CHAPTER III
MISTRESS MARGARET WAYNFLETE
Jane had taken the lady back to the house-place and was hovering aroundher, with little of the grace of a maid-of-honour to be sure, but with aheartiness and zeal that more than atoned for any lack of style. Frommother's withdrawing-room I fetched our chief household god, a smallancient silver goblet, and, filling it with wine, offered it to thestranger with what I supposed, no doubt wrongly, to be a modish bow. Shedrank a little, and then, at my urging, a little more.
"Madam," I said, "I think you do not need to be 'Molly Brown' any longer.Yon dragooner is quite certain that you are not here, and we can safelytake advantage of his opinion. As for you, Jane, you've done splendidly,and I heartily thank you." I re-filled the goblet and handed it to Jane,saying, "Drink, Jane, to madam's good luck."
The honest girl blushed with joy at my words, and as for drinking wineout of the famous silver goblet of the Hanyards--such a distinction, as sheconceived it, was reward enough for anything.
"Thanks are payment all too poor for what you have done, sir," saidmadam, "and any words of mine would make them poorer still. But, sir, I dothank you most heartily. And you, too, Jane, have done me splendidservice. You are as brave and clever as you are bonny and pretty."
"Madam," said I, bowing low, "you are too kind to my services, whichhave, indeed, been rather crudely performed."
"Not so," she replied, "but with shrewd, ready wit and certain judgment.I cannot imagine myself in a tighter corner than at the bridge, and yourdevice had the effective simplicity of genius. Your plan here was, to besure, commonplace, but it, too, required caution and good acting, and youand Jane supplied both. It was nicer than popping me into some mustypriest's hole, though I expect this ancient building has one."
I looked at the wall as half expecting the sword of CaptainSmite-and-spare-not Wheatman to rattle to the ground under this awfulinsinuation.
"The only use our family has found for priests, madam," I said, "hasbeen, I fear, to hunt them like vermin. As a Wheatman of the Hanyards, I'mafraid I'm a degenerate."
"You'll not even be that much longer if I keep you from getting into somedry clothes. And, if Jane is willing, I will make myself myself. I wouldfain be on."
With a sweet smile and a gracious curtsy, she followed the ready Janeupstairs.
I removed all traces of what had taken place, and carried my preciousjack into the pantry, where I hung him in safety. He should be set up byMaster Whatcot of Stafford as a trophy and memento in honour of this greatday. I then hurried off to my room to attend to my own appearance, andindeed I needed it, for I was caked with mud up to my knees and soakingwet up to my waist. For the first time in my life I was grieved to thebone at the inadequacy of my wardrobe, and even when I had donned mySunday best my appearance was undoubtedly villainous from the London pointof view. I feathered myself as finely as my resources permitted, but itwas a homely, uncouth yeoman that raced downstairs and awaited her coming.I drew the curtains, lit the candles, kicked the fire into a blaze, andbuilt it up with fresh logs.
It would be impossible for me to set down the hubbub of thoughts andideas that filled my mind. I had been plunged into a new world, andfloundered about in it pretty hopelessly, I can tell you. The days ofknight-errantry had come over again, and chance, mightier even than KingArthur, had commanded me to serve a sweet lady in distress. But I had hadno training, no preliminary squireship, in which I could learn how thingswere done by watching brave and accomplished knights do them. I had livedamong the parts of speech, not among the facts of life. I could hit a birdon the wing, snare a rabbit, ride like a saddle, angle for jack and trout,strike like a sledge-hammer, swim like a fish--and that was all. I knew,too, every turn and track and tree for miles round; and that might besomething now, and indeed, as will be seen, turned out my most preciousaccomplishment. Some people said I was as proud as Lucifer, others that Iwas as meek as a mouse, and I once overheard our Kate tell PriscillaDobson, Jack's vinegary sister, that both were right--which confounded me,for our 'Copper Nob,' as I used to call her, was a shrewd little woman.Still, such as I was, the stranger lady should have me, an she would, asher squire, to the last breath in my body. Only let me get out of mycabbage-bed, only give me a man's work to do, and I would ask for no more.Neither for love nor for liking would I crave, but just for the work andthe joy of it.
The yard gate clicked, and a moment later mother and Kate came in.
"Oh, Noll, it's been grand!" burst out Kate. "I wish you'd been there.There were hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, horse and foot, and gunsand wagons without end. Lord Brocton was there, and Sir Ralph Sneyd, whois just a duck, and a nasty-looking major with his face all over blotches.And they saw us, and crowded into the vicar's to talk to us."
"And what about Jack Dobson?"
"Oh, Oliver, what have you got your best clothes on for?"
"Because I got wet through catching a great jack. But never mind my bestclothes. How did Jack look in his uniform?"
"A lot better than Lord Brocton, or anyone else there, if you must know,"she said, jerking the words at me, with her cheeks near the colour of herhair.
"Can he talk sense yet?"
"He talked like the modest gentleman he is," said my mother, "and lookednearly as handsome as my own boy. He sent his loving greetings to you, andwould fain have come to see you but his duties would not allow of it."
Of course my gibes at Jack were all purely foolish and jealous, and,moreover, I could now afford to be truthful; so I said, "If Jack doesn'tdo better, as well as look better, than my Lord Brocton, I'll thrash himsoundly when he gets back. But he will. He's a rare one is Master Jack,and by a long chalk the pluckiest soul, boy or man, I've ever come across.And he'll learn sense, of the sort he wants, as fast as anybody when thetime comes."
"Of course the lad will," said mother, taking off her long cloak, andKate, when mother turned to hang it on its accustomed hook, gave a swiftpeck at my cheek with her lips, and whispered, "You dear old Noll!"
All this time I had been listening with strained ears for footsteps onthe stairs. Now I heard them, and waited anxiously. The door opened, andJane came in, upright and important. She curtsyed to my mother, announced,"Mistress Margaret Waynflete," and my goddess came into the room.
Straight up to my mother she walked,--a poor word to describe her sweetand stately motion, _et vera incessu patuit dea_, as the master hasit,--curtsied low and nobly to her and said, "Mistress Wheatman, I am astranger in distress, and should have been in danger but for your son, whohas served me and saved me as only a brave and courteous gentleman could."
I had ever loved my mother dearly, but I loved her proudly now, for thegreatest dame in the land could not have done better than this sweet,simple mother of mine. Without surprise or hesitation, she took MistressWaynflete's hands in her own, and said, "Dear lady, anyone in distress iswelcome here, and Oliver has done just as I would have him do. And this ismy daughter, Kate, who will share our anxiety to help you."
And then I was proud of our Kate, Kate with the red hair and themilk-white face, the saucy eye and the shrewd tongue, Kate with thetradesman's head and the heart of gold. She shook madam warmly by thehand, and led her to my great arm-chair in the ingle-nook as to a thronethat was hers of right.
Thus was Mistress Waynflete made welcome to the Hanyards.
Mother and Kate took their accustomed seats on the cosy settle beside thehearth. I sat on a three-legged stool in front of the fire, and Janeflitted about as quietly as a bat, laying the table for our evening meal.
Never had the house-place at the Hanyards looked so fair. The firelightdanced on the black oak wainscot which age and polishing had made likeunto ebony, and the row of pewter plates on the top shelf of the dresserglimmered in their obscurity like a row of moons. Our special pride, aspice-cupboard of solid mahogany, ages old, glowed red across the room,and from the neighbouring wall the great sword and back-and-breast withwhich Smite-and-spare-not Wheatman, Captain o
f Horse, had done service atNaseby, seemed to twinkle congratulations to me as one not unworthy of myname. Not an unsuitable frame, perhaps, this ancient, goodly house-place,for the beautiful picture now in it, on which I looked as often as I daredwith furtive eyes of admiration.
She told her story with simple directness. Her father's name wasChristopher Waynflete, a soldier by profession, who had seen service inmany parts of the Continent and had attained the rank of Colonel in theSwedish army. Her mother she had never known, for she had died whenMistress Margaret was but a few months old, and her father had maintainedan unbroken reticence on the subject. Some six months ago, ColonelWaynflete had returned to England to settle, desiring to obtain somemilitary employment, a plan which his long service and professionalknowledge seemed to make feasible. In London he made the acquaintance ofthe Earl of Ridgeley, to whom, indeed, he bore a letter of introductionfrom a Swedish diplomat in Paris. Through the Earl he had met LordBrocton, the Earl's only son and heir. The Colonel's hope of employment inthe army had not been realized, and this and certain other reasons, whichshe did not specify, had embittered him against the Government. Not havingany real allegiance to King George, whom he had never served, and who nowrefused his services, he easily entered into the plans of certaininfluential Jacobites in London whose acquaintance he had made. Three dayspreviously he had set out from London to join Prince Charles. For certainreasons (again she did not give details) she was unwilling to be separatedfrom her father, at any rate not until circumstances made it necessary forthem to part, and then the plan was that she should go to Chester, withwhich city she was inclined to think her father had some old connexion,and stay there with the wife of a certain cathedral dignitary of secretbut strong Jacobite inclinations. Colonel Waynflete's connexion with theJacobite cause had, naturally, been kept secret, but she was almostcertain that Lord Brocton had discovered it through a certain spy andtoady of his, one Major Tixall.
"Pimples all over his face?" broke in Kate.
"Yes," said Mistress Waynflete, with a little shudder.
"He was in the village this afternoon with Lord Brocton," returned Kate.
"Peace, dear one," said mother, "our turn is coming. Be as quiet asOliver."
"Oliver, mother dear, hasn't seen Major Tixall, whose face is enough tomake an owl talk, let alone a magpie like me."
Her right ear was near enough to me, the stool being big and I bigger, soI pinched the pretty little pink shell, and whispered in it, "Shut up,Kit, and think of Jack," which effectually silenced her.
Mistress Waynflete had little more to tell. They had travelled rapidly,avoiding Coventry and Lichfield, where the royal forces had assembled, butbending west so as to get by unfrequented roads to Stafford, and so on tothe main north road along which the Prince was now reported to bemarching. Just outride the "Bull and Mouth" her horse had cast a shoe.Leaving her to rest in the ale-house, the Colonel had gone on with thehorses to the nearest smithy at Milford. He was quite unaware of thenorthward movement of troops from Lichfield, and was under the impressionthat he was now well beyond the danger zone. We had heard from theserjeant of his capture.
Kate, at mother's request, took up the tale here. The road past theHanyards to the village enters the main road abruptly, and clumps of elmsprevent anyone travelling along it from seeing what is happening in thevillage. The vicarage is opposite the smithy and the inn, and when motherand Kate got there, only a few dragoons were about. They watched theColonel ride up, leading his daughter's horse, and saw him turn round atonce and attempt to go back as soon as he caught sight of the dragoons;but a larger body, under the command of Major Tixall, cantered in at themoment and, trapped between the two bodies, the Colonel had been compelledto surrender. He was kept until my Lord Brocton's arrival nearly an hourlater, and had then been sent on to Stafford under a strong guard.
This was the only fresh piece of information that was of any importance.There is a jail at Stafford, and no doubt the Colonel was by now lodged init.
"I fear that my views, or at any rate my father's views, make me adangerous guest," said Mistress Waynflete, "though your kindness has mademe a welcome one."
"Madam," I said coldly, "the only politics I know is that my Lord Broctonis fighting against the Stuart, and if by fighting for the Stuart I canget in a fair blow at my Lord Brocton, I fight for the Stuart."
"Oliver," said mother, "it is wrong--I say nothing about its wisdom--tochoose sides in such matters on grounds of personal enmity."
"Lord Brocton's a beast," said Kate shortly.
Mistress Waynflete had turned a richer colour at the mention of Brocton'sname, but at Kate's words she became scarlet, and for that I vowed I wouldknock him on the head as ruthlessly as if he were a buck rabbit as soon asI got the chance.
She recovered and continued her story, but as it only concerned my sharein the day's doings, it is unnecessary to repeat it here. She told it,however, in such kind terms, that I made an end to my discomfort by goingto fetch the great jack for mother and Kate to look at. When returning,however, I could not help hearing Kate say to Mistress Waynflete, "Withouta 'by your leave'?"
"As indifferently as if I had been a bag of flour," was the cool reply.And I had dithered like an aspen leaf!
"I suppose he half drowned you?"
"On the contrary, there was not a wet stitch on me."
"Oliver," added my mother, "has not many things to do that are worth hisdoing, but what he finds he does well."
"Such as catching jack," said I, staggering in with my heavy load. It wasadmired unstintingly, and was indeed worthy of all praise.
"Supper is ready, mam," said Jane; "and Joe says he knowed it wor as bigas a gate-post."
"And where is Joe?"
"In the kitchen, Master Noll."
"Give him a good supper, not much ale, and that small, and tell him tostop there. I shall want him." Then, turning to Mistress Waynflete, I wenton: "There's one way, and only one, into Stafford that's perfectly safeto-night. Joe and I will row you there. Now, mother, I'm hungrier than thegreat jack ever was."