Curiously, enough, it was on his penniless days in France that his mind dwelt this evening. He had resolutely thrust that dark time behind him, determined to forget it, but there were still days when, try as he might, he could not prevent his thoughts flying back to it.
With clenched teeth he recalled the days when he, the son of an Earl, had taught fencing in Paris for a living… Suddenly he laughed harshly, and at the unusual sound the mare pricked up her ears and sidled uneasily across the road. For once no notice was taken of her, and she quickened her pace with a flighty toss of her head…
He thought how he, the extravagant John, had pinched and scraped and saved rather than go under; how he had lived in one of the poorer quartiers of the city, alone, without friends – nameless.
Then, cynically now, he reviewed the time when he had taken to drinking, heavily and systematically, and had succeeded in pulling himself up at the very brink of the pit he saw yawning before him.
Next the news of his mother’s death… John passed over that quickly. Even now the thought of it had the power of rousing in him all the old misery and impotent resentment.
His mind sped on to his Italian days. On his savings he had travelled to Florence, and from there he went gradually south, picking up all the latest arts and subtleties of fence on the way.
The change of scene and of people did much to restore his spirits. His devil-may-care ways peeped out again; he started to gamble on the little money he had left. For once Fortune proved kind; he doubled and trebled and quadrupled the contents of his purse. Then it was that he met Jim Salter, whom he engaged as his servant. This was the first friend since he had left England. Together they travelled about Europe, John gambling his way, Jim keeping a relentless hand on the exchequer. It was entirely owing to his watchfulness and care that John was not ruined, for his luck did not always hold good, and there were days when he lost with distressing steadiness. But Jim guarded the winnings jealously, and there was always something to fall back on.
At last the longing for England and English people grew so acute that John made up his mind to return. But he found that things in England were very different from what they had been abroad. Here he was made to feel acutely that he was outcast. It was impossible to live in town under an assumed name, as he would like to have done, for too many people knew Jack Carstares, and would remember him. He saw that he must either live secluded, or – and the idea of becoming a highwayman occurred to him. A hermit’s existence he knew to be totally unsuited to a man of his temperament, but the free, adventurous spirit of the road appealed to him. The finding of his mare – J. the Third, as he laughingly dubbed her – decided the point; he forthwith took on himself the rôle of quixotic highwayman, roaming his beloved South Country, happier than he had been since he first left England; bit by bit regaining his youth and spirits, which last, not all the trouble he had been through had succeeded in extinguishing…
Clip-clop, clip-clop… With a jerk he came back to earth and reined-in his mare, the better to listen.
Along the road came the unmistakable sound of horses’ hoofs, and the scrunch-scrunch of swiftly-revolving wheels on the sandy surface.
But now the moon was right out, but owing to the fact that she was playing at hide-and-seek in and out of the clouds, it was fairly dark. Nevertheless, Jack fastened his mask over his face with quick, deft fingers, and pulled his hat well over his eyes. His ears told him that the vehicle, whatever it was, was coming towards him, so he drew into the side of the road, and taking a pistol from its holster, sat waiting, his eyes on the bend in the road.
Nearer and nearer came the horses, until the leader swung round the corner. Carstares saw that it was an ordinary travelling chariot, and levelled his pistol.
‘Halt, or I fire!’ He had to repeat the command before it was heard, and to ride out from the shadow of the hedge.
The chariot drew up and the coachman leaned over the side to see who it was bidding them to stop in so peremptory a manner.
‘What d’ye want? Who are ye? Is there aught amiss?’ he cried testily, and found himself staring at a long-nosed pistol.
‘Throw down your arms!’
‘I ain’t got none, blast ye!’
‘On your honour?’ Jack dismounted.
‘Ay! Wish I had, and I’d see ye damned afore I’d throw ’em down!’
At this moment the door of the coach opened and a gentleman leapt lightly down on to the road. He was big and loose-limbed as far as Carstares could see, and carried himself with an easy grace.
My lord presented his pistol.
‘Stand!’ he ordered gruffly.
The moon peeped coyly out from behind a cloud and shed her light upon the little group as if to see what all the fuss was about. The big man’s face in the shadow, but Jack’s pistol was not. Into its muzzle the gentleman gazed, one hand deep in the pocket of his heavy cloak, the other holding a small pistol.
‘Me very dear friend,’ he said in a rich brogue, ‘perhaps ye are not aware that that same pistol ye are pointing at me is unloaded? Don’t move; I have ye covered!’
Jack’s arm fell to his side, and the pistol he held clattered to the ground. But it was not surprise at Jim’s defection that caused him that violent start. It was something far more overwhelming. For the voice that proceeded from the tall gentleman belonged to one whom, six years ago, he had counted, next to Richard, his greatest friend on earth.
The man moved a little, and the moonlight shone full on his face, clearly outlining the large nose and good-humoured mouth, and above, the sleepy grey eyes. Miles! Miles O’Hara! For once Jack could find nothing amusing in the situation. It was too inconceivably hideous that he should meet his friend in this guise, and, further, be unable to reveal himself. A great longing to tear off his mask and to grasp Miles’ hand assailed him. With an effort he choked it down and listened to what O’Hara was saying:
‘If ye will be so kind as to give me your word of honour ye’ll not be afther trying to escape, I should be greatly obliged. But I tell ye first that if ye attempt to move, I shall shoot.’
Jack made a hopeless gesture with his hand. He felt dazed. The whole thing was ridiculous; how Miles would laugh afterwards. He went cold. There would be no ‘afterwards’… Miles would never know… He would be given over to the authorities, and Miles would never know that he had helped Jack Carstares to the scaffold… Perhaps, too, he would not mind so very much, now that he, Jack, was so disgraced. One could never tell; even if he risked everything now, and told his true identity, Miles might turn away from him in disgust, Miles, who could never stoop to a dishonourable act. Carstares felt that he would bear anything sooner than face this man’s scorn…
‘Never tell me ’tis a dumb man ye are, for I heard ye shout meself! Do ye give me your word of honour, or must I have ye bound?’
Carstares pulled himself together and set his teeth as he faced the inevitable. Escape was impossible; Miles would shoot, he felt sure, and then his disguise would be torn away and his friend would see that Jack Carstares was nothing but a common highwayman. Whatever happened, that must not be, for the sake of the name and Richard. So he quietly held out his hands.
‘Ay, I give you my word, but ye can bind me if ye choose.’ It was his highwayman voice: raucous, and totally unlike his own.
But O’Hara’s eyes were fixed on the slender white hands held out to him. In his usual haphazard fashion, Jack had quite forgotten to grime his hands. They were shapely and white, and carefully manicured.
Miles took either wrist in his large hands and turned them palm upwards in the moonlight.
‘Singularly white hands ye have, for one in your profession,’ he drawled, and tightened his hold as Jack tried to draw them away. ‘No, ye do not! Now be so good as to step within, me friend.’
Jack held back an instant.
‘My mare?’ he asked, and O’Ha
ra noted the anxiety in his voice.
‘Ye need not be after worrying about her,’ he said. ‘George!’
The footman sprang forward.
‘Yessir?’
‘Ye see that mare? I want ye to ride her home. Can ye do it?’
‘Yessir.’
‘I doubt it,’ murmured Jack.
So did Jenny. She refused point blank to allow this stranger to mount her. Her master had left her in one spot, and there she would stand until he chose to bid her move. In vain did the groom coax and coerce. She ran round him and seemed a transformed creature. She laid her ears flat and gnashed at the bit, ready to lash out furiously at the first opportunity.
Jack watched the man’s futile struggles with the ghost of a smile about his lips.
‘Jenny!’ he said quietly, and O’Hara looked round at him sharply, frowning. Unconsciously he had spoken naturally, and the voice was faintly familiar.
Jenny twitched the bridle from the perspiring groom and minced up to the prisoner.
‘Would ye allow me to have a hand free – sir?’ he asked. ‘Mebbe I can manage her.’
Without a word Miles released him, and he caught the bridle, murmuring something unintelligible to the now quiet animal.
O’Hara watched the beautiful hand stroke her muzzle reassuringly, and frowned again. No ordinary highwayman this.
‘Mount her now, will ’ee?’ Jack flung at the groom, and kept a warning hand on the rein as the man obeyed. With a final pat he turned away. ‘She’ll do now, sir.’
O’Hara nodded.
‘Ye’ve trained her well. Get in, please.’
Jack obeyed, and in a minute or two O’Hara jumped in after him, and the coach began to move forward.
For a while there was silence, Carstares keeping himself well under control. It was almost unbearable to think that after this brief drive he would never set eyes on his friend again, and he wanted so badly to turn and grasp that strong hand…
Miles turned in his seat and tried to see the masked face in the darkness.
‘Ye are a gentleman?’ he asked, going straight to the point.
Jack was prepared for this.
‘Me, sir? Lor’ no, sir!’
‘I do not believe ye. Don’t be forgettin’ I’ve seen your hands!’
‘Hands, sir?’ in innocent bewilderment.
‘Sure, ye don’t think I’d be believing ye an ordinary rogue, with hands like that?’
‘I don’t rightly understand ye, sir?’
‘Bejabbers then, ye’ll be understanding me to-morrow!’
‘To-morrow, sir?’
‘Certainly. Ye may as well tell me now as then. I’m not such a daft fool as I look, and I know a gentleman when I see one, even if he does growl at me as you do!’ he chuckled. ‘And I’d an odd feeling that I knew ye when ye spoke to the mare. I’d be loth to send a friend to the gallows.’
How well Jack knew that soft, persuasive voice. His hands clenched as he forced himself to answer.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen ye afore, sir.’
‘Maybe ye have not. We shall see to-morrow.’
‘What do ye mean by to-morrow, sir?’ ventured Carstares uneasily.
‘Sure, ye will have the honour of appearing before me, me friend.’
‘Before you, sir?’
‘Why not? I’m a Justice of the Peace, heaven save the mark!’
There was a breathless pause, and then at last the funny side of it struck Jack, and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The exquisite irony of it was almost too much for him. He, the Earl of Wyncham, was to be formally questioned by his friend St Miles O’Hara, J.P.!
‘What ails ye now, man? Ye find it amusing?’ asked Miles, surprised.
‘Oh, Lud, yes!’ gasped Jack, and collapsed into his corner.
Nine
Lady O’Hara Intervenes
Lady O’Hara found that her big, indolent husband was unusually silent next morning at breakfast. She had not been married long enough to consent to being practically ignored, no matter what the time of day, but she had been married quite long enough to know that before she took any direct action against him, she must first allow him to assuage his appetite. Accordingly she plied him with coffee and eggs, and with a satisfied and slightly motherly air, watched him attack a sirloin of beef. She was a pretty, bird-like little lady, with big eyes, and soft brown curls escaping from under a demure but very becoming mob cap. She measured five foot nothing in her stockings, and was sometimes referred to by her large husband as the Midget. Needless to say, this flippant appellation was in no wise encouraged by the lady.
She decided that Miles had come to the end of his repast, and, planting two dimpled elbows on the table, she rested her small chin in her hands and looked across at him with something of the air of an inquisitive kitten.
‘Miles!’
O’Hara leaned back in his chair and at the sight of her fresh prettiness his brow cleared and he smiled.
‘Well, asthore?’
A reproachful finger was raised and a pair of red lips pouted adorably.
‘Now, Miles, confess you’ve been vastly disagreeable this morning. Twice have I spoken to you and you’ve not troubled to answer me – nay, let me finish! And once you growled at me like a nasty bear! Yes, sir, you did!’
‘Did I now, Molly? ’Tis a surly brute you’re after thinking me, then? Troth, and I’ve been sore perplexed, me dear.’
Lady O’Hara got up and sidled round to him.
‘Have you so, Miles?’
He flung an arm about her and drew her on to his knee.
‘Sure, yes, Molly.’
‘Well then, Miles, had you not better tell me what it is that troubles you?’ she coaxed, laying a persuasive hand on his shoulder.
He smiled up at her.
‘’Tis just an inquisitive puss you are!’
Again the pout.
‘And ye should not pout your pretty lips at me if ye are not wanting me to kiss them!’ he added, suiting the action to the word.
‘But of course I do!’ cried my lady, returning the kiss with fervour. ‘Nay, Miles, tell me.’
‘I see ye mean to have the whole tale out of me, so –’
‘To be sure I do!’ she nodded.
He laid a warning finger on her lips and summoned up a mighty frown.
‘Now will ye be done interrupting, me lady?’
Not a whit abashed, she bit the finger, pushed it away, and folding her hands in her lap, cast her eyes meekly heavenwards.
With a twinkle in his own eyes the Irishman continued:
‘Well, alanna, ye must know that yesterday evening I was at Kilroy’s on a matter of business – and that reminds me, Molly, we had a hand or two at faro and the like before I left, and I had very distressing luck –’
On a sudden my lady’s demure air vanished.
‘Is that so, Miles? I make no doubt the stakes were prodigious high? Pray, how much have you lost?’
‘Whisht, darlin’, ’tis a mere thrifle, I assure you… Well, as I was saying, on me way home, what should happen but that we be held up by one of these highwaymen –’
My lady’s eyes widened in horror, and two little hands clutched at his coat.
‘Oh, Miles!’
His arm tightened round her waist.
‘Sure, asthore, I’m still alive to tell the tale, though ’tis not far I’ll be getting with you interrupting at every moment!’
‘But, Miles, how terrible! You might have been killed! And you never told me! ’Twas monstrous wicked of you, darling!’
‘Faith, Molly, how should I be telling you when ’twas yourself that was fast asleep? Now will you whisht?’
She nodded obediently, and dimpled.
‘Well, as I say, her
e was this man standing in the road, pointing his pistol at me. But will ye believe me, my love, when I tell you that that same pistol was as empty as – my own?’ Here he was shaken with laughter. ‘Lud, Molly, ’twas the drollest thing! I had me pistol in me hand, knowing ’twas unloaded, and wondering what the devil, saving your presence, was to be next, when the idea struck me that I should try to bluff me fine sir. So I cried out that his pistol was unloaded, and completely took him by surprise! Sure he hadn’t time to ask himself how the devil I should be knowing that! He dropped it on the road. Afther –’
‘Miles, you are becoming very Irish!’
‘Never say so, alanna. After that ’twas simple enough and me lord gave in. He held out his hands for me to bind – and here’s where ’tis puzzling, Molly – I saw that they were a prodigious sight too white and fine for an ordinary highwayman. So I taxed him with it –’
‘’Twas a gentleman in disguise! How splendid, Miles!’
‘Will ye hold your tongue, asthore, and not be spoiling me story on me?’
‘Oh, indeed I am sorry! I will be good!’
‘– and he started and seemed monstrous put out. What’s more, me dear, I heard him speak to his mare in an ordinary, gentleman’s voice. Molly, ye never saw the like of that same mare! The sweetest –’
‘Pray, never mind the mare, dear! I am all agog to hear about the gentleman-highwayman!’
‘Very well, me love, though ’twas a prodigious fine mare – When I heard him speak, it flashed across me brain that I knew him – no, ye don’t Molly!’ His hand was over her mouth as he spoke, and her eyes danced madly. ‘But I could not for the life of me think where I had heard that voice: ’twas but the one word I heard him speak, ye understand, and when I held his wrists I felt that ’twas no stranger. And yet ’tis impossible. When I got him within the coach –’
‘How imprudent! He might have –’
‘Whisht now! When I got him within the coach I tried to worm his identity out of him, but ’twas to no avail. But when I told him he would have to appear before me to-day, he went off into a fit of laughing, till I wondered what he was at, at all. And not another word could I get out of him after beyond “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir”. Still, I felt that ’twas a gentleman all the same, so I –’