CHAPTER XXXII.
There was a low deserted house, standing far back from the road, in apiece of common ground skirting the forest between Lindwell andNottingham. There were some trees before it, and some bushes, whichscreened all but the thatched roof from observation as the travellerpassed along. There was a dull pond, too, covered with green weed,between it and the trees, which, exhaling unwholesome dews, covered thefront of the miserable-looking place with yellow lichens, and filledthe air with myriads of droning gnats: and there it stood, with theholes, where door and window had been, gaping vacantly, like the placesof eyes and nose in a dead man's skull. All the woodwork had beencarried away, and part even of the thatch, so that a more desolate andmiserable place could not be met with, perhaps, in all the world,though, at that time, there was many a deserted house in England; andmany a hearth, which had once blazed brightly amidst a circle of happyfaces, was then dark and cold.
It was a fit haunt for a murderer; and before the door appeared Richardde Ashby, a few moments after he had parted from his fell companions,sending them onward to perform the bloody task he had allotted them.His dark countenance was anxious and thoughtful. There was a look ofuncertainty and hesitation about his face; ay, and his heart wasquivering with that agony of doubt and fear which is almost sure tooccupy some space between the scheme and the execution of crime. Theill deed in which he was now engaged was one that he was not used to.It was no longer some strong bad passion hurrying him on, step by step,from vice to vice, and sin to sin; but it was a headlong leap over oneof those great barriers, raised up by conscience, and supported by law,divine and human, in order to stop the criminal on his course to death,destruction, and eternal punishment.
He sprang from his horse at the door--he entered the cottage--he stoodfor a moment in the midst--he held his hands tightly clasped together,and then he strode towards the door again, murmuring, "I will call themback--I can overtake them yet."
But then he thought of the bond that he had given--of the objects thathe had in view--of rank, and wealth, and station--of Lucy de Ashby, andher beauty--of triumph over the hated Monthermer.
Never, never, did Satan, with all his wiles and artifices, moresplendidly bring up before the eye of imagination all the inducementsthat could tempt a selfish, licentious, heartless man, to thecommission of a great crime, than the fiend did then for thedestruction of Richard de Ashby.
He paused ere he re-crossed the threshold--he paused and hesitated. "Itis too late," he thought, "they will but scoff at me. It is too late;the die is cast, and I must abide by what it turns up. This is butsorry firmness after all! Did I not resolve on calm deliberation, andshall I regret now?"
He paced up and down the chamber for a while, and then again murmured,"I wish I had brought Kate with me. I might have toyed or teased awaythis dreary hour with her--But no, I could not trust her in such deedsas this.--They must be at the hawthorn by this time. I hope they willtake care to conceal themselves well, or the old man will getfrightened; he is of a suspicious nature. There's plenty of cover tohide them.--I will go tie the horse behind the house that no one maysee him."
His true motive was to occupy the time, for thought was very heavy uponhim, and he contrived to spend some ten minutes in the task, speakingto the charger, and patting him; not that he was a kindly master, evento a beast, but for the time the animal was a companion to him, andthat was the relief which he most desired. He then turned into thecottage again, and once more stood with his arms folded over his chestin the midst.
"What if they fail?" he asked himself. "What if he suspect something,and come with help at hand? They might be taken, and my bond found uponthem--They might confess, and, to save themselves, destroy me--'Twere adeed well worthy of Ellerby.--No, no, 'tis not likely--he will neversuspect anything--Hark! there is a horse! I will look out and see;"and, creeping round the pond to the side of the bushes, he peeredthrough upon the road.
But he was mistaken, there was no horse there. The sound was in his ownimagination, and he returned to his place of shelter, feeling theautumnal air chilly, though the day was in no degree cold. It was thatthe blood in his own veins had, in every drop, the feverish thrill ofanxiety and dreadful expectation.
No words can tell the state of that miserable man's mind during thespace of two hours, which elapsed while he remained in that cottage.Remorse and fear had possession of him altogether--ay, fear; foralthough we have acknowledged that perhaps the only good quality hepossessed was courage, yet as resolution is a very different thing frombravery, so were the terrors that possessed his mind at that moment ofa very distinct character from those which seize the trembling cowardon the battlefield.
There was the dread of detection, shame, exposure, the hissing scorn ofthe whole world, everlasting infamy as well as punishment. Death wasthe least part indeed of what he feared, and could he have been surethat means would be afforded him to terminate his own existence in caseof failure, the chance of such a result would have lost half itsterror.
But there was remorse besides--remorse which he had stifled till it wastoo late. He saw his kinsman's white hair; he saw his countenance. Heendeavoured in vain to call it up before his eyes, with some of thosefrowns or haughty looks upon it, which his own vices and follies hadvery often produced. There was nothing there now but the smile ofkindness, but the look of generous satisfaction with which from time totime the old earl had bestowed upon him some favour, or afforded himsome assistance. Memory would not perform the task he wished to putupon it. She gave him up to the anguish of conscience, without evenawakening the bad passions of the past to palliate the deeds of thepresent. He leaned on the dismantled window-frame with his heartscorched and seared, without a tear to moisten his burning lid, withoutone place on which the mind could rest in peace. The hell of the wickedalways begins upon earth, and the foul fiend had already the spirit inhis grasp, and revelled in the luxury of torture.
At length there came a distant sound, and starting up, he ran forth tolook out. His ears no longer deceived him, the noise increased eachmoment, it was horses' feet coming rapidly along the road. He gazedearnestly towards Lindwell; but instead of those whom he expected tosee, he beheld a large party of cavalry riding by at full speed, and asthey passed on before him, galloping away towards Nottingham, thetowering form of Prince Edward rising by the full head above any of histrain, caught the eye of the watcher, and explained their appearancethere. The rapid tramp died away, and all was silent again.
Some twenty minutes more elapsed, and then there was a duller sound;but still it was like the footfalls of horses coming quick. Once morehe gazed forth, and now he beheld, much nearer than he expected, fourmounted men approaching the cottage, but avoiding the hard road, andriding over the turf of the common. One of them seemed to be supportinganother by the arm, who bent somewhat feebly towards his horse's head,and appeared ready to fall. In a minute they came round, andEllerby--springing to the ground, while the man they had called Parson,held the rein of Dighton's horse--aided the latter to dismount, and ledhim into the cottage.
"It is done," said Ellerby, in a low voice, "it is done, but Dighton isbadly hurt. The old man passed his sword through him, when first hestruck him, and would have killed him outright, if I had not stabbedthe savage old boar behind. We cast him into the little sandpitthere--but poor Dighton is bad, and can scarce sit his horse."
"Yes, yes, I can," said Dighton, in a faint tone; "if I had a littlewine I could get on."
"I have some here in a bottle," cried one of the others.
Dighton drank, and it seemed to revive him. "I have had worse than thisbefore now," he said, "I can go on now; and we had better make haste,for there were certainly people coming."
"Away, then," said Richard de Ashby, "away then to Lenton, and then rundown to Bridgeford. If you could get to Thorp to-night, you would besafe. I will to the castle, and be ready to console my fair cousin whenthe news reaches her."
"She will have heard it before
that," murmured Dighton, "for I tell youthere were certainly people coming," and taking another deep draught ofthe wine, he contrived to walk, almost unassisted, to the horse's side,and mount. There was a black look, however, under his eyes, a bloodlesspaleness about his face, and a livid hue in his lips, which told thathis wound, though "not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a churchdoor," to use the words of Mercutio, "was enough."
"Fail not to give me tidings of you," said Richard de Ashby, speakingto Ellerby; and going round to the back of the cottage, he mounted hishorse--which by his pawing, seemed to show that the long delay had notbeen less tedious to himself than to his master--and galloped away toLindwell, anxious to reach the castle before the news.
Even at the rapid pace at which he went, he could not escape thought.Black care was behind him; and eagerly he turned in his mind all theconsequences of the deed that had been done. His own conduct was thefirst consideration, and a strange consideration it was. What was he tosay? what was he to do? At every step he must act a part: ay, and--likethe poor player, who sometimes, distressed in circumstances, painedin body, or grieved in mind, has to go laughing through the merrycomedy--the character which Richard de Ashby had now to play, was thedirect reverse of all the feelings of his heart.
Crime, however, produces an excitement of a certain kind independent ofthe very gratification obtained. We have, in our own day, seenmurderers laugh and sing and make merry, with hands scarcely washedfrom the blood of their victim; and, strange to say, when Richard deAshby resolved to assume a face of cheerful gaiety on arriving atLindwell Castle, the only danger was that he would over-act the part.In truth, remorse, like a tiger, lay waiting to spring upon him themoment action ceased; but for the time his mind was much relieved, andmore buoyant than it had been while watching in the cottage. Doubt,hesitation, apprehensions regarding the failure of the deed, were allgone: it was done irretrievably. It was accomplished, not only withoutany mischance, but with a circumstance which promised to remove one ofhis accomplices, and that was no slight satisfaction. So smooth doesone crime make the way for another, that he who had lately ponderedwith no small hesitation the very deed in which he was engaged, nowfelt glancing through his mind with satisfaction the thought ofdisposing of Ellerby also by some similar means, and leaving none butthe two inferior ruffians, whom he might easily attach to himself, andrender serviceable in the future. Crimes are gregarious beings, and areseldom, if ever, met with single.
His horse was fleet; the distance was not great; and in the space ofabout a quarter of an hour, he saw the towers of Lindwell rising overthe woody slopes around. He then checked his speed, in some degree,going on at a quick, but still an easy canter, knowing that there wasalways some one on the watchtower, who might remark the furious gallopat which he came, unless he slackened his pace.
He had soon reached the open space--he had soon mounted the hill. Thedrawbridge was down, the doors of the barbican were open, one of thewarders sitting quietly on a bench in the sun, two or three stoutyeomen and armed men were amusing themselves between the two gates, andall turned to salute their master's kinsman as he passed, withoutgiving the slightest indication that anything was known amiss withinthe walls of Lindwell.
Dismounting at the inner gate, and giving his horse to one of thegrooms, Richard de Ashby was upon the point of asking for his cousinLucy, but recollecting his part again, he inquired if the Earl werethere, adding, "I thought to have met him between this and Nottingham."
"No, Sir Richard," replied the porter, moving slowly back the greatgate of the hall; "my lord had ordered his horses and train to be readyfor Nottingham by noon, but news came from the city, which stopped him;and then the son of old Ugtred, the swine-driver, brought a letter, onwhich my lord went out on foot and alone. He would not even have hispage, but carried his sword himself."
"Methinks that was rash," said Richard de Ashby; "these are not timesto trust to. Can I speak with the lady Lucy? Know you where she is?"
"In her own chamber, I fancy, poor lady," replied the porter. "Go, Ned,and tell her, that Sir Richard is in the hall, and would fain see her."
Richard de Ashby was a hypocrite--he was a hypocrite in everything.Though a man of strong passions and of fierce disposition, it was notwhen he seemed most furious or most angry that he really was so, anymore than when, as on the present occasion, he seemed most gay andlight-hearted, that he was in reality cheerful. While the page went toseek for his fair cousin, he walked up and down the hall, humming alight tune, and seemingly occupied with nothing but those dancingphantasms of imagination which serve a mind at ease to while away a fewidle minutes. The only thing which, during the whole time he was keptwaiting, could have betrayed even to eyes far more keen andscrutinizing than those which now rested upon him, that there were moredeep and anxious thoughts within, was a sudden start that he gave onhearing some noise and several persons speaking loudly in the court;but the sounds quickly passed away, and the next minute Lucy herselfentered the hall.
She was pale, and her countenance seemed thoughtful; but her demeanourwas calm; and though she had never loved the man that stood before her,she addressed him in a kind tone, saying, "I give you good day,Richard; we have not seen you for a long time."
"No, fair cousin," he replied, "and I rode here in haste fromNottingham, thinking I might be the bearer of good tidings to you; butI fancy from your look you have heard them already."
"What may they be?" said Lucy, the colour slightly tinging her cheek.
"Why," answered Richard de Ashby, "they are that a certain noble lord,a dearer friend of yours than mine, fair cousin, who lay in high perilin Nottingham Castle, has made his escape last night."
"So I have heard," replied Lucy, her eyes seeking the ground; "peopletell me they had condemned him to death without hearing him."
"Not exactly so," said Richard de Ashby; "they heard him once, butthen----"
"Oh, lady! oh, lady!" cried one of the servants, running into the hall,with a face as pale as ashes, and, a wild frightened look, "here's ayeoman from Eastwood who says he has seen my lord lying murdered in thepit under the Bull's hawthorn!"
Lucy gazed at the man for a moment or two, with her large dark eyeswide open, and a vacant look upon her countenance, as if her mindrefused to comprehend the sudden and horrible news she heard; but thenext moment she turned as pale as ashes, and fell like a corpse uponthe pavement.
"Fool! you have killed her!" cried Richard de Ashby, really angry; "youshould have told her more gently.--Call her women hither."
The man remarked not, in his own surprise and horror, that Richard deAshby was less moved by the tidings he had given, than by the effectthey produced upon Lucy. All was now agitation and confusion, however;and in the midst of it, the poor girl was removed to her own chamber.The peasant, who had brought the news, was summoned to the presence ofthe murdered man's kinsman; and informed him that, in passing along, atthe top of the bank, he had been startled by the sight of fresh blood,and at first thought some deer had been killed there, but, looking overthe hedge, he had seen a human body lying under the bank, and, ongetting down into the pit, had recognised the person of the Earl.
He was quite dead, the man, said, with a cut upon the head, and adagger still remaining in a wound on his right side. Instantly comingaway for help to bear him home, he had found by the way, not far fromthe pit, the murdered man's sword, which he picked up and brought withhim. On examination, the blade was found to be bloody, so that the Earlhad evidently used it with some effect, but the peasant had found noother traces of a conflict, and had come on with all speed for aid.
One of the flat boards, which in that day, placed upon trestles, servedas dining-tables in the castle hall, was now carried out by a largeparty of the Earl's servants and retainers, in order to bring in thecorpse. Richard de Ashby put himself at their head, and by hisdirection they all went well armed, lest, as he said, there should besome force of enemies near. It was now his part to assume grief andconsternation; and as they adva
nced towards the well-known spot, hefelt, it must be acknowledged, his heart sink, when he thought of thefirst look of the dead man's face. But he was resolute, and went on,preparing his mind to assume the appearance of passionate sorrow andhorror, calculating every gesture and every word.
The old hawthorn tree, which was a well-known rendezvous for varioussylvan sports, was soon in sight, and a few steps more brought them tothe bloody spot, near the edge of the pit, where both the green grassand the yellow sand were deeply stained with gore in several places.Many an exclamation of grief and rage burst from the attendants, andRichard de Ashby, with a shudder, cried, "Oh, this is terrible!"
"Hallo! but where's the body?" cried a man, who had advanced to theside of the pit.
"Don't you see it?" said the peasant who had brought the news, steppingforward to point it out. "By the Lord, it is gone!"
Richard de Ashby now became agitated indeed.
"Gone!" he exclaimed, looking down, "Gone!--The murderers have comeback to carry it off!" and, running round to a spot where a little pathdescended, after the manner of a rude flight of steps, into thesandpit, he made his way down, followed by the rest, and searched allaround.
The spot where the body had lain was plainly to be seen, marked, bothby some blood which must have flowed after the fall from above, andalso by a fragment of the Earl's silken pourpoint, which had beencaught and torn off by a black thornbush, as he fell.
"They cannot be far off," said the peasant, "for the poor gentleman wasa heavy man to carry, and there seemed nobody near when I was here."
"Pshaw!" cried Richard de Ashby, "there might have been a hundredamongst the bushes and trees without your seeing them. However," hecontinued, eagerly, "let us beat the ground all round. Some one, runback to the castle for horses; if we pursue quickly, we may very likelyfind the murderers with the corpse in their hands."
"It may be, Sir Richard," said one of the attendants, "that some of theneighbouring yeomen, or franklins, coming and going from Eastwood toNottingham market, which falls today, may have chanced upon the body,and carried it to some house or cottage near."
"Well, we must discover it at all events," said Richard de Ashby, whofeared that one-half of his purpose might be frustrated if the letter,which he had written under the name of Hugh de Monthermer, was notactually found upon the corpse. "Spread round! spread round! Let usfollow up every path by which the body could be borne, shouting fromtime to time to each other, that we may not be altogether separated.But here come more men down from the castle; we shall have plenty now.Let six or eight stay here till the horses arrive, then mount, andpursue each horse-road and open track for some two or three miles; theycannot have gone much farther."
All efforts, however, were vain. Not a trace could be found of thebody, or of those who had taken it; and, although Richard de Ashby atfirst had entertained no doubt that they would find it in the hands ofsome of the neighbouring peasantry, and only feared that the importantletter might be by any chance lost or destroyed, he soon becameanxious, in no ordinary degree, to know what had become of the bodyitself.
Had it been found, he asked himself, by those bold tenants of Sherwood,whose shrewdness, determination, and activity he well knew? and if so,might not the dagger, which Ellerby had left in the wound, and with thehaft of which he himself had sealed the letter, prove, at some afterperiod, a clue to the real murderers? His heart was ill at ease.Apprehension took possession of him again; and, towards nightfall, hereturned to the castle, accompanied by a number of the men who by thattime had rejoined him, with a spirit depressed and gloomy, and a heartill at ease indeed.