CHAPTER XX.
ISABEL'S REVENGE.
When all was over, and the book signed, Isabel walked across to Mr.Rogers and held out her hand.
"You have been a good friend to me to-night. God will surely blessyou for what you have done." She paused, with heightened colour.
Mr. Rogers awkwardly stammered that he hoped she wouldn't mention it.But if the speech was inadequate, his action made up for it. He tookher hand and kissed it respectfully.
It seemed that she had more to say. "I have still another favour toask," she went on--I have heard since that a woman always keeps sometenderness for an honest man who has once wooed her, howeverdecidedly she may have said "no." Isabel's smile was at once tenderand anxious; but it drew no response from Mr. Rogers, who had letdrop her fingers and stood now with eyes uncomfortably averted.
"I want a wedding gift," said she.
"Eh?" He turned a flushed face and perceived that she was pointingat Leicester.
"I want this man from you. Will you give him to me?"
"For what?"
"You shall see." She knelt at the prisoner's feet and began tounbuckle the strap about his ankles; shrinking a little at first atthe touch of him, but resolutely conquering her disgust.
Mr. Rogers put down a hand to prevent her.
"You never mean to set him free?"
"That is what I ask," she answered, with an upturned look of appeal.
"My dear Miss Brooks," he said, inadvertently using her maiden name,"I am sorry--no, that's a lie--I am jolly glad to say that it can'tbe done."
"Why? Against whom else has he sinned, to injure them?"
"Against a good many, even if we put it on that ground only.Besides, he'll have to answer another charge altogether."
"What charge?"
"Of having murdered the Jew Rodriguez. Did I not tell you that wefound marked money in his pocket?"
"But he never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"
Mr. Rogers shrugged his shoulders. "That's for him to prove."
"But we know he did not," Isabel insisted, and turned to me."He never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"
"No," said I; "it was given him last night by Mr. Whitmore in MissBelcher's shrubbery."
"He is not guilty of this murder?"
"No," said I again, "I think not: indeed, I am sure he is not."I glanced at Archibald Plinlimmon who had been standing with eyesdowncast and gloomy, studying the dim pattern of the carpet at hisfeet. He looked up now: his face had grown resolute.
"No," he echoed in a strained voice; "he had nothing to do with themurder."
"Why, what on earth do _you_ know?" cried Mr. Rogers, and Isabel,too, bent back on her knees and gazed on him amazedly.
"I was there."
"_Where_, in Heaven's name?"
"On the roof outside the garret. I looked in and saw the bodylying."
"You were on the roof--you looked in and saw the body--" Mr. Rogersrepeated the words stupidly, automatically, searching for speech ofhis own. "Man alive, how came you on the roof? What were you doingthere?"
"We were billeted three doors away," said Archibald, and paused."I can tell you no more just now."
"'We'?"
"That man and I." He pointed at Leicester.
"And you looked in. What else did you see?" Mr. Rogers's voice wassharp.
"That I cannot tell you."
"The murderer?"
"No: not the murderer," he answered slowly.
"Then what? Whom?"
"I have said that I cannot tell you."
"But he can, sir!" I cried recklessly. "He saw _me_! I had justfound the body and was standing beside it when he looked in."I stopped, panting. It seemed as if all the breath in me had escapedfor the moment with my confession.
Mr. Rogers turned from me to Archibald. "I think I see. Yousupposed the boy to be guilty, and helped him to get away."
"No," answered Archibald, "I did not think him guilty. I did notknow what to think. And it was he who helped me to get away."
"Why should he help you to get away?"
"I will tell that--but not to you. I will tell it to my wife."
Isabel had risen from her knees. She went to him and would havetaken his hand. "Not yet," he said hoarsely, and turned from her.
Mr. Rogers eyed the Rector in despair. But the Rector merely shookhis head.
"But confound it all! Where's the murderer, in all this?"
"Sakes alive! Isn't that as clear as daylight?" interjected MissBelcher. "Didn't I let him out of the window more than an hour ago?And isn't Hodgson foundering my mare at this moment in chase of him?See here, Jack," she went on judicially, "you've played one or twoneat strokes to-night: but one or two neat strokes don't make aprofessional. You'll have to give up this justicing. You've no headfor it."
"Indeed?" retorted Mr. Rogers. "Then since it seems you see deeperinto this business than most of us, perhaps you'll favour us withyour advice."
"With all the pleasure in life, my son," said the lady. "I can seeholes in a ladder: but I don't look deep into a brick wall, for thereason that I don't try. There's some secret between Mr. Plinlimmonand this boy. What it is I don't know, and you don't know: and I'veyet to discover that 'tis any business of ours. All I care to hearabout it is that Mr. Plinlimmon means to tell his wife, for which Icommend him. Now you don't propose to make out a warrant against_him_, I take it? As for the boy, he's done us more servicesto-night than we can count on our fingers. He's saved more than one,and more than two, of us here, let alone five couples married byWhitmore in the four months he was curate. Reckon them in, please,and their children to come. Ah, my dear," she laid a hand onIsabel's shoulder. "I know what I'm speaking of! He has ended ascandal for the Rector, and in time for the mischief to be repaired.He has even saved that dirty scoundrel there, if it helps a man onJudgment Day that his villainies have miscarried. Well then, whatabout the boy? There's a hue-and-cry after him; but you can't givehim up. Let alone the manner of your meeting him--that business ofthe bonfire--and a pretty tale 'twould make against a Justice of thePeace--"
"I never gave that a thought, Lydia," Mr. Rogers protested.
"I know you didn't, my lad: that's why I mentioned it. Well, lettingthat alone, how are you to give the child up? You can't. You knowyou can't. We've to hide him now, though it cost your commission.Eh? to be sure we must. Give him up? Pretty gratitude indeed, andwhat next, I wonder!"
"I never thought of giving him up."
"I know you didn't, again: but I'm combing out your brains for you,if you'll only stand quiet and not interrupt. Keep your mind fixedon Whitmore. Whitmore's your man. If Hodgson catches him--"
"If Hodgson catches him, he'll be charged with the murder. I've thewarrant in my pocket. Then how are we to hide the boy, or keep anysilence on what has happened here to-night?"
"Ye dunderhead!" Miss Belcher stamped her foot. "What in the name offortune have we to do with the murder? If Hodgson catches him, he'llbe charged with forging the Bishop of Exeter's licence: that's to saywith a crime he's already confessed to you. If you want to hang him,that'll do it. You don't want to hang him twice over, do you? And Idon't reckon he'll be so anxious to be hanged twice that he'llconfess to a murder for the fun of the thing. If you say nothing,he'll say nothing. Upon my word you seem to have that Jew on thebrain! Who made out the warrant?"
"I, of course."
"Then keep it in your pocket: and when you get home, burn it.It beats me to think why you can't let that murder alone. Rodriguezwas no friend of yours, was he? You can't bring him to life again,can you? And what's your evidence? A couple of marked coins?Barring us few here, who knows of them? Nobody. Barring us fewhere, who knows a whisper beside, to connect Whitmore with themurder? Nobody again. Very well, then: you came here to-night toexpose Whitmore as a false priest and a forger. You took the villainon the hop, and he confessed: so the boy's evidence is not needed.Having con
fessed, he made his escape. You can say, if you will, thatI helped him. That's all you need remember, and what more d'ye want?It's odds against Hodgson catching him. It's all Lombard Street to achina orange against his bothering you, if caught, with any plea butGuilty." She ceased, panting with her flow of words.
"Well, but about this Leicester?" Mr. Rogers objected.
"What about him? Let him go. Isabel was right in begging him off--though you did it, my dear, for other reasons than mine: but when theheart's right, God bless you, it usually speaks common sense.Let him go. D'ye want to hang him? He's ugly enough, but I don'tsee how you're to do it, unless first of all you catch Whitmore andthen force him to turn cat-in-the-pan, at the risk of his talking toomuch and with the certainty of dragging Isabel into the exposure.Even so, I doubt you'll get evidence. This man is a deal too shrewdto have done any of the forging himself. If Whitmore had knownenough to hang him, Whitmore wouldn't have gone in awe of him.And what Whitmore don't know, Whitmore can't tell."
All this while the prisoner had kept absolute silence; had stoodmotionless, except that his eyes turned from one speaker to another,and now and then seemed to seek Archibald Plinlimmon's--who, however,refused to return the look. But now he twisted his battered mouthinto something like an appreciative grin.
"Bravo, Madam!" said he. "You've the wits of the company, if you'lltake my compliments."
"I misdoubt they're interested ones," she answered drily, and soaddressed herself again to Mr. Rogers. "Let the man go: you've drawnhis sting. If ever he opens his mouth on to-night's work, we've aplum or two to pop into it. If Mr. Plinlimmon chooses to take him atthe door and horsewhip him, I say nothing against it. Indeed he'swelcome to the loan of my hunting-crop."
"But no," put in Isabel quickly, and knelt again; "my husband willnot hurt where I have pardoned!" Rapidly she unloosed the strapabout Leicester's ankles and stood up. "Now hold out your hands,"she said.
He held them out. She looked him in the face, and a sudden tide ofshame forced her to cover her own. In the silence her husbandstepped to her side. His eyes were steady upon Leicester now.
"How could you? How could you?" she murmured.
Then, dragging--as it were--her hands down to the task, she unbuckledthe strap around his wrist and pointed to the door.
Said Miss Belcher, "So two women have shown you mercy to-night,George Leicester!"
He went, without any swagger. His face was white. Miss Belcher andthe Rector drew back as though he carried a disease, and let himpass. At the door he turned and his eyes, with a kind of miserableraillery in them, challenged Archibald Plinlimmon.
"Yes, you are right." The young man took a step towards him."Between us two there is a word to be said." He turned on usabruptly. "I have been afraid of that man--yes, afraid. To say thisout, and before Isabel, costs me more courage than to thrash him.Through fear of him I have been a villain. Worse wrong than I did tomy wife--worse in its consequences--I could not do: you know it, allof you; and I must go now and tell it to her father. I did itunknowingly, by this man's contrivance; but not in any fear of him.What I did in fear, and knowingly, was worse in another way--worse inintention. I tell you that but for an accident I might--I mighthave--" He stammered and came to a halt. "No, I cannot tell ityet," he muttered half defiantly, with a shy look at the Rector."But this I can tell"--and his voice rose--"that no fear of _him_stays me. You? I have your secret now. You have none of mine Idare not meet. You may go: you have my wife's pardon, it seems.I do not understand it, but you have mine--with this caution.You are my superior officer. If to-morrow, outside of the ranks, youdare to say a word to me, I promise to strike you on the mouthbefore the regiment, and afterwards to tell the whole truth of usboth, and take what punishment may befall."
So he too pointed towards the door. Leicester bowed and went from usinto the night.
"That's all very well," groaned Mr. Rogers, "but I'll have to resignmy commission of the peace."
"If it's retiring from active service you mean," said Miss Belchercheerfully, "that's what I began by advising. But stick to thetitle, Jack: you adorn it--indeed you do. And for my part," shewound up, "I think you've done mighty well to-night, considering."
"I've let one villain escape, you mean, and t'other go scot free."
"And the nuisance of it is," said she with a broadening smile,"I shan't be able to congratulate you in public."
"Well"--Mr. Rogers regained his cheerfulness as he eyed hisknuckles--"we've let a deal of villainy loose on the world: but I gotin once with the left, and that must be my consolation. What are weto do with this boy?"
"Hide him."
"Easier said than done."
"Not a bit." Miss Belcher turned to me. "Have you any friends, boy,who will be worrying if we keep you a few days?"
"None, ma'am," said I, and thereby in my haste did much injustice tothe excellent Mr. and Mrs. Trapp.
"Eh? You have the world before you? Then maybe you're luckierthan you think, my lad. What would you like to be? A sailor, now?I can get you shipped across to Guernsey to-morrow, if you say theword."
"That would do very well, ma'am: but if you ask me to choose--"
"I do."
"Then I'll choose to be a soldier," said I stoutly.
"H'm! You'll have to grow to it."
"I could start as a drummer, ma'am." The drum in Major Brooks'ssummer-house had put that into my head.
"My father can manage it, I am sure!" cried Isabel. "And meanwhilelet him come back to the Cottage. No one will think of searching forhim there: and to-night, when I have spoken to my father--"
"You will speak to your father to-night?"
Isabel glanced at her bridegroom, who nodded. "To-night," said hefirmly. "We sail to-morrow."
Miss Belcher wagged her head at him. "I had my doubts of you, youngman. You've been a fool: but I've a notion you'll do, yet."
"Good-night, then!" Isabel went to her and held up her cheek to bekissed.
"Eh? Not a bit of it! I'm coming with you. Don't stare at me now--I've a word to say, and I think maybe 'twill help."
We left the Rector and Mr. Rogers to their task of overhauling thehouse while they sat up on the chance of Hodgson's returning withWhitmore or with news of him: and trooped up the lane and down acrossthe park to Minden Cottage.
"Take the child to bed," said Miss Belcher, as we reached the door:and so to my room Isabel conducted me, the others waiting below.
She lit my candles and kissed me. "You won't forget your prayersto-night, Harry? And say a prayer for me: I shall need it, though Ihave more call to thank God for sending you."
A minute later I heard her tap on her father's door. He was awakeand dressed, apparently--for it seemed at any rate but a moment laterthat her voice was guiding his blind footsteps by whispers down thestairs. Had I guessed more of the ordeal before her, my eyes hadclosed less easily than they did. As it was, I tumbled into bed andslept almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.
I had forgotten to blow out the candles, and they were but halfburnt, yet extinguished, when I awoke from a dream that Isabel waskneeling beside me in their dim light to find her standing at thebed's foot in a fresh print gown and the room filled again withsunshine. Her eyes were red. Poor soul! she had but an hour beforesaid good-bye to Archibald; and Spain and its battlefields lay beforehim, and between their latest kiss and their next--if another theremight be. Yet she smiled bravely, telling me that all was well, andthat her father would be ready for me in the summer-house.
Major Brooks, when I found him there, made no allusion to the eventsof the night. His face was mild and grave as at our first meeting.At the sound of my footsteps he picked up his Virgil and motioned meto be seated.
"Let me see," he began: "_liquidi fontes_, was it not?"--andforthwith began to dictate at his accustomed pace.
"But seek a green-moss'd pool, with well-spring nigh, And through the grass a streamlet fleeting b
y. The porch with palm or oleaster shade-- That when the regents from the hive parade Its gilded youth, in Spring--their Spring!--to prank, To woo their holiday heat a neighbouring bank May lean with branches hospitably cool. And midway, be your water stream or pool, Cross willow-twigs, and massy boulders fling-- A line of stations for the halting wing To dry in summer sunshine, has it shipped A cupful aft, or deep in Neptune dipped. Plant cassias green around, thyme redolent, Full-flowering succory with heavy scent, And violet-beds to drink the channel'd stream. And let your hives (sewn concave, seam to seam, Of cork; or of the supple osier twined) Have narrow entrances; for frosts will bind Honey as hard as dog-days run it thin: --In bees' abhorrence each extreme's akin. Not purposeless they vie with wax to paste Their narrow cells, and choke the crannies fast With pollen, or that gum specific which Out-binds or birdlime or Idxan pitch--"
--And so on, and so on, until midday arrived, and Isabel with theclaret and biscuits. She lingered while he ate: and when he had donehe shut his Virgil, saying (in a tone which, though studiously kind,told me that she was not wholly forgiven):
"Take the drum, Isabel, and give the lad his first lesson. It willnot disturb me."
She choked down a sob, passed the drum to me, and put the drumsticksinto my hands. And so by signs rather than by words, she began toteach me; scarcely letting me tap the vellum, but instructing merather how to hold the sticks and move my wrists. So quiet were wethat the old man by and by dropped asleep: and then, as she taught,her tears flowed.
This was the first of many lessons; for I spent a full fortnight atMinden Cottage, free of its ample walled garden, but never showing myface in the high road or at the windows looking upon it. I learnedfrom Isabel that Whitmore had not been found, and that Archibald andhis regiment had sailed for Lisbon. Sometimes Miss Belcher orMr. Rogers paid us a visit, and once the two together: and alwaysthey held long talks with the Major in his summer-house. But theynever invited me to be present at these interviews.
So the days slipped away and I almost forgot my fears, nor speculatedhow or when the end would come. My elders were planning thisfor me, and meanwhile life, if a trifle dull, was pleasant enough.What vexed me was the old man's obdurate politeness towards Isabel,and her evident distress. It angered me the more that, when she wasnot by he gave never a sign that he brooded on what had befallen, butwent on placidly polishing his petty and (to me) quite uninterestingverses.
But there came an evening when we finished the Fourth Georgictogether.
"Of tillage, timber, herds, and hives, thus far My trivial lay--while Caesar thunders war To deep Euphrates, conquers, pacifies, Twice wins the world and now attempts the skies. Pardon thy Virgil that Parthenope Sufficed a poor tame scholar, who on thee Whilom his boyish pastoral pipe essayed, --Thee, Tityrus, beneath the beechen shade."
He closed the book.
"Lord Wellington is not a Caesar," he said and paused, musing: then,in a low voice, "Parthenope--Parthenope--and to-morrow 'Arms and theman.' Boy," said he sharply, "we do not translate the Aeneid."
"No, sir?"
"Mr. Rogers calls for you to-night. A draft of the 52nd Regimentsails from Plymouth to-morrow. You will find, when you join it inSpain, that--that my son-in-law"--he hesitated and spoke the wordwith a certain prim deliberateness--"has been gazetted to anensigncy in that gallant regiment. I may tell you that he owes thisto no intervention of mine, but solely to the generosity of MissBelcher. Before departing--I will do him so much justice--he spoketo me very frankly of his past, and for my daughter's sake and hisfather's I trust that, as under Providence you were an instrument inaverting its consequences, so you may sound him yet to some actionwhich, whether he lives or falls, may redeem it. Mr. Rogers will supwith us to-night. If I mistake not, I hear his wheels on the road."He drew himself up to his full height and bowed. "You have done aservice, boy, to the honour of two families. I thank you for it, andshall not omit to remember you daily when I thank God. Shall we goin?"
I had, as I said just now, almost forgotten my fears of the Law: butthat the Law had not relaxed its interest in me was evident from myfriends' precautions. Night had fallen before Mr. Rogers rose fromtable and gave the word for departure, and after exchanging someformal farewells with Major Brooks, and some very tender ones withIsabel, I was packed in the tilbury and driven off into darkness inwhich the world seemed uncomfortably large and vague and my prospectsdisconcertingly ill lit.
"D'ye know what _that_ is?" asked Mr. Rogers at the end of fiveminutes, pulling up his mare and jerking his whip towards a splash ofwhite beside the road.
"No, sir."
He pulled a rein, and brought the light of the offside lamp to bearon a milestone with a bill pasted upon it.
"A full, particular, and none too flattering description of you, mylad, with an offer of twenty pounds. And I'm a Justice of the Peace!Cl'k, lass!"
On went the mare; and I, who had been feeling like a needle in abundle of hay, now shrank down within my wraps as though the nighthad a thousand eyes.
We reached the village of Anthony: and here, instead of holding onfor Torpoint and the ferry, Mr. Rogers struck aside into a lane onour right, so steep and narrow that he alighted and led the maredown, holding one of the lamps to guide her as she picked her steps.
The lane ended beside a sheet of water, pitch-black under the shadowof a wooded shore, and glimmering beyond it with the reflections of afew stars. Mr. Rogers gave a whistle; and a soft whistle answeredhim. I heard a boat's nose grate on the shingle and take ground.
"All right, Sergeant?"
"Right, sir. Got the boy?"
"Climb down, Harry," whispered Mr. Rogers. "Shake hands and goodluck to you!"
I was given a hand over the bows by a man whose face I could not see.The boat was full of men, and one dark figure handed me to anothertill I reached the stern-sheets.
"Give way, lads!" called a voice beside me, as the bow-man pushed usoff. We were travelling fast when at a bend of the creek a line oflights shot into view--innumerable small sparks clustered low on thewater ahead and shining steadily across it. I knew them at once.They were the lights of Plymouth Dock.
"Where are you taking me?" I cried.
"That's no question for a soldier," said a voice which I recognisedas the sergeant's. And one or two of the crew laughed.