‘Well, you look a degree better,’ he remarked, going over to the fire, and stirring the logs to a blaze. ‘How’s your head?’
‘Setting aside it’s got a lump on it the size of your fist, it ain’t so bad,’ responded Stogumber. ‘It’s a mighty hard head, d’ye see? I been asleep. Where’s t’other cove?’
‘Gone,’ said John, pouring the cold coffee, carefully saved by Mrs Skeffling from his breakfast-table, into a pan, and bringing it to the fire.
‘I’m sorry for that,’ said Stogumber, rising rather stiffly from the chair. ‘I disremember that I thanked him for what he done.’
‘You did, but it’s no matter: he wanted no thanks. He’s a very good fellow. Keep quiet till you’ve drunk this coffee: it’ll make you feel more the thing.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, big ’un, I’d as lief put my coat on again: I’ve got a bit chilly.’
‘As you please,’ John said indifferently. ‘I’m afraid it’s done for, however: you bled like a pig, you know! I threw it somewhere –’ he glanced over his shoulder – ‘ay, there it is! Don’t stoop! I’ll get it for you!’ He set the pan down in the hearth as he spoke, and walked over to where the coat and waistcoat lay. He had thrust the notebook under the skirt of the coat, and as he picked the coat up it was revealed. He said: ‘Hallo! This yours?’
‘That’s right,’ Mr Stogumber said, holding out his hand, but keeping his eyes on John’s face.
But the Captain, casually giving him the notebook, seemed to be more interested in the condition of the coat. He showed the rent in it, and the wide patch of drying blood, to its owner, grimacing expressively. ‘You won’t wear this again,’ he remarked.
‘It’ll serve to keep the cold off till I get back to the Blue Boar,’ said Stogumber, rather painfully inserting his arms into his waistcoat, and beginning to do up its buttons. ‘I got another. Not but what it fair cags me to have a good coat spoilt the way that is.’
‘Who were they that set on you?’ asked John, easing him into the ruined garment.
‘Ah, that’s the question!’ said Stogumber, resuming his seat by the fire. ‘A couple of ding-boys, that’s certain! I never got a chance to tout their muns, ’cos I only saw one, and he had his muns all muffled up so as his own ma wouldn’t have known him. Where was you, while I was asleep, big ’un?’
‘Outside, blowing a cloud,’ replied John, knowing that the hard little eyes were fixed on his face, and not raising his own from the pan he was holding over the flames. The coffee was sizzling round the edges, and after a moment he removed it from the fire, and poured it into an earthenware mug, still conscious of that unwavering scrutiny. ‘Do you want me to lace this?’ he enquired, looking up with a smile. ‘You don’t seem to have a fever, so I daresay it won’t harm you if I add a dash of brandy to it.’
‘It won’t,’ said Stogumber, with conviction. ‘I’m bound to say coffee ain’t a bub as I’m in the habit of drinking, but I won’t deny it smells good – and I dessay it’ll smell better if you drop a ball o’ fire into it.’
John laughed, and went to fetch the brandy bottle from the cupboard. Having poured a measure into the coffee, he handed the mug to his guest, and said, untruthfully, but in the most natural manner: ‘I’m damned if I know what your lay is, Stogumber, but I’ll go bail it wasn’t pound dealing that brought you here! I’ve no wish to offend you, but you seem to me a curst rum touch! It’s my belief you know who set on you tonight, and why they did so.’
‘Maybe I got a notion who they was,’ admitted Stogumber, cautiously sipping the laced coffee. ‘But when a man has a lump on his noddle the size of this here one of mine, it don’t do for him to set much store by his notions, because his brains is addled for the time being. What’s more, I’ve been mistook before, and I might be again, easy! The first time as I ever clapped my ogles on you, big ’un, I thought you was Quality.’ He paused, and directed a look upwards at John, under his brows. ‘Then I heard as you was the gatekeeper’s cousin, so, out of course, I see as I was mistook there.’ He sighed, and shook his head. ‘Betwattled, that’s what I am! What with owing my life to a bridle-cull, and you – which wasn’t so very friendly last time I see you – taking me in, and patching me up, like you have done, I’m danged if I know what to think! And when I don’t know what to think, it’s my way to keep me chaffer close, Mr Staple, see?’
‘I’m not Brean’s cousin, and you may call me Quality if you choose. Since you are putting up at the Blue Boar, I fancy you’ve a fair notion of what my lay is!’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Stogumber, drinking some more coffee. ‘Maybe! And another notion I got, big ’un, is that you’re a dangerous sort of a cove, which would take the wind out of my eye if you could do it! Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I ain’t.’ He drained the mug, and set it down. ‘I’m beholden to you, and I don’t deny it. I wouldn’t want to do you a mischief. But if you was to try to tip me the double, Mr Staple, or to come crab over me, you want to bear in mind I’m up to slum, and I ain’t a safe cove to cross!’ He got up. ‘Thanking you kindly for all you done, I’ll brush now. You remember what I said to you!’
‘I’ll remember it,’ promised John. ‘Are you able to walk as far as to the village, or shall I mount you, and go with you?’
‘No, no, I’ll beat it on the hoof!’ Stogumber replied. ‘I’m feeling pretty stout now, and there’s no call for you to leave the gate.’
‘Would you like a pistol?’
‘Much obliged to you, no! Gabriel Stogumber ain’t caught napping twice in one night.’
He then took his leave, and went off, leaning on his ash-plant. John watched him until he passed out of sight round the bend in the road, and then went back into the toll-house to await Chirk’s return.
This was not long delayed. In a very few minutes, the highwayman was tossing his hat and coat on to a chair, and saying: ‘I’m to tell you, Soldier, the Squire’s not so stout today, which is why Miss Nell ain’t left the house. Seems there was a bit of a kick-up this morning, which threw Squire into some kind of convulsion. Howsever, he’s been sleeping pretty well all day, and they say as he’s middling well now.’
‘What happened?’ John demanded.
‘The butler-cove had back-words with Coate’s man,’ replied Chirk, accepting a tankard, and blowing the froth from it expertly. ‘By all accounts, he mistook one of the wenches for a light-skirt, and acted according, and she, not having a fancy for a stub-faced cull – and wapper-eyed at that, so Rose tells me! – set up a screeching fit to burst anyone’s listeners. So this old cove tells Gunn that what with him being in the habit of prigging the drink, and never coming into the house but what he’s ale-blown and uncommon full o’ bounce, he won’t have him there no more, and if he sets his foot over the threshold again, he’ll have up Squire’s groom, and the stable-boy, which is a fine, lusty lad, to take and throw him out. Then in walks Mr Henry Stornaway, and he flies into his high ropes in a brace o’ snaps, and tells the butler-cove he’s as good as master at Kellands, and things will be as he wants ’em to be. Which the butler-cove says they won’t, not while Squire’s above ground. So off goes this Henry in a twirk, and as soon as Squire’s own man is out o’ the way he goes in to see his granfer. What he said to him no one don’t know, but Squire’s man come back to find Squire fair foaming at the mouth, and trying to get out of his chair to give this Henry a leveller. Which his man was so obliging as to have done for him, which, so far as anyone could tell, Squire not being able to speak, pleased the old gager considerable. Then Miss Nell goes off and dresses Coate down like you never heard, and tells him if him or Henry goes next or nigh Squire, or Gunn sets foot in the house, she’ll have in the constable from Tideswell to heave ’em out, the whole scaff and raff of ’em. Rose had her ear to the door, misdoubting there might be a turn-up of some sort, but by what she tells me Coate did his best to come over Miss Nell with a lot o’ bamboozling talk, sayi
ng as Henry was a buzzard, and Gunn a worse ’un, and he’d see as she wasn’t troubled no more. Then she tells him to his teeth that the sooner he pikes the better pleased she’ll be, and he says as she’ll do well to take care, ’cos if she meddles with him it’ll be very much the worse for her, and Squire, and Henry too. Rose says he sounded as wicked as if he was the Black Spy himself, and gives a laugh which makes the blood curdle in her veins. But I don’t set much store by that,’ he added indulgently, ‘women’s blood being remarkable prone to curdle. So that’s how it is, Soldier – excepting that Henry’s took to his bed with a chill, which Rose says is true enough, him sneezing fit to bring the roof down.’
John was silent for a moment, frowning over this intelligence. He looked up at last, and asked curtly: ‘Did you ask Rose if she knew of a cave near the Manor?’
‘I did, and in a manner o’ speaking she does, only it would queer her to tell us where it is, because she ain’t ever seen it. There’s a couple of small caves in the hills north o’ Squire’s place, and one big ’un, very like the one at the Peak, she says, but Squire closed up the entrance to that afore ever Rose went to the Manor, Henry’s pa having broke his leg in it. It’s on his land, you see, but there ain’t no road to it, and Squire never took a fancy to show it to folks, like they show the one at the Peak. Miss Nell’s pa, which was Squire’s eldest son, Mr Frank, was with Henry’s pa when he broke his leg, the pair of ’em being no more than shavelings, and he run off to get help, which was just as well, seemingly ’cos there’s water in the cavern, and when it rises it don’t take more than five or six hours to flood it. So Squire wouldn’t let no one go in it no more, and Rose says she doubts the lads nowadays don’t even know where it is, nor nothing about it. She says she’ll take her oath Miss Nell and her brother never knew there was a big cave, ’cos Squire laid it on everyone they wasn’t to be told, them being the kind of young ’uns as ’ud think it rare sport to go getting drownded in a cavern.’
‘But Henry might have known!’ John said. ‘No doubt his father told him of his adventure in it! I’m much obliged to you, Chirk!’
Chirk eyed him shrewdly. ‘You’re welcome. What might you be meaning to do?’
‘Find the cavern, and discover what the secret of it is. If it’s being used to serve some purpose – why, that would explain what brought Coate to Kellands, and what made him ally himself with such a creature as Henry Stornaway!’
‘If it is,’ agreed Chirk sceptically.
‘The more I think of it, the more convinced I am that nothing could be more likely,’ declared John. ‘Jerry Chirk, I’ve a strong notion I am going to enjoy myself!’
Mr Chirk noticed that there was a sparkle in his eyes, and a queer little upward tilt to the corners of his mouth, but since his acquaintanceship with the Captain was of the slightest he set no particular store by signs which would have sunk any of John’s cronies into the deepest foreboding. He merely said in a disparaging tone: ‘Well, I don’t know why you should, Soldier. What would anyone want with a cave, except maybe to hide in, and they ain’t doing that?’
The sparkle became more pronounced; the eyes were smiling now. ‘I don’t know. If it weren’t for Miss Nell and the Squire, I should call this a capital go! Something must be hidden in that cavern: all I have to do is to discover what!’
‘I don’t see that neither,’ objected Chirk. ‘If they’ve slummed some ken, and prigged the lurries out of it – diamonds and pearls, and silver feeders and such – they wouldn’t go putting it into a cavern, not unless they was addle-brained, they wouldn’t! They’d take it to a fence, and mighty quick, too! Much good would it do ’em, shoved in a cavern! What’s more, Soldier, I’ll allow this Henry looks like he’s a ramshackle sort of a cove, but it ain’t likely as he’d go slumming kens, nor any such lay! That’s pitching it too rum!’
‘I wonder!’ John said. ‘No, I should say it wasn’t that. Lord, I wish I knew what took him there last night, and what happened to scare him out of his wits! I’ll ride over there at first light, and see what I can find. There are at least two deep gorges in the hills, for I saw them this morning.’
‘Yes, I suspicioned you would,’ said Chirk, with a sigh. ‘So did Rose, and what must she do but make me take my dying oath I’d go along with you, in case you was to tumble down, and break your leg! Which I’d take it kind in you if you wasn’t to do, Soldier, because I’ve got no fancy for hauling a man of your size out of any plaguey cavern!’
‘No, I won’t do that,’ promised John. ‘But come, by all means! We may see some sport!’
‘We may see a cavern or two,’ said Chirk. ‘I don’t say as we won’t; but as for seeing anything else, I’ll wager you an even coachwheel we don’t!’
‘Done!’ said John promptly. ‘You’d better sleep here tonight. There’s some spare bedding in the room Ben’s in. I’ll fetch it.’
‘Don’t you go waking him up! He’s a good lad, but there’s no sense in letting him know more than is good for him – or me!’
‘Wake him up! You don’t know him! I might be able to do it if I banged his head against the wall.’
The light of the candle which the Captain carried made Ben stir, and open drowsy eyes, but after muttering something inaudible, he slid back into slumber. The Captain carried a pillow and an armful of blankets into the kitchen, and made up the fire. Chirk, hauling off his cracked boots, said that he had slept on many worse beds.
Turning down the lamp on the table, John bethought him of something, and said: ‘Chirk, where’s the Wansbeck ford? Do you know?’
Chirk set his boots down carefully side by side. ‘No, I can’t say as I do. Which ford?’
‘The Wansbeck. Have you ever heard of it?’
‘Wansbeck,’ repeated Chirk, a slight frown between his eyes. ‘Seems to me as though I know that name, but I can’t just think where I’ve heard it.’ He scratched his chin reflectively. ‘Blessed if I can place it!’ he said. ‘I’d say I’d never been there, but I got a feeling –’ An irrepressible yawn broke off this utterance. He shook his head. ‘I can’t call it to mind, but I daresay it’ll come back to me.’
‘Tell me if it does!’ John said.
He then withdrew to his own bed, and, no one demanding his attendance on the gate, passed an untroubled night.
He possessed the soldier’s faculty of waking at what hour he chose, and got up at dawn to discover that Chirk shared it. The fire was burning brightly, and the kettle was already singing. John at once made tea, and Chirk, finding some cold bacon in the cupboard, clapped a hunk on to a slice of bread, and consumed it, observing that there was no knowing when he would get his breakfast. He then went off to saddle the mare, while John roused Ben, and told him he was off to exercise Beau. Under his father’s rule, it had always been Ben’s duty to attend to any early wayfarers, and since the dawn-light was creeping in at the little window he raised no demur, merely yawning, and knuckling his eyes.
A few minutes later, the Captain joined Chirk by the hedge skirting Farmer Huggate’s field, Beau snatching playfully at the bit, and dancing on his impatient hooves. He had strapped his great cloak to the saddle, but although he had pulled on his boots, he had not chosen to subject his only coat to whatever rigours might be in store, and he wore only his leather waistcoat over a flannel shirt.
‘No sense in going by the road,’ said Chirk. ‘If that high-bred ’un of yours can take a fence or two, we’ll edge round by way of the fields.’
‘As many as you like!’ replied John. ‘Or a six-foot wall, coped and dashed, for that matter!’
‘What, with you up, Soldier? Come, now, Mollie! We’d best give that big daisy-cutter a lead!’
The mare nipped neatly over the hedge, and Chirk led the way through the spinney to the fields John had seen from the lane. The mist still lay heavily over them, but it was not thick enough to impede the riders’ progress. They made their
way diagonally towards the lane, and came to it half a mile to the north of the farm on the further side of it. The mare went over the bank cat-fashion, but Beau took bank and hedge flying, which made Chirk say, ‘One of these neck-or-nothing coves! And lucky if the prad ain’t strained a tendon!’
But Beau was sagacious and the Captain clever in the saddle, and the wheel to the left when he alighted was accomplished without any such mishap. The tumbled mass of the hills could now be seen quite clearly ahead, and, after another quarter of a mile, the lane took a sharp turn, beginning the steep ascent over the pass. The Captain reined in.
‘We’ll try to the east,’ he said. ‘That’s where I noticed the clefts, and the limestone outcropping. The slope is milder to the west, not so likely, I fancy.’
‘Just as you say, Soldier,’ responded Chirk amiably.
The bank which had been built up round the farm-lands had come to an end a few hundred yards to the south, and there was only a narrow ditch to be stepped over. Beyond it the land was uncultivated. Birch trees reared up out of a mass of tangled undergrowth, and even found a foothold on the precipitous slopes of the escarpment; and every now and then a boulder sticking up out of the ground showed how thinly the earth lay above the rock. At a walking pace, John led the way along the outskirts of the bushes, keenly scrutinizing the face of the hill. This was, in many places, very sheer, and there were several deep indentations where the rock showed as naked as though the covering earth had been scraped from it. John said over his shoulder: ‘There might be caverns in any of these clefts.’
‘Very likely there are,’ replied Chirk, ‘but it don’t look like anyone’s been near ’em for many a year. Of course, if you’re wishful to push your way through all these brambles, I’m agreeable.’
‘No, we’ll go on,’ John said.
They had not far to go before, rounding a spur, John saw something that caused him to pull Beau up so sharply that the mare, following him closely, nearly jostled him. ‘Look!’ John said, pointing with his whip. ‘Someone has been here before us!’