CHAPTER XXVI
THE FLIGHT
Dorchester was in mourning. If there had been any hope that Mercy andJustice would go hand in hand, if there were a lingering belief thatJudge Jeffreys might not be so cruel as it was said, such hopes andbeliefs were quickly dispelled the moment that court with its scarlethangings was opened. Even Judge Marriott shrank a little as his learnedbrother bullied and laughed and swore at the prisoners, bidding themplead guilty as their only hope of escape, and then condemning them tothe gibbet with the ferocity of a drunken fiend. Pity crept into thehard faces of rough soldiers; the devilishness of this judge appalledeven them.
Since she had no maid to attend to her, Watson took Barbara her food;but, although he had received no instructions to discontinue his effortsto break her courage by detailing the horrors of the punishment whichwas being administered to rebels, he spoke of them no more. He pitiedthis fair woman, and was deeply impressed with her bravery. He was notwholly in his master's confidence, and believed that his prisoner was ingrave danger. He did not doubt that under certain conditions she mightbe saved, but she was not the woman from whom promises could be forced,and no one could know better than Watson did how ruthless his master wasin clearing obstacles out of his path, how cruel he was when he becamerevengeful. He knew that Gilbert Crosby had been allowed an interviewwith Barbara Lanison, but was ignorant of the purpose. He did not knowthat her escape had been arranged for, nor that he was to have a part init; and there were times when he weighed against each other his pity forthe woman and his fear of Lord Rosmore, finding it so difficult to tellwhich outbalanced the other that he went a step further and thought outplans for getting Mistress Lanison away from Dorchester. Not one of hisschemes could possibly have succeeded, but the trooper found asatisfaction in making them.
Barbara was speedily aware of the change in Watson's manner towards her,but she was not astonished. It was natural under the changed conditionsof her imprisonment. Every hour brought her freedom nearer, and the manknew this, she supposed, and treated her accordingly. Concerning herescape she did not question him, but she did ask him whether JudgeJeffreys had arrived, and if the Assizes had begun.
"Truth, madam, my duty keeps me in this house, and I know little of whatis happening in the town."
"Nor how the prisoners will be treated?" Barbara asked.
"Some say this and some say that," Watson replied evasively, "and I haveenough to do without thinking about the lawyer's work. When I hearlawyers talk I can't tell right from wrong. You have to be trained tounderstand the jargon."
So Barbara Lanison heard nothing of the mourning that was in the town,and had naught to do during the long waiting hours but think of thefuture and all that it meant to her. She was going with Gilbert Crosby,but he had promised that, once they were in safety, she should chooseher own way. Would she take his road? She loved him. The fact was soabsorbing that nothing else seemed to matter; yet she had many lonelyhours for thought, and it would have been strange indeed if none of thecircumstances of her life, of her position, had demanded herconsideration. To trust this lover with her future meant the snapping ofevery tie which bound her to the past; it must mean, in the world'seyes, bringing contempt upon her name. She faced the truth bravely. Itseemed an impossible thing that Barbara Lanison of Aylingford shouldmarry Galloping Hermit the highwayman. Such a thing might appeal as aromantic tale, but in the real world it meant disgrace. In another landlove might be hers, such love, perchance, as few women have ever had,but could it obliterate the past? Would she ever be able to forget thatthe man beside her, his face hidden behind the brown mask, had waited,pistol in hand, upon the high road, to rob passing travellers? All menwere not cowards, nor did they travel unprepared for danger; there musthave been times when the pistols had spoken in the silence of the night,when some hapless traveller had died upon the roadside. Surely there wasblood upon the hands of the man she loved! The thought bowed her head,and her hands clasped as if a spasm of sudden pain had seized her. Norepentance in the long years to come, not all the good that might bedone in them, could wipe out the past. And then she tried to findexcuses for that past, some reason that could justify the life he hadchosen. Some very definite reason there must have been. The artificialglamour of the life would not attract such a man as Gilbert Crosby. Hemust have imagined that justice was on his side, that there was somewrong to right, to make him defy all the laws of life and property andbecome a menace and a terror to his fellows.
Stories concerning Galloping Hermit had already passed into legend. Hisgreatest exploits always seemed to be against those who were cruel intheir dealings with others, who were unjust, or those whose lives werenotoriously bad; and there were many tales of courtesy, ofconsideration, of help, which were totally out of keeping with theordinary career of a highwayman. Barbara remembered his treatment ofJudge Marriott, remembered what he had said. He was, the world said it,quite apart from all other highwaymen; nevertheless, there was a priceupon his head, and the shadow of Tyburn lay dark across his path. Andyet he was Gilbert Crosby, the man she loved, the man who was blessedand nightly prayed for in many a humble home in this West Country. Whatdid the world hold for her that she should thrust such a man out of herlife? Which way was she to choose--that which led Lack in her uncle'sworld, with its Rosmores, its Branksomes, its Marriotts, its MistressDearmers, and its shams of love which was vice, and of life which wasmoral death; or that which led to quiet obscurity with the man sheloved, a sinner, but repentant, in whose worship she could trust, andwhose touch thrilled her very soul? Had she not almost promisedalready--to take her way with him?
The second day of her waiting had ended, darkness had come; to-morrownight she would go. At about this hour galloping horses would behurrying her away from Dorchester. Her thoughts were full of to-morrow,when the key turned quietly in the lock and Watson entered.
"Good news, madam. I only heard it an hour ago, and was never morepleased in my life."
"What news?"
"That you are to leave Dorchester, and with Mr. Crosby. Craving yourpardon, madam, I know something of your reason for coming to the West;and, for all I'm so rough a fellow, I'm fond o' lovers."
"Thank you," said Barbara, for the man was evidently pleased.
"And it comes sooner than you expected," said Watson. "The road is safe,and you are to go to-night."
"To-night!"
"Yes, now. Mr. Crosby will already be waiting on the road which leadsdown to the river. I am to see you safely there."
"But to-night? Are you sure there is no mistake?"
"Quite sure. We must go at once."
Barbara went quickly into the inner room, and in a few moments returnedclosely wrapped in an ample cloak.
"Draw the hood down over your head," said Watson. "The less left forprying eyes to see the better. You have the papers signed by JudgeMarriott?"
"Yes."
"One word, madam. No one will hinder us in this house. At the door intothe street turn to the right. I shall walk close behind you. Do nothurry. Do not stop if anyone should speak to you, and do not answerthem. Walk forward as if I had nothing to do with you."
"I understand."
"Pardon, but the hood does not quite hide your hair. Such hair mightbetray you if we should meet enemies to-night, for I never saw itslike."
Barbara readjusted the hood, and wondered if Gilbert Crosby admired herhair as this trooper did.
Watson opened the door, and they went down the passage together. Two menon the top of the stairs stood aside to let them pass; the street doorwas open, and Barbara turned to the right, walking alone, the soldierclose behind her.
It was a narrow street, and dark, only a light gleaming out here andthere from an unshuttered window; but there were many people abroad,whispering together, and Barbara heard sobbing, once coming through anopen window, once from a woman who passed her quickly.
"Twenty-nine," she heard one man say in hoarse tones, "the first fruitsof this bloody vengeance."
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p; "Curse him! May hell reward him," said his companion.
Barbara shuddered as she passed on, although she did not realise whatthe words meant.
Then a man stood in her path for a moment.
"A fine night, mistress," he cried. "Twenty-nine of them by theroadside, the chains creaking and the moonlight touching the whitefaces. Never such a thing in Dorchester before. A damned judge, but whata show!" And then, with a laugh, he ran past her. The voice and thelaughter were those of a maniac.
Barbara knew now. Judge Jeffreys had commenced his work. Must she passthose hideous signs of it?
"Turn to the right," said Watson behind her.
She turned, as she was told, into a quieter street, and hurried alittle. To be free from this horrible place, it was her only thought.Before she had gone far the houses began to straggle; she was at theedge of the town. The moon was just rising, and by its misty lightBarbara saw that the open country was before her. A little further on,the road began to dip, and there, in the shadow of a belt of trees,stood a carriage. There were no gibbets with their twenty-nine victimsalong this road; that sight she was spared.
Watson came to a standstill.
"Mr. Crosby waits, madam. Good fortune go with you."
"Thank you," she said, and pressed some coins into the man's hand. "Someday, perhaps, I may thank you better."
The soldier saluted as she went forward, watching her, but not followingher.
The post-boy was already in his place, and it was evident that thehorses were impatient to be gone. A groom stood beside the carriage.
"Mr. Crosby is here, madam," the man said as he opened the door. "Thereis no time to lose."
Barbara entered the coach quickly, and literally fell into the arms ofthe man who was awaiting her, for as the door was shut the horsesbounded forward.
"Gilbert!"
The hood had fallen from her fair hair as she turned and leaned towardshim, and at this moment there was no doubt in her mind which way shewould choose. Then with a cry she shrank back into the corner of thecoach. It was not Gilbert Crosby beside her, but Lord Rosmore!