mortgage——"
Dick jumped up. "Fill your cups, gentlemen. Here's to Frank Vavasour-Staniforth, or Staniforth-Vavasour, wishing him joy of his inheritance, and then three times three."
What an uproar the good fellows made! And when they had finished the three times three, some one shouted "One more!" and then another called for "Just a little one," and another for "A good one to end up with."
And so they went on, until they had made themselves hoarse and dry. Luke came and stood behind my chair.
"Ye can't do bout a bodysarvant now, Measter Frank. 'Tis my place. No running your head again' cannon bullets i' forrin parts, now. When be we agoin' to Holland?"
John gripped my hand, saying, "I suppose Providence makes no mistakes, but I could wish this stroke had not come just now. I hoped to see you a colonel at least, but Mistress Goel will forbid it."
"The first thing to be done," I answered, "is to go to the help of that worthy man in Hull."
"To-morrow, early," he answered heartily.
While this passed, the room was full of clamour of talk and laughter, which grew louder every moment, until Squire Stovin's great voice called for order.
"Gentlemen," said he, "this has been a trying time for our guest. I never heard that coming in to fortune killed a man, but this sudden change in our friend's affairs is something of a shock. If you will accept my ruling, we will drink a parting cup, and go home. Frank shall invite us to a merry meeting as soon as he finds it convenient."
To this all agreed, and at length, after much handshaking, John and I walked together to the vicarage.
"You, too, will renounce the Swedish project," said I.
"Nay," he answered; "if I don't go abroad, I shall turn gipsy."