The old nag stumbled along the path out of the wood, and down to the burn again, where the ground spread out in a grassy level nearly surrounded by a horseshoe of rushing water. A few trees grew on this open space, a couple of willows, an oak. There was also the remnant of a crumbling wall, some fallen stones, and a rude cross lying on its side against the oak. Here had been the nunnery in the olden days. Here in this gentle shadowy place had been a cloister. James dismounted and stood near the broken cross, watching the stream as it swirled by. He lifted his head and gazed unthinking at the oak tree, dim green in the failing light.
There was one rusty spot in that mass of green, one leaf that had obeyed the commands of autumn before its brothers. As James noticed it the leaf quivered, it detached itself and floated, balancing and swaying, until it rested on the grass at James’s feet. He recoiled, staring down at the little ruddy spot. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart hammered and then seemed to stop. He fell to his knees and crossed himself while the verse he had read in the Radcliffe papers, and then forgotten, jangled in his mind:
When a green oakleaf shall turn red
The last earl shall die in his gory bed.
The fox and the owl shall inhabit his halls,
The bat and the spider shall cling to his walls.
His lands from his house the strong arm shall sever
And the name of his race be extinguished forever.
“Kyrie eleison,” he whispered, “Lord have mercy on me.” He covered his face with his hands, and crouched on the grass. The minutes passed, shadows deepened under the oak tree. Then mingling with the sound of the burn he thought he heard another voice. It spoke gently the words of the Mass. “Misereatur tui omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis mis, perducat te ad vitam aeternam.”
James lifted his head in wonder, for the voice seemed not inside him as had been the cruel prophecy. A nebulous gray shape shimmered by the fallen cross. Its flowing robes were nunlike, its face misty against the wavering leaves, and from the figure with its uplifted face James felt an outflowing of peace. He moved, his arms stretched in supplication.
He implored in his heart, “Speak to me again!” and heard the far echo of the gentle voice repeating “May Almighty God have mercy on thee, forgive thy sins, and bring thee to life everlasting.”
“Aye, but what do you mean?” he whispered, his eyes straining to see. There was nothing standing beside the cross. Nothing but the tree trunks and the flat grassy little plain. After a while he got to his feet, trembling. He bent over, picked up the red leaf, and held it in his palm for a moment, then he walked to the brink of the water, and stood looking down. He tossed the leaf in and watched it carried swiftly away by the tumbling ripples. He knew then what the Devil Water had come to mean to him, why it referred not to this beautiful burn but to the black waves which had been swamping him. The devil’s water was uncertainty. No. The devil’s water was fear.
At Dilston Hall the family were gathered uneasily in the smaller drawing room, waiting for the Earl’s return. Ann was on the cushioned seat in the bay window so that she might watch the drive. Charles paced the floor, except when he paused occasionally to take a reviving pinch of snuff -- a fashionable habit he had acquired in London. Lady Mary sat ramrod stiff by the empty fireplace, and fanned herself with rhythmic clicks. It was still hot, the threatened storm had not broken. The old lady’s vast displeasure with James had quite unfairly transferred itself to Ann and Charles, since her inborn reverence for the head of the family had as yet curbed her tongue where the Earl was concerned. So she had ceased speaking to anyone but Mr. Brown, who hovered near her chair and racked his brains for topics which might not lead to the thoughts in all their minds.
“I believe I’ve a new convert,” said the priest brightly. “Will Purdy, my lord’s coachman, has been coming for instruction.”
“Humph,” said Lady Mary. “Pity there aren’t more of ‘em, though I expect you try. By the way, I think, Father, you should know of Peggy, the baker’s wife’s scandalous --”
Whatever Peggy’s sins, the priest was not destined to hear them. Alec Armstrong, Charles’s valet, suddenly appeared in the doorway and said, “By your leave, sir!”
Charles turned in astonishment. Alec was originally a Dilston lad, but he had spent these London years with Charles, and being quick, shrewd, and adaptable had become the perfect valet, and knew his place -- which was not the drawing room.
“What’s ado?” said Charles, staring at the sandy-haired freckled young man whose wide mouth had a humorous quirk to it.
“A young woman ter see ye, sir,” said Alec with the suggestion of a wink. He had assisted at several of Charles’s amours, and knew how to have a bit of fun himself. “Very urgent she is. Won’t tell her business, she’s panting wi’ haste -- must see ye, sir!”
Ann was so anxiously watching the driveway that she paid no attention, but Lady Mary snorted. “I sincerely trust, nephew, that you’ve not been indulging your deplorable whims up here.”
“If you mean women, Aunt, I have not,” Charles snapped. These troubled weeks at Dilston had provided neither the mood nor the opportunities for dalliance. He preceded Alec into the passage. “Who is she?”
“Haven’t a notion, sir. But she would speak to ye private, so I put her in the brewery.”
There was one candle lit among the great kegs and fermenting vats in the brewery; the light flickered over a woman in a black shawl and patched dress. She gave a cry when she saw Charles, and whispered, “Where’s his lordship? Ye mun warn him! They’re after him, no more’n an hour behind me. I’ve galloped all the way fra Gatsheed.”
“What are you talking about?” said Charles sternly. Then her shawl slipped down and he recognized her. “Nan Wilson?” he said, taken completely aback. “Is it Nan Wilson, Meg’s sister?”
“Aye, and divven’t stand there gawking. Warn his lordship. There’s three deputies from Lunnon, and that foul blackguard’s own bailiffs coming wi’ ‘em to arrest the Earl.”
“He’s not here yet,” said Charles frowning. “And, Mrs. Wilson, how do you know this so positively?”
“Because I wark as servant for Squire Cotesworth, damn his black heart, but I need the pittance, now Geordie’s been sick sae long wi’ the lung rot. Those Lunnon deputies was at table terday wi’ the Squire and I heard ‘em plotting.”
“Sir!” interrupted Alec urgently, turning from the window where he had had his nose pressed to the panes. “His lordship’s here now!”
“Come with me then,” said Charles to Nan. “Tell him your story!” For he was not quite convinced by this warning, and he had scant reason to trust the Snowdons, or indeed the Wilsons. He remembered how little Rob had spied on him for days before the Snowdon men abducted him.
Nan nodded desperately. She knew what Charles was thinking.
When they got up to the drawing room, James looked even grimmer than when he had started out for Hexham, but he was patiently answering his wife’s nervous questions. “No, my dear. There was nothing to the rumor, Mr. Bacon assured me . . .”
“I don’t know about that,” said Charles, pushing Nan forward. “Here’s Mrs. Wilson with a different tale.”
“They’re after ye, m’lord,” cried Nan twisting her fingers. “A whole posse o’ ‘em, Squire William Cotesworth’s sending wi’ the London deputies. They’ve a warrant wi’ ‘em. They’ll put ye in jail.”
Ann gave a gasp and ran to her husband, who stood frowning on the hearth rug. Before he could speak Lady Mary rose up to her full height and cried in a great voice, “No doubt my lord would rather be safe in a quiet jail than fight for the cause! No doubt that’s what he wants! Here, nephew,” she shrilled, “give me your sword so I may fight for my King, and take my fan instead, ‘tis the only weapon fit for you!” She flung the fan at James’s feet.
His pallor deepened, his jaw clenched. He looked at the fan and he looked at his shaking aunt.
“Your little drama, my lady, is unn
ecessary,” he said in a steely tone no one had ever heard from him. “I had already made up my mind to join the Rising. And ‘tis no part of my plan to be taken now before I can be of use to it.”
“Thank God,” said Charles, and gave a nervous laugh of supreme relief. The priest touched his crucifix, and expelled his breath in a long sigh. Ann was murmuring brokenly, “Oh, my dear love, I’m glad and yet--oh, I can’t think what ‘twill mean!” Lady Mary’s withered cheeks reddened, moisture came to her sharp eyes. She leaned over with difficulty and, picking up the fan, retired silently to the window seat.
“Ye mun hide, my lord! Hurry! ‘Tis why I’m here to warn ye!” cried Nan in anguish, not understanding everyone’s behavior.
“Why do you warn me?” said James quietly. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“He does,” she cried, pointing to Charles. “I’m sister to his wife who’s not a wife, I’m aunt to his bonny bairn. Yet not for this do I warn ye, Lord Darntwatter. ‘Tis because I hate Black William wi’ all my soul, and I wish to balk his clarty tricks.”
“She’s speaking truth, James,” Ann whispered, staring at the woman. “Oh, my dear, what are we to do? Where can you go?”
“I know where to go,” said James. “But I’ll need some help. Mrs. Wilson, did you hear them speak of arresting anyone else here?”
She shook her head. “Only you, m’lord.”
“That’s fortunate,” said James with his first smile in weeks. “For alas, Mr. Brown, I was stupid enough to close up the priest’s hole when I rebuilt. As for you, Charles, I’ll need you for a while; then come back here to the others, and receive this posse courteously, telling any lies your fertile brain can invent as to my whereabouts. And you, Mrs. Wilson, I beg you to accept this. I’m deeply grateful.” He held out a gold sovereign, but she stepped back. “I’d rather die,” she said with a toss of her head. “D’ye think a Snawdon’d tak’ money fur a thing like this!”
“Well, no, now I think of it, I don’t,” said James with another smile. “You must not be found here or on the road, they’ll search thoroughly.”
“I’ll to the kitchen, and play beggar woman till they’ve gone,” said Nan. “But they wouldna knaw me if they saw me. Folk divven’t notice sarvants.”
“Where are you going?” Ann cried again to her husband. “I must know where you’ll be!”
“Not now, dear.” James gave her a quick kiss. “Nobody but Charles shall know, you’ll hear later. Come,” he added to his brother, and they hurried from the drawing room.
There were a dozen fully armed men in the posse which arrived at Dilston twenty minutes later. They used guile in their attempt to capture the Earl. An under-sheriff ascertained at the gatehouse that Lord Derwentwater had recently returned from a ride and was in his Hall. At the great front door, they told the footman that they were a delegation from Newcastle come to solicit the Earl’s help in founding a new almshouse. The footman innocently showed them to the drawing room. Here they found a quiet family scene. Two ladies embroidering, the priest and Mr. Charles Radcliffe playing chess in the corner, and no sign of the Earl.
“Why, we haven’t seen his lordship since noon. Have we, Mr. Brown?” said Charles blandly. “I expect he’s riding somewhere on the moors; he’s very fond of exercise.”
“At night! In the rain!” cried the London messenger who carried the warrant. “Besides, the gateward said ‘e’d come ‘ome.”
“The gateward,” said Charles, “is getting old and is mistaken.”
‘“Ere’s a diddling pack o’ lies!” shouted the London messenger. “Get on wi’ it, lads, and search the place!”
“You’re heartily welcome to,” said Charles, neatly checkmating Mr. Brown. “Aren’t they, my ladies?”
Ann and Lady Mary both inclined their heads and went on embroidering. The posse tramped throughout every nook and cranny of Dilston Hall. They hunted through the attics and the cellars, they peered under beds and tapped on paneled walls, they clambered up fireplaces looking for the priest’s hole tradition had always said existed at Dilston. By two in the morning they gave it up, believing that young Radcliffe must have told the truth when he said the Earl was out.
Charles had the posse provided with beer and they settled down to wait. But by daylight they lost confidence. It became clear to the dullest of the Newcastle bailiffs that the Earl had somehow been warned and escaped. By six o’clock they mounted their horses, and straggled back towards Newcastle, though they left a bailiff at Dilston as spy. Fortunately he was a thick-witted yokel, whose one idea was to sit by the front door and apprehend the Earl when he rode up. Charles found the man no hindrance at all to the carrying out of certain plans. The first of these concerned Nan Wilson, who was eating breakfast in the kitchen, under Alec’s sympathetic eye. “Nan,” said Charles, “you’re safe to leave now. The posse’s way ahead of you, and that chucklehead on the steps’ll never see you.”
She nodded and got up, wiping her mouth. “Aye, I mun haste back and feed poor Geordie.”
Charles drew her outside and behind the stables, where her Galloway pony was waiting. “We needn’t tell you again our heartfelt gratitude, and I insist that you take this basket of provisions for Geordie, since you won’t take money.”
She bit her lips, but she let him strap the hamper to her saddle.
“Tell me,” said Charles in a now voice, putting his hand on the pommel, “how is my little girl? My Jenny?”
“D’ye think of her?” asked Nan in astonishment.
“I do. And I’ve often written Meg asking about the child, but she doesn’t answer.”
Nan sighed. “Aye, Meg ha’ a strange darkling heart, an’ she wants ye to forget her an’ the bairn.”
“I’ve tried right enough,” said Charles grimly, “and succeeded most the time; but you’ll admit the circumstances are peculiar, though ‘tis never Meg I think of.”
“Jenny’s weel,” said Nan after a moment. “I’ve not seen her in a year, but Faither writes now an’ agyen. She’s a canny towheaded mite, bonny an’ blithe as a lark. A glint o’ sunshine i’ that dark old peel tower. They’re all fond o’ her.”
“I’m glad,” said Charles. “I’ve been planning to ride up there, force them to let me see her -- but now . . .” He came back with a jolt to the change in all their circumstances, and the thought that James was hidden in the tunnel. “Farewell, Nan, God’s blessing on you for what you’ve done -- you’re not too Protestant to mind a Catholic’s blessing?”
“I’m not,” she said, touched his hand quickly, and kicking the Galloway started down the far side of the hill, out of sight of the house.
Charles cautiously skirted the Hall, ascertained that the bailiff was still squatting on the steps, then went in search of old Busby. The steward alone of anyone at Dilston guessed where his master might be hiding and he whispered to Charles, “How did ye get that dungeon wall open, sir?”
“His lordship had already opened it in readiness,” Charles answered. Though it was not the wall which led to the underground tunnel. It was a pavingstone in the blackest corner of the dungeon floor. It lifted when a chisel was wedged under it a certain way.
“Would there be enough air for him?” asked Busby anxiously. “If the tunnel goes all the way to the Tyne?”
“There’ll be enough,” said Charles. The tunnel did not run to the Tyne, it debouched two hundred yards below in a hidden cave beside the Devil Water. “Busby, I need two farmers’ smocks and hats, and one of the farm carts filled with sacks of wheat. Put a stout nag to the cart, too.”
The steward nodded and hurried off. In an hour Charles drove the farm cart down the road to the Devil Water Bridge, as though he were going to the mill. He wore big boots, a faded blue smock, and a broad hat. He had greased his hair and pulled it forward around his face where it hung lankly and almost hid the scar. He looked about carefully, before he stopped the horse by the bridge. There was nobody in sight. He jumped down and clambered through nettl
es and brambles until he found the approximate spot by the burn James had told him of. Then he called cautiously, “James! All clear.”
The long ferns parted in a place Charles had not expected them to, and James stuck his head out. “ ‘Tis snug in here,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve made good use of my time. Done much thinking. Naught went wrong?”
“No. And they’ve gone. Here’s your farmer’s gear.”
James was soon dressed like Charles except that, since the Earl always wore a periwig, his head was shaven and had to be covered with a kerchief under the hat. “I think you’ll do,” said Charles eying his brother critically. “Slump down in the sacks behind. I’ll drive.”
So the two farmers started off for Corbridge, as though they were carrying wheat from Dilston mill. They passed through the little town without the slightest difficulty. Charles answered one or two friendly hails from other farmers with a muffled “Good day to ye.” James apparently snored on the sacks in a drunken stupor. They turned left out of Corbridge, and lumbered along to Beaufront, the Errington castle. Charles drew up in the farmyard. “Stay where you are,” he whispered to James, while to a curious stable boy who came up to greet them he said in a passable Northumbrian accent, “M’brother’s a bit the wor-rse for a stop we made at the Angel. Leave him be, like a good lad, to sleep it off, and fetch the Chief fur me. Here’s a load he or-rdered.”
The boy nodded and disappeared into the castle kitchen. In a while the old Chief stalked out of his house, shaggy brows beetling. “What’s the meaning o’ this, man!” he shouted at Charles. “We didna order-r corn! There’s some mistake.”
“Will ye look at the sacks, master?” said Charles. “Ye’ll see they’re meant fur ye, reet enough.”
The old man frowned but he went close to the cart, whereupon James pushed up his hat and showed his face for an instant.
The Chief jerked back. “Sainted Peter!” he muttered. He looked from the huddled figure in the cart to Charles. His gnarled hands trembled. “So ‘tis come to this at last, has it,” he said beneath his breath. He glanced over his shoulder at the hovering stable boy, then shouted at James, “Get up, ye drunken rogue! Get up and come i’ the house wi’ your mate. I’ll not stand here i’ the hot sun arguing wi’ ye.”