CHAPTER III.
TELLS HOW I REACH BRISTOL, AND IN WHAT STRANGE GUISE I GO TO MEET MY FRIEND.
At length, then, I was fairly started on my way to Bristol. For mydirection over this first stage of my journey I had made inquiries ofElmscott, and I rode westwards towards the village of Knightsbridge,thanking Providence most heartily for that the city still slept. Forwhat with my disordered dress, my oak cudgel, and the weedy screwwhich I bestrode--I scruple to dignify her with the name of mare, forI have owned mares since which I loved, and would not willinglyaffront them--I could not hope to pass unnoticed were any one abroad,and, indeed, should esteem myself well-used to be counted no worsethan a mountebank. Thus I crossed Hounslow Heath and reached Brentfordwithout misadventure. There I joyfully parted with my Rosinante, andhiring a horse, rode post. The way, however, was ill-suited for speedytravelling, and my hope of seeing Julian that night dwindled with myshadow as the sun rose higher and higher behind my shoulders. Rutsdeep and broad as new furrows trenched the road, and here and theresome slough would make a wide miry gap, wherein my horse sank over thefetlocks. Some blame, moreover, must attach to me, for I chose a falseturn at the hamlet of Colnbrook, and journeyed ten miles clean from mypath to Datchet; so that in the end night found me blundering on theedge of Wickham Heath, some sixty-one miles from London. I had changedhorses at Newbury, and I determined to press on at least so far asHungerford. But I had not counted with myself. I was indeedoverwrought with want of sleep, and the last few stages I had riddenwith dulled senses in a lethargy of fatigue. At what point exactly Iwandered from the road I could not tell. But the darkness had closedin before I began to notice a welcome ease and restfulness in themotion of the gallop. I was wondering idly at the change, when of asudden my horse pops his foot into a hole. The reins were hangingloose on his neck; I myself was rocking in the saddle, so that I shotclean over his shoulder, turned a somersault in mid-air, and came downflat on my back in the centre of the Heath. For a while I lay therewithout an effort or desire to move. I felt as if Mother Earth hadtaken pity on my weariness, and had thus unceremoniously put me tobed. The trample of hoofs, however, somewhat too close to my legs,roused me to wakefulness, and I started up and prepared to remount. Tomy dismay I found that my horse was badly lamed; he could barely sethis foreleg to the ground. The accident was the climax of mymisfortunes. I looked eagerly about me. The night was moonless, butvery clear and soft with the light of the stars. I could see thecommon stretching away on every side empty and desolate; here acluster of trees, there a patch of bushes, but never a house, neverthe kindly twinkle of a lamp, never a sign of a living thing. What itbehoved me to do, I could not come at, think as hard as I might. Butwhatever that might have been, what I did, alas! was far different.For I plumped myself down on the grass and cried like a child. Itseemed to me that God's hand was indeed turned against my friend andhis deliverance.
But somehow into the midst of my lament there slipped a remembrance ofJack Larke. On the instant his face took shape and life before me,shining out as it were from a frame of darkness. I saw an honest scornkindle in his eyes, and his lips shot "woman" at me. The visionarypicture of him braced me like the cut of a whip. At all events, Ithought, I would make a pretence of manhood, and I ceased from myblubbering, and laying hold of the horse by the bridle, led himforward over the Heath.
I kept a sharp watch about me as I walked, but it must have been afull two hours afterwards when I caught a glimpse of a light far awayon my left hand, glimmering in a little thicket upon a swell of theturf. At first I was minded to reckon it a star, for the Heath at thatpoint was ridged up against the sky. But it shone with a beam too warmand homely to match the silver radiance of the planets. I turnedjoyfully in its direction, and quickening my pace, came at length tothe back of a house. The light shone from a window on the ground floorfacing me. I looked into it over a little paling, and saw that it wasfurnished as a kitchen. Plates and pewter-pots gleamed orderly uponthe shelves, and a row of noble hams hung from the rafters.
I hurried round the side of the house and found myself, to my greatsatisfaction, on a bank which overlooked the road. I scrambled downthe side of it and knocked loudly at the door. It was opened by anelderly man, who stared at me in some surprise.
"You travel late, young sir," said he, holding the door ajar.
"I have need to," I replied. "I should have been in Bristol long erethis."
"'Tis strange," he went on, eyeing me a thought suspiciously. "Icaught no sound of your horse's hoofs upon the road."
"'Twould have been stranger if you had," said I. "For I missed my waysoon after sundown, and have been wandering since on the Heath. I sawthe light of your house some half an hour agone over yonder," and Ipointed in the direction whence I had come.
"Then you are main lucky, sir," he returned, but in a more civil tone."This is the 'Half-way House,' and it has no neighbours. In anotherhour we should have gone to bed--for we have no guests to-night--andyou might have wandered until dawn."
With that he set the door back against the wall, and stood aside forme to pass.
"You must pardon my surliness," he said. "But few honest travellerscross Wickham Heath by dark, and at first I mistook you. I have neverheld truck with the gentry of the road, though, indeed, my pocketssuffer for the ease of my conscience. However, if you will stepwithin, my wife will get you supper while I lead your horse to thestables."
"The beast is lame," said I, "and I would fain continue my wayto-night. Have you a horse for hire?"
"Nay, sir," said he, shaking his head. "I have but one horse herebesides your own, and that is not mine."
"I need it only for a day," I urged eagerly; "for less than a day. Icould reach Bristol in the morning, and would send it you backforthwith."
I plunged my hand into my fob, and pulled out a handful of money as Ispoke.
"It is no use," he declared. "The horse is not mine. 'Twas left herefor a purpose, and I may not part with it."
"It would be with you again to-morrow," I repeated.
"It may be needed in the meanwhile," said he. "It may be needed in anhour. I know not."
I let the coins run from my right hand into the palm of my left, sothat they fell clinking one on the top of the other. For a second hestood undecided; then he spoke in a low voice like a man arguing withhimself.
"I will not do it. The horse was left with me in trust--in trust.Moreover, I was well paid for the trust." And he turned to me.
"Put up your money, sir," said he stubbornly. "You should think shameto tempt poor folk. You will get no horse 'twixt here and Hungerford."
I slipped the money back into my pocket while he moved away with thehorse. It limped worse than ever, and he stopped and picked up itsforeleg.
"It is no more than a strain, I think," he called out. "The wife shallmake a poultice for it to-night, and you can start betimes in themorning."
It was a poor consolation, but the only one. So I made the best of it,and, taking my supper in the kitchen, went forthwith to bed. I wasindeed so spent and tired that I fell asleep in the corner by the firewhile my ham was being fried, and after it, was almost carriedupstairs in the arms of my landlord. I had not lain in a bed since Ileft Leyden, and few sights, I think, have ever affected me withso pleasant a sense of rest and comfort as that of the littleinn-chamber, with its white dimity curtains and lavender-scentedsheets. I have, in truth, always loved the scent of lavender since.
The next morning I was early afoot, and, despatching a hastybreakfast, made my way to the stables. The innkeeper had preceded mein order to have all ready for my start; but he stood in the yard withthe horse unsaddled.
"'Tis no use, sir," he said. "You must e'en walk to Hungerford."
I had but to see the horse take one step to realise the truth of hiswords, for it limped yet worse than the evening before. The foot,moreover, was exceeding hot and inflamed.
"Take it back," said I. "The poor b
east must bide here till I return."
I followed him into the stable, and inquired of the road.
"You go straight," he said, "till you come to Barton Court, oppositethe village of Kintbury--" when of a sudden I stopped him. There werebut two stalls in the building, and I had just caught a glimpse of thehorse which was tied up in the second. It was of a light chestnut incolour, with white stockings, and a fleck of white in its coat at thejoint of the hip. The patch was like a star in shape, and veryunusual.
"Why, this is Sir Julian Harnwood's horse," I cried, leaping towardsit--"his favourite horse!"
"Yes," he said, looking at me with some surprise, "that was thename--Sir Julian Harnwood. 'Tis the horse I told you of last night."
And in a flash the truth came upon me.
"It waits for me," I said. "Quick, man, saddle it! Sir Julian's lifehangs upon your speed."
But he planted himself sturdily before me.
"Not so fast, young master," he said. "That trick will not serve yourturn. 'Tis Sir Julian's horse, sure enough, and it waits its rider,sure enough; but that you are he, I must have some better warrant thanyour word."
"My name may prove it," I replied. "It is Buckler--Morrice Buckler.Sir Julian's servant came to me in Holland."
"Buckler!" the man repeated, as though he heard it for the first time."Morrice Buckler! Yes, sir, that may be your name. I have nothingagainst it beyond that it is unfamiliar in these parts. But a strangename is a poor thing to persuade a man to forego his trust."
I looked at the man. Though elderly and somewhat bent, he was of alarge frame, and the sinews stood out in knots upon his bared arms.Plainly I was no match for him if it came to a struggle; and asickening feeling of impotence and futility surged up within me. Atevery turn of the road destiny had built up its barrier. I understoodthat the clue to the matter lay hidden in that untold message whichhad been vainly conveyed to Leyden; that Swasfield had some pass-word,some token to impart whereby I might make myself known along the road.
"The horse waits for me," I cried, my voice rising as I beseeched him."In very truth it waits for me. Doubtless I should have some proof ofthat. But the man that bid me come fell in a swoon or ever he couldhand it me."
The innkeeper smiled, and sat him down on a corn-bin. Indeed, theexplanation sounded weak enough to me, who was witness of its truth. Ishould hardly have credited it from another's lips.
"Oh, can't you see," I entreated, in an extremity of despair, "can'tyou feel that I am telling you God's truth?"
"No, master," he answered slowly, shaking his head, "I feel nought ofthat sort."
His words and stolid bumpkin air threw me into a frenzy of rage.
"Then," cried I, "may the devil's curse light on you and yours! Thathorse was left with you in trust. You have dinned the word into myears; there's no gainsaying it. And I claim the fulfilment of yourtrust. Understand, fellow!" I went on, shaking my hand at him, for Isaw his mouth open and his whole face broaden out into a laugh. "It'snot a horse you are stealing; it is a life--a man's innocent life!"
Thereupon he broke in upon my passion with a great gust of mirth thatshook him from head to foot.
"Lord, master!" said he, "that be mighty fine play-acting. I don'tknow that I ever saw better in Newberry Market"--and he slapped agreat fist upon his thigh. "No, I'll be danged if I did. Go on! go on!Lord, I could sit here and laugh till dinner." And he thrust his feetforward, plunged his hands in his breeches pockets, and rolled backagainst the wall. I watched him in an utter vacancy of mind. For hisstupid laughter had quenched me like a pailful of cold water. Isearched for some device by which I might outwit his stubbornness. Notthe smallest seed of a plan could I discover. I sent my thoughts backto the morning of the fourteenth, and cudgelled my memory in the hopethat Swasfield might have dropped some hint which had passedunnoticed. But he had said so little, and I remembered his every word.Then in a twinkling I recollected the charms which I had found uponhis person. Perchance one of them was the needed token. No idea wastoo extravagant for me to grasp at it. What had I done with them? Ithought. I clapped my hand into the pocket of my coat, and my fingersclosed, not on the charms, but on the barrel of the pistol which Larkehad handed to me at the moment of my setting out. In an instant mymind was made up. I must have that horse, cost what it might. 'Twasuseless to argue with my landlord. Money I had made trial of the nightbefore. And here were the minutes running by, and each one of them, itmight be, a drop of Julian's blood!
I walked quickly to the door, at once to disengage the pistol secretlyand to hide any change in my countenance. But the cock must needscatch in the flap of my pocket as I drew the weapon out. I heard astartled cry behind me, a rattle of the corn-bin, and a clatter ofheavy shoes on the ground. I took one spring out of the stable,turned, and levelled the barrel through the doorway. For a moment westood watching one another, he crouched for a leap, I covering hiseyes with the pistol.
"Saddle that horse," I commanded, "and bring it out into the road!"
It was his turn now to argue and entreat, but I had no taste at themoment for "play-acting."
"Be quick, man!" I said. "You have wasted time enough. Be quick, elseI'll splatter your head against the wall!"
The fellow rose erect and did as I bid, while I stood in the doorwayand railed at him. For, alas! I was never over-generous by nature.
"Hurry, you potatoe!" I exclaimed. Why that word above all other andmore definite terms of abuse should have pained him I know not. But soit was; "Potatoe" grieved him immeasurably, and noting that, Irepeated it more often, I fear me, than fitted my dignity. At lengththe horse was saddled.
"Lead it out!" I said, and walked backwards to the road with my pistolstill levelled.
He followed me with the horse, and I bade him go back into the stableand close the door. Then I put up my pistol, sprang into the saddle,and started at a gallop past the inn. I had ridden little more than ahundred yards when I chanced to look back. My host was standing in thecentre of the way, his legs firmly apart, and a huge blunderbuss athis shoulder. I flung my body forward on the neck of the horse, and ashower of slugs whistled through the air above my head. I felt for mypistol to return the compliment, but 'twould have been mere waste ofthe shot; I should never have hit him. So I just curved my hand aboutmy mouth and bawled "Potatoe" at the top of my voice. It could havedone no less hurt than his slugs.
The horse, fresh from its long confinement, answered gladly to my callupon its speed, and settled into a steady gallop. But for all that,though I pressed on quickly through Marlborough and Chippenham, thenearer I came to Bristol the more lively did my anxieties become. Ibegan to ponder with an increasing apprehension on the business whichJulian might have in store for me. The urgency of his need had beenproved yet more clearly that morning. The horse which I bestrode was afresh and convincing evidence; and I could not but believe thatsimilar relays were waiting behind me the whole length of the roadfrom London.
At the same time, as Elmscott had urged, I could bring him no solaceof help in the matter of his trial. It would need greater authoritythan mine to rescue him from Jeffries' clutches. I realised that theremust be some secret trouble at the back, and the more earnestly Igroped after a hint of its nature, the more dark and awesome theriddle grew.
For, to my lasting shame I own it, Elmscott's forebodings recurred tome with the mystical force of a prophecy:
"There is God's hand in all this. He doth not mean you should go."
The warning seemed traced in black letters on the air before me; fearwhispered it at my heart, and the very hoofs of the horse beat it outin a ringing menace from the ground.
At last, when I was well-nigh in the grips of a panic, over the browof a hill I saw a cluster of church-spires traced like needles againstthe sun, and in a sudden impulse to outstrip my cowardice I drove myheels into my horse's flanks, and an hour later rode through Lawford'sGate into Bristol town. I inquired of the first person I met where theCourt was sitting. At the Guildhall, he told me, an
d pointed out theway. A clock struck four as he spoke, and I hurriedly thanked him andhastened on.
About the Guildhall a great rabble of people swung and pressed, and Ireined up on the farther side of the street, but as nearly opposite tothe entrance as I could force my way. In front of the building stood acarriage very magnificently equipped, with four horses, and footmen inpowdered wigs and glistening liveries.
From such converse as went on about me, I sought to learn whatprisoners had been tried that day. But so great was the confusion ofvoices, curses, lamentations, and rejoicings being mixed and blendedin a common uproar, that I could gather no knowledge that wasparticular to my purpose. Then from the shadow of the vestibule shot agleam of scarlet and white, and at once a deep hush fell upon thecrowd. Preceded by his officers, my lord Jeffries stepped out to hiscarriage, a man of a royal mien, with wonderfully dark and piercingeyes, though the beauty of his face was much marred by spots andblotches, and an evil smile that played incessantly about his lips. Heseemed in truth in high good-humour, and laughed boisterously withthose that attended him; and bethinking me of his savage cruelty, andthe unholy lustfulness wherewith he was wont to indulge it, my heartsank in fear for Julian.
The departure of his carriage seemed to lift a weight from everytongue, and the clamour recommenced. I cast about for some one toapproach, when I beheld a little man with a face as wrinkled andwithered as a dry pippin, pressing through the throng in my direction.I thought at first that he intended speech with me, for he looked meover with some care. But he came straight on to the horse's head, andwithout pausing walked briskly along its side to my right hand anddisappeared behind me. A minute after I heard the noise of a disputeon my left. There was my little friend again. He had turned on hissteps, and moving in the contrary direction had come up with me oncemore. In the hurry of his movements he had knocked up against apasser-by, and the pair straightway fell loudly to argument, each oneaccusing the other of clumsiness. I turned in my saddle to watch thequarrel, and immediately the little man, with profuse apologies, tookthe blame upon himself and continued his way. I followed him with myeyes. He had proceeded but ten yards when his pace began to slacken,then he dropped into a saunter, and finally stood still in a musingattitude with his eyes on the ground, as though he was debating somenewly-remembered question. Of a sudden he raised his head, shot onequick glance towards me, and resumed his walk. The street was thinningrapidly, and I was able to pursue him without difficulty. For half amile we went on, keeping the same distance between us, when he sharplyturned a corner and dived into a narrow side-street. I checked myhorse, thinking that I had mistaken his look; for he had never so muchas turned round since. But the next minute he reappeared, and stoodloitering in his former attitude of reflection. There could be nodoubt of the man's intention, and I gathered up the reins again andfollowed him. This side-street was narrow and exceeding dark, for thestoreys of the houses on each side projected one above the other untilthe gables nearly met at the top. The little man was waiting for meabout twenty yards from the entrance, in an angle of the wall.
"It is Mr. Buckler?" he asked shortly.
"Yes," I answered. "What news of Julian?"
"You have but just arrived?"
"The clock struck four as I rode through Law-ford's Gate. What news ofJulian?"
He gave a sharp, sneering laugh.
"Ay, ay," he said. "No one so flustered as your loiterer." And hestepped out from the shadow of the house. "Sir Julian?" he criedhastily. "Sir Julian will be hanged at noon to-morrow."
I swayed in the saddle; the houses spun round me. I felt the man's armcatch at and steady me.
"It is my fault?" I whispered.
"No, lad!" he returned, with a new touch of kindliness in his tone."Nothing could have saved him. I should know; I am his attorney. MaybeI spoke too harshly, but this last week he has been eating his heartout for the sight of you, and your tardiness plagued me. There, there!Lay hold of your pluck! It is a man your friend needs, not a weakgirl."
There was a pitying contempt in the tone of these last words whichstung me inexpressibly. I sat up erect, and said, with such firmnessas I could force into my voice:
"Where does Sir Julian lie?"
"In the Bridewell to-night. But you must not go there in this plight,"he added quickly, for I was already turning the horse. "You would ruinall."
He glanced sharply up and down the lane, and went on:
"We have been together over-long as it is." Then he tapped with hisfoot for a moment on the pavement. "I have it," said he. "Go to the'Thatched House Tavern,' in Lime Kiln Lane. I will seek you there.Wait for me; and, mind this, let no one else have talk with you! Tellthe people of the house I sent you--Mr. Joseph Vincott. It willcommend you to their care."
With that he turned on his heel, ran up to the opening of the street,and after a cautious look this side and that, strolled carelesslyaway. I gave him a few moments' grace, and then hurried with alldespatch to the tavern, asking my direction as I went. There I ordereda private room, and planting myself at the window, waited impatientlyfor Vincott's coming.
It must have been an hour afterwards that I saw him turn into the lanefrom a passage almost opposite to where I stood. I expected him tocross the road, but he cast not so much as a glance towards the inn,and walked slowly past on the further side. I flung up the window,thinking that he had forgotten his errand, and leaned out to call him.But or ever I could speak he banged his stick angrily on the ground,raised it with a quick jerk and pointed twice over his shoulder behindhim. The movement was full of significance, and I drew back into theshadow of the curtain. Mr. Vincott mounted the steps of a house,knocked at the door, and was admitted. No sooner had he entered than aman stepped out from the passage. He was of a large, heavy build, andyet, as I surmised from the litheness of his walk, very close-knit.His face was swarthy and bronzed, and he wore ear-rings in his ears. Ishould have taken him for an English sailor but that there was asingular compactness in his bearing, and his gait was that of a manperfectly balanced. For awhile he stood loitering at the entrance tothe passage, and then noticing the inn, crossed quickly over andpassed through the door beneath me.
My senses were now strained into activity, and I watched with aquivering eagerness for the end of this strange game of hide-and-seek.I had not long to wait. The little lawyer came down the steps, stoppedat the bottom, took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation, andblowing his nose with unnecessary noise and vehemence, walked down thestreet. He had nearly reached the end of it before his pursuer loungedout of the inn and strolled in the same direction. The moment Vincottturned the corner, however, he lengthened his stride; I saw him pauseat the last house and peep round the angle, draw back for a fewseconds, and then follow stealthily on the trail.
The incident reawakened all my perplexed conjectures as to thebusiness on which I was engaged. Why should the fact of my arrival inthe town be so studiously concealed? Or again, what reason could therebe for any one to suspect or fear it? The questions circled through mymind in an endless repetition. There was but one man who could answerthem, and he lay helpless in his cell, adding to the torture of hislast hours the belief that his friend had played him false. Thethought stung me like Ino's gadfly. I paced up and down the room withmy eyes ever on the street for Vincott's return. My heart rose on eachsound of a nearing step, only to sink giddily with its dyingreverberation. The daylight fell, a fog rolled up from the river inbillows of white smoke, and still Vincott did not come. The very clockby the chimney seemed to tick off the seconds faster and faster untilI began to fancy that the sounds would catch one another and run by inone continuous note. At last I heard a quick pattering noise of feeton the pavement below, and Vincott dashed up the stairs and burst intothe room.
"I have shaken the rascal off," he gasped, falling into a chair; "butcurse me if it's lawyer's work. We live too sedentary a life to godragging herrings across a scent with any profit to our bodies."
"Then we can go," said I, taking my hat
. But he struck it from myhands with his cane.
"And you!" he blazed out at me. "You must poke your stupid yellow headout of the window as if you wanted all Bristol to notice it! Sitdown!"
"Mr. Vincott!" I exclaimed angrily.
"Mr. Buckler!" he returned, mimicking my tone, and pulling a grimace.There was indeed no dignity about the man. "It may not have escapedyour perceptions that I have some desire to conceal your visit to thistown. Would it be too much to ask you to believe that there arereasons for that desire?"
He spoke with a mocking politeness, and waited for me to answer him.
"I suppose there are," I replied; "but I am in the dark as to theirnature."
"The chief of them," said he, "is your own security."
"I will risk that," said I, stooping for my hat. "'Tis not worth thesuffering which it costs Julian."
"Dear, dear!" he gibed. "Tis strange that so much heart should tarryso long. Let me see! It must be full eight days since Swasfield cameto you at Leyden." And he struck my hat once more out of my grasp.
"Mr. Vincott," said I--and my voice trembled as I spoke--"if you havea mind to quarrel with me, I will endeavour to gratify you at a moreseasonable time. But I cannot wrangle over the body of my friend. Icame hither with all the speed that God vouchsafed me." And I informedhim of my journey, and the hindrances which had beset my path.
"Well, well," he said, when I had done, "I perceive that my thoughtshave done you some injustice. And, after all, I am not sure but whatyour late coming is for the best. It has caused your friend no smallanxiety, I admit. But against that we may set a gain of greatersecrecy."
He picked up my hat from the floor, and placed it on the table.
"So," he continued, "you will pardon my roughness, but I have formedsome affection for Sir Julian. 'Tis an unbusinesslike quality, and Itrust to be well ashamed of it in a week's time. At the present,however, it angered me against you." He held out his hand with agenuine cordiality, and we made our peace.
"Now," said he, "the gist of the matter is this. It is all-essentialthat you be not observed and marked as a visitor to Sir Julian.Therefore 'twere best to wait until it is quite dark; and meanwhile wemust think of some disguise."
"A disguise?" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said he. "You must have noticed from that window that there areothers awake beside ourselves."
I stood silent for a moment, reluctantly considering a plan whichhad just flashed into my head. Vincott drew a flint and steel fromhis pocket, and lighted the candles--for the dusk was filling theroom--and drew the curtains close. All at once the dizzy faintnesswhich had come over me in the side-street near the Guildhall returned,and set the room spinning about me. I clutched at a chair to savemyself from falling. Vincott snatched up a candle, and looked shrewdlyinto my face.
"When did you dine?" he asked.
"At breakfast-time," said I.
He opened the door, and rang a bell which stood on a side-table."Lucy!" he bawled over the bannisters.
A great buxom wench with a cheery face answered the summons, and hebade her cook what meats they had with all celerity.
"Meantime," said he, "we will while away the interval over a posset ofBristol milk. You have never tasted that, Mr. Buckler? I would that Icould say the same. I envy you the pleasure of your first acquaintancewith its merit."
The "milk," as he termed it, was a strong brewage of Spanish wine,singularly luxurious and palatable. Mr. Vincott held up his glass tothe light, and the liquid sparkled like a clear ruby.
"'Tis a generous drink," he said. "It gives nimbleness to the body,wealth to the blood, and lightness to the heart. The true Prometheanfire!" And he drained the glass, and smacked his lips.
"That is a fine strapping wench," said I. "She must be of my height,or thereabouts."
The lawyer cocked his head at me. "Ah!" said he drily, "a wonderfulthing is Bristol milk."
But I was thinking of something totally different.
The girl fetched in a stew of beef, steaming hot, and we sat down toit, though indeed I had little inclination for the meal.
"Now, Mr. Vincott," said I, "I will pray you, while we are eating, tohelp me to the history of Julian's calamities." I think that my voicebroke somewhat on the word, for he laid his hand gently upon my arm."I know nothing of it myself beyond what you have told me, and arumour that came to me in London."
The lawyer sat silent for a time, drumming with his fingers on thetable.
"Your story," I urged, "will save much valuable time when I visitJulian."
"I was thinking," he replied, "how much I should tell you. You see,merely the facts are known to me. Of what lies underneath them--I meanthe motives and passions which have ordered their sequence--I may havesurmised something" (here his eyes twinkled cunningly), "but I have nocertitude. That part of the business concerns you, not me. 'Twerebest, then, that I show you no more than the plain face of thematter."
He pushed away his plate, leaned both arms upon the table, and, with acertain wariness in his manner, told me the following tale:
"In the spring of the year, Miss Enid Marston fell sick at Court. Theair of St. James's is hardly the best tonic for invalids, and she camewith her uncle and guardian to the family house at Bristol to recruit.Sir Julian Harnwood must, of course, follow her; and, in order that hemay enjoy her company without encroaching upon her hospitality, hehires him a house in the suburbs, upon Brandon Hill. One night, duringthe second week of August, came two fugitives from Sedgemoor to hisdoor. Sir Julian had some knowledge of the men, and the story of theirsufferings so worked upon his pity that he promised to shelter themuntil such time as he could discover means of conveying them out ofthe country. To that end he hid them in one of his cellars, broughttheir food with his own hands, and generally used such precautions ashe thought must avert suspicion. But on the morning of the 10thSeptember he was arrested, his house searched, and the rebelsdiscovered. The rest you know. Sir Julian was tried this afternoonwith the two fugitives, and pays the penalty to-morrow. 'Tis the onlyresult that could have been looked for. His best friends despairedfrom the outset--even Miss Marston."
"I had not thought of her," I broke in. "Poor girl!"
"Poor girl!" he repeated, gazing intently at the ceiling. "She wasindeed so put back in her health, that her physician advised herinstant removal to a less afflicting neighbourhood."
As he ended, he glanced sideways at me from under half-closed lids;but I chanced to be watching him, and our eyes crossed. It seemed tome that he coloured slightly, and sent his gaze travelling idly aboutthe room, anywhere, in short, but in my direction, the while he hummedthe refrain of a song.
"You mean she has deserted Julian?" I exclaimed.
"I have no recollection that I suggested that, or indeed anythingwhatsoever," he returned blandly. "As I mentioned to you before, Imerely relate the facts."
"There is one fact," said I, after a moment's thought, "on which youhave not touched."
"There are two," he replied; "but specify if you please. I willsatisfy you to the limit of my powers."
"The part which I shall play in this business."
He wagged his head sorrowfully at me.
"I perceive," says he, "with great regret that they teach you no logicat the University of Leyden. You are speaking, not of a fact, but ofan hypothesis. The part which you will play, indeed! You ask me toread the future, and I am not qualified for the task."
It became plain to me that I should win no profit out of myquestioning; there could be but one result to a quibbling match withan attorney; so I bade him roughly tell me what he would.
"There are two facts," he resumed, "which are perhaps of interest. ButI would premise that they are in no way connected. I would have youbear that in mind, Mr. Buckler. The first is this: it has never beendisclosed whence the information came which led to the discovery ofthe fugitives. Sir Julian, as I told you, used great precautions. Hisloyalty, moreover, had never been suspected up till then."
"From his servants, most like," I interposed.
"Most like!" he sneered. "The remark does scanty credit to yourperspicacity, and hardly flatters me. I examined them with some care,and satisfied myself on the score of their devotion to their master.'Tis doubtful even whether they were aware of Sir Julian's folly. 'Tismost certain that they never betrayed him. Besides, my lord Jeffriesrated them all most unmercifully this afternoon. He would not havedone that had they helped the prosecution. No, the secret must haveleaked out if the information had come from them."
"And you could gather no clue?"
"Say, rather, that I did gather no clue. For my client forbad me topursue my inquiries. 'Tis strange that, eh? 'Tis passing strange. Itpoints, I think, beyond the servants."
"Then Julian himself must know," I cried.
"Tis a simple thought," said he. "If you will pardon the hint, youdiscover what is obvious with a singular freshness."
I understood that I had brought the rejoinder upon myself by myinterruption, and so digested it in silence.
"The second point," he continued, "is interesting as a----" he madethe slightest possible pause--"a coincidence. Sir Julian Harnwood wasarrested at six o'clock in the morning, not in his house, butsomething like a mile away, on the King's down. 'Tis a quaint fancyfor a gentleman to take it into his head to stroll about the King'sdown in the rain at six o'clock of the morning; almost as quaint asfor an officer to go thither at that hour to search for him."
An idea sprang through my mind, and was up to the tip of my tongue.But I remembered the fate of my previous suggestions, and checked iton the verge of utterance.
"You were about to proffer a remark," said Mr. Vincott very politely.
"No!" said I, in a tone of indifference, and he smiled.
Then his manner changed, and he began to speak quickly, rapping withhis fist upon the table as though to drive home his words.
"The truth of the matter is, Mr. Buckler, Sir Julian went out thatmorning to fight a duel, and his antagonist was Count Lukstein, whocame over to England six months ago in the train of the EmperorLeopold's ambassador. Ah! you know him!"
"No!" I replied. "I know of him from Julian."
"They were friends, it appears."
"Julian made the Count's acquaintance some while ago in Paris, andhas, I believe, visited his home in the Tyrol."
"However that may be, they quarrelled in Bristol. Count Lukstein camedown from London to take the waters at the Hotwell, by St. Vincent'srock, and has resided there for the last three months. 'Twas atrumpery dispute, but nought would content Sir Julian but that theymust settle it with swords. He was on the way to the trysting-placewhen he was taken."
And with a final rap on the table, Mr. Vincott leaned back in hischair, and froze again to a cold deliberation.
"That," said he, "is the second fact I have to bring to your notice."
"And the first," I cried, pressing the point on him, "the first isthat no one knows who gave the information!"
"I observed, I believe," he replied, returning my gaze with a mildrebuke, "that between those two facts there is no connection."
At the time it seemed to me that he was bent on fobbing me off. But Ihave since thought that he was answering after his fashion theinnuendo which my words wrapped up. He took out his snuff-box as hespoke, and inhaled a great pinch. The action suddenly recalled to methe man[oe]uvres which I had watched from the window.
"It was a foreigner," I said, starting up in my excitement, "it was aforeigner who dogged your steps this afternoon."
"I like the ornaments of the ceiling," says he (for thither had hiseyes returned); and, as though he were continuing the sentence: "I maytell you, Mr. Buckler, that Count Lukstein left Bristol eleven daysago."
"Did he take his servants with him?" I asked; and then, a new thoughtstriking me: "Eleven days ago! That is, Mr. Vincott, the day afterJulian's arrest."
"Mr. Buckler," says he, "you appear to me to lack discretion."
"I only re-state your facts," I answered, with some heat.
"The facts themselves are perhaps a trifle indiscreet," he admitted."I shall certainly have that ceiling copied in my own house." And withthat he rose from his chair. "'Tis close on eight by the clock, and wemust hit upon some disguise. But, Lord! how it is to be contrived withthat canary poll of yours I know not, unless you shave your head andwear my peruke."
"I have a better device than that," said I.
"Well, man, out with it!"
For I spoke with hesitation, fearing his irony.
"You can trust the people of the inn?"
He nodded his head.
"Else I should not have sent you hither. They are bound to me ingratitude. I saved them last year from some pother with the Excise."
"And Lucy--what of her?"
"She is the landlord's daughter."
Thus assured, I delivered to him my plan--that I would mask my personbeneath one of Lucy's gowns.
Vincott leapt at the notion, "'Od rabbit me!" he cried, "I mislikedyour face at first, but I begin to love it dearly now. For I see 'twasgiven you for some purpose."
Once more he summoned Lucy, invented some story of a jest to beplayed, and bound her to the straitest secrecy. She gained no inklingfrom him, you may be sure, of the business which we had in hand. Istripped off my coat, and with much lacing and compressing, muchexercise of vigour on Vincott's part, much panting on mine, and moreroguish giggling upon Lucy's, I was at last squeezed into the girl'sSunday frock. It had a yellow bodice bedecked with red ribbons, and ared canvas skirt.
"But, la!" she exclaimed, "your feet! Sure you must have a long cloakto hide them." And she whipped out of the room and fetched one. Myfeet did indeed but poorly match the dress, which descended no lowerthan my ankles.
By good fortune the cloak had a hood attached, which could be drawnwell forward, and blurred my features in its shadow.
"So!" said I. "I am ready." And I strode quickly to the door. ForLucy's glee and my masquerading weighed with equal heaviness upon me.I was full-charged with sorrow for the coming interview. The old daysin Cumberland lived and beat within my heart; the old dreams of alinked future voiced themselves again with a very bitter irony. 'Twasthe last time my eyes were to be gladdened with the sight of my lovedfriend and playmate. I looked upon this visit as the sacred visit to adeath-bed; nay, as something yet more sad than that, for Julian laya-dying in the very bloom of health and youth, and the grotesque guisein which I went forth to him seemed to mock and flout the solemnity ofthe occasion.
"Stop, lad!" said Vincott. "You must never walk like that. Your firststep would betray you. Watch me!"
With a peacock air, which at another time would have appeared to meinimitably ludicrous, the little attorney minced across the room onthe tips of his toes. Lucy leaned against the wall holding her sides,and fairly screamed with delight.
"What ails you, lass?" said he very sternly.
"La, Mr. Vincott," she gulped out between bubbles of laughter, "Ithink you have but few honest women among your clients."
Mr. Vincott rebuked her at some length for her sauciness, and wouldhave prolonged his lecture yet further, but that my impatiencemastered me and I haled him from the room. The girl let us out by asmall door which gave on to an alley at the back of the house. Thenight was pitch-dark, and the streets deserted; not even a lamp swungfrom a porch.
"Stay here for a moment," whispered Vincott. "I will move ahead andreconnoitre."
His feet echoed on the cobbles with a strange lonely sound. In aminute or so a low whistle reached my ears, and I followed him.
"All's clear," he said. "I little thought the time would ever comewhen I should bless his late Majesty King Charles for forbidding thecitizens of Bristol to light their streets."
We stepped quickly forward, threading the quiet roads as noiselesslyas we could, until Vincott stopped before a large building. Lightsstreamed from the windows, piercing the mirk of the night withbrownish rays, and a dull muffled clamour rang throu
gh the gateway.
"The Bridewell," whispered Vincott. "Keep your face well shrouded, andfor God's sake hide your feet!"
He drew a long breath. I did the same, and we crossed the road andpassed beneath the arch.