"And e'en when the maid is brought," he added, with a sudden
afterthought, "best you be not seen at the first; wait till I try
whether she is to be won softly. If she saw you she might remember that
night, and be thrown into greater fear and opposition. I'll call when I
have need of you."
He then went with Meadows and Goodcole to the door within the porch;
finding it made fast inside, he gave two rapid double knocks, then two
single ones. Soon a tiny wicket opened behind a little grating in the
door. Jerningham held a lantern close to his face so that he might be
quickly recognised. The door opened, and Jerningham found Mistress Meg
alone in the hall, where the light of a single candle struggled with
the darkness. The lantern and torch brought in by the newcomers were a
welcome reinforcement. Jerningham set the lantern on the chimney shelf,
and had the torch thrust into a sconce on the wall.
"Did the new steward come?" he asked.
"The new steward?" quoth Meg, with faint derision at the title. "Yes;
am I not still here?"
"Where is he?" asked the master, ignoring the allusion to her threat.
"In his chamber. He arrived, ate, drank, went thither; and I have not
seen him since."
A sudden light came into Jerningham's eyes. "Ten to one he sleeps. He
had a laborious day of it ere he came hither. What weapons had he when
he came?"
"Rapier and dagger," answered Meg, looking surprised at the question.
"'Twere a good jest now," said Jerningham, pretending amusement, "to
take them from him in his sleep, then come away and send Jeremy to wake
him."
"Is he the kind of man to see the mirth of that jest?" inquired Meg,
with little interest.
"We shall see if he be. Goodcole, a chance to prove your mettle.
Where's Jeremy? Pray send him to me, mistress, and I'll thank you."
While Meg was at the kitchen door calling the old man-servant,
Jerningham spoke quietly to Goodcole. Jeremy appeared, blinking and
bowing; as he passed Meg, he chuckled, and said, in undertone, "A
husband mends all, sooth!" Master Jerningham, ascertaining from Meg
what chamber the captain lay in, bade the old man show Goodcole the
way. The pair took a lantern, of which Goodcole concealed all but a
small part in his jerkin.
During the absence of the two, Jerningham directed Meg's attention to
Meadows: "This is the man shall abide here for a time; I must send
t'other on business that bears no delay,--him that lies up-stairs, I
mean. 'Tis partly for that reason I have come here. And partly 'tis
that I may, for an hour or so, play the host to a visitor that must
perforce lodge here to-night,--a young woman."
He paused; but Meg merely paid attention to him with eyes and ears, and
displayed no emotion.
"She is daughter to a merchant I much esteem in London; she has been in
some manner bewitched, or constrained, or seduced, to fly from her home
to this neighbourhood with an unthrift knave. By chance the plot came
to my ears, and for her father's sake, and her honour's, I have caused
her to be stayed in her flight and fetched hither. To-morrow I will
come and put her aboard a vessel that shall carry her to Tilbury, where
her father hath gone upon his affairs. If it fall to you to comfort or
serve her while she is here, take heed you talk nothing of the matter,
for all she may say to you. And not a word of this before Captain
Ravenshaw when he comes down."
Whatever were Meg's thoughts, she kept them to herself. Though she
might fear ghosts and witches, she was not to be thrown out of
composure by surprises and visits, even if they came thick in a few
hours, after months of the still and solitary life that was the rule at
the Grange.
Goodcole and Jeremy returned, the former carrying the rapier and dagger
with a nonchalant, even contemptuous, air, as if his task had been
too easy. Jerningham smiled approval; he took the weapons, thrust the
dagger in his girdle, and laid the rapier behind him on the table, as
his own scabbard was, of course, occupied. He then sent Jeremy back
with a candle to summon the captain down to the hall.
When the captain came, it was he that held the candle; while with one
hand he dragged Jeremy by the collar.
"Hell and furies!" he roared; "what nest of rogues, what den of
thieves, what--what--" He paused, and stared open-mouthed at
Jerningham, who was standing with folded arms and a look of amusement.
"How now, captain? What is ill with you?"
"My weapons, sir--my rapier, my dagger--angled, filched, stolen in my
sleep! God's death, is this the kind of a house you keep here?--Ah, you
have them, I see."
But Jerningham pleasantly raised his hand, so that the captain in mere
courtesy stopped in the midst of a stride forward, and waited for the
other's words.
"A slight piece of mirth, captain, and a lesson for you, too. Coming
hither upon a sudden business, and learning you were so sound a
sleeper, I saw my chance of disarming you, and showing you what danger
a man may be in asleep."
"Why, sooth, I am not wont to sleep so sound," said Ravenshaw, a little
shamefacedly; "but, being come to this quiet and lone place, I allowed
myself to slide, as one might say, and--so 'twas. But to take my
weapons from me awake, that were a different business, sir, I think I
may say."
"All the world knows that, captain."
"By your leave, sir, I'll have them back again, I feel awkward without
'em."
"A mere moment, I pray you, captain," said Jerningham, with a smile of
harmless raillery. "I would have you hear first the business I have
come hither so late to send you upon. As it is so sudden a matter,
and hath some discomfort in it, you might take it in choler; and then
'twere best you had no steel to your hand."
Ravenshaw thought that his master's wit was of a very childish quality;
but said, merely, as he summoned patience:
"What is the business?"
"Oh, a slight, simple matter in itself, but needing absolute sureness
in the doing, and instant speed in the starting. This letter is to be
carried to Dover, to him that is named upon it, and an answer brought
to me at Winchester House. That is all."
"Oh, pish! a slight, paltry journey; nothing to make me choleric. With
the horse I rode to-day, I'll go and come in four days."
Which was very good time upon the horses and roads of that period.
"But there's the pinch," quoth Jerningham, "I must have the answer
Monday morning ere the Exchange opens. You must know I take a
gentleman's part in a merchant's venture or so, and if certain cargoes
now due at Dover--In short, you must ride forth immediately, as soon as
horse can be saddled."
Ravenshaw, remembering his promise to pay Cutting Tom at the parson's
on the morrow noon, slowly shook his head.
"How now, captain? Would you shirk at the outset? Will you be
continually failing me? This is no such matter as the other, man."
"I do not shirk; but I will not start to-night. I will set forth
to-morrow, and make what speed man and beast can."
"Look you, captain; my commands are that you set forth now. If you
choose to throw yourself out upon the world again--"
Jerningham paused. Now, in truth, Ravenshaw had felt he could be very
comfortable for a time on this quiet estate; his body and his wits,
both somewhat overtaxed in the struggle for existence he had so long
maintained, plead for repose. He sighed, and fell back upon obvious
objections, not aware that Jerningham already knew of his engagement
for the morrow with Cutting Tom.
"Why, bethink you, the darkness--" he blundered.
"A man may go a steady pace by lantern-light. I've ridden many a mile
so," said Jerningham.
"But how is a man to keep the right road, with none awake to tell him?"
"You must know the way to the highroad, for you came over it to-day;
and you must know the highroad as far as to Canterbury, for you told me
so when I directed you to this place. It will be daylight long before
you come to Canterbury."
The captain shook his head again.
Jerningham felt that time was passing rapidly. "If you are for
disobedience, you are no longer for my service," he said. "Take
yourself from my house and my land forthwith."
Ravenshaw laughed; and stood motionless, which was what Jerningham
wished, in case the captain was determined against an immediate start
for Dover, for it would not do to have him free in the neighbourhood,
perchance to learn of the treachery concerning the maid in time to
give trouble. It had occurred to Jerningham that a threatening step
on the captain's part, by affording excuse for a deed of blood, would
lessen its horror and create in Meg, with less fear of retribution upon
the house, less mood for turning accuser. So he resumed, with studied
offensiveness of tone:
"Begone from my house, I bid you!" With which, he drew the captain's
dagger as if he forgot it was not his own.
Jerningham's back was to the table; Ravenshaw faced him, three or four
paces away; by the front door stood Meadows, with a long knife in his
girdle; Goodcole, before the fireplace, was similarly armed. Meg and
Jeremy, wondering spectators, were near the kitchen door. Ravenshaw
noted all this in a single glance right and left; noted in the looks of
the two men the habit of instant readiness to support their master.
"Pray, consider the hour," said Ravenshaw, feeling it was a time for
temporising.
"'Tis for you to consider; I command," said Jerningham, taking the
captain's sword from the table behind him.
"You should give me my weapons before you bid me depart," said the
captain, in as light a tone as he could assume.
"When you are gone, I will throw them after you."
Ravenshaw dashed forward with a growl; but stopped short in time, with
the point of his own sword at his breast. He had an impulse to grasp
the blade; but he knew, if he were quick enough for that, there was yet
the dagger to be reckoned with, besides the two men, who drew their
knives at that moment. Jerningham seemed to brace himself for a spring;
he held the captain's sword and dagger as in sockets of iron; a dark
gleam shone in his eyes. Ravenshaw knew the look; time and again he had
worn it himself; he knew also when, as player in a game, he was within
a move of being checkmated.
"Well," quoth he, with a grin of resignation, "you hold all the good
cards. I will carry your letter." He suddenly bethought him of a friend
or two in Rochester, which he would pass through early in the morning
if he made the journey, by whom he might send Cutting Tom's money to
the parson. Contemplating the life of ease he had promised himself
in his new service, he was not sorry a good pretext had occurred for
withdrawing his refusal.
"You will set out immediately?" asked Jerningham.
"The sooner the better, now."
Jerningham sent the old man out with a lantern to saddle the
captain's horse and bring it to the door. He then handed the letter
to the captain, and gave particular instructions, such as would be
necessary in a genuine errand. Jeremy reappeared, at the front door,
and announced that the horse was ready. Jerningham surrendered the
captain's rapier and dagger with grace, and gave him money for the
journey. Ravenshaw then examined the lantern which Jeremy brought him,
waved a farewell to Jerningham and Meg, and strode to the door.
Jerningham breathed softly, lest even a sigh of satisfaction might
betray his sense of triumph. "She is mine!" sang his heart.
The door, left slightly ajar by the old man, opened wide as if by
a will of its own, just as the captain was about to grasp it. A
white-bearded, ruddy-faced man, dressed in rags and upheld by one leg
and a crutch, stood grinning at the threshold.
"God save your worship!" said he to the captain. "We come late; but
first our affairs hindered us, and then we mistook the way. By good
chance, we find you awake; else had we passed the night under some
penthouse or such, hereabouts, and come to drink your health in the
morning."
Ravenshaw having mechanically stepped back, the old beggar hobbled
in, followed by several other maimed ragamuffins, with whom came the
two women Ravenshaw had seen in the afternoon, and a pair of handsome
frowsy young hussies who had not appeared in the road. The legless
dwarf still rode upon a comrade's shoulders. As the motley gang
trooped in, there was a great clatter and thud of crutches, wooden
legs, and staves.
"God's death! who are these?" cried Jerningham, in petulant
astonishment.
"Some poor friends of mine I met on the way hither," said Ravenshaw,
apologetically. "I asked them to sup with me here. I had well-nigh
forgot."
"Sup with you! By what right--well, no matter for that. Where did you
think to find provender for all those mouths?"
"I was to find drink only; they were to find meat."
"Ay," said the chief beggar, "chickens; and here they be, young and
plump." He thrust his hand into a sack another fellow carried, and
drew out a cold roast pullet. The captain gazed at this specimen with
admiring eyes, and unconsciously licked his lips.
"By your leave," said he to Jerningham, "I'll tarry but a half-hour to
play the host to my invited guests; and then away. I can make up the
time; a half-hour, more or less--"
"'Tis not to be thought of!" cried Jerningham. "There has been too much
time lost already."
"Nay, I'll make it up, I tell you. I am bound to these people by my
invitation; they have come far out of their way."
"Oh, as for that, they need not go away thirsty. Jeremy, take
these--good people--to the kitchen, and broach a cask." Master
Jerningham, in his desire for Ravenshaw's departure, could force
himself to any concession; he considered that, left to themselves,
these beggars would be no obstacle to his design; they could be kept at
their ale in the kitchen.
"Why, to tell the truth," interposed the captain, "'tis not so much
their thirst troubles me; 'tis my hunger." And he leaned a little
toward the fowl, sniffing, and feasting on it with his eyes.
"Take it with you, man, and eat as you ride," said Jerningham, still
restraining his impatience.
"Why, that's fair enough," replied Ravenshaw. "I'll just drink one cup
with these my guests, and then leave 'em to your hospitality." Without
more ado, he walked to the kitchen door, where Jeremy was standing,
and motioned the beggars to follow. They filed into the kitchen, seven
men and four women, not a whole body in the gang save the two robust
wenches.
"A bare minute or so, sir," said Ravenshaw to Jerningham, and went
after them, taking the lantern with him. Soon there came from the
kitchen the noise of loosened tongues chattering in the gibberish of
the mendicant profession.
Master Jerningham, knowing that opposition would only cause further
delay, controlled himself as best he could, and waited in silence,
pacing the hall, while the captain had his humour. Meg, with
housewifely instinct, betook herself to the kitchen to keep an eye on
matters there. Presently the captain reappeared, with a pullet in one
hand, his lantern in the other, Meg having meanwhile lighted candles in
the kitchen.
[Illustration: "THERE ... WAS THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE, PALE AND
BEWILDERED."]
"And now to horse!" cried he, closing the kitchen door after him.
"And God save us from any more delays!" said Jerningham, with a
pretence of jocularity.
"So say I," quoth Ravenshaw, stalking forward.
In the centre of the hall he stopped, with a cry of astonishment, which
made Jerningham turn swiftly toward the open front door.
There in the porch, which was suddenly lighted up with rays of torch
and lantern, was the maid of Cheapside, pale and bewildered, held on
either side by Cutting Tom and one of his comrades.
CHAPTER XIX.
KNAVE AGAINST GENTLEMAN.
"Who shall take your word?
A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain,
Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust
So much as for a feather."
--_The Alchemist._
Cutting Tom was struck motionless at sight of the captain; but, after a
moment, reassuring himself by a look at Jerningham, he led his captive
into the hall. His men followed. The group came to a halt ere any one
found voice.
Ravenshaw, recovering a little from his surprise, was about to hurl a
question at Cutting Tom, when his tongue was stayed by his seeing the
maid's eyes turn with blazing indignation upon himself, and her lips
open to speak.
"So, then, it is your work!" she said.
"My work?" quoth the captain, in a maze, dropping his chicken.
"No doubt you spied upon poor Master Holyday, and corrupted these
rogues he trusted in," she went on; and then, giving way, she wept:
"Oh, God! into whose hands have I fallen!"
Ravenshaw quailed at her tears; but suddenly stiffened himself, set
down his lantern, and said wrathfully to Cutting Tom:
"What means this, knave? Why came you here? Where is--the gentleman you
serve? Speak, thou slave, or by--"
But Millicent, coming swiftly out of her tears, cried, scornfully:
"Think not to blind me, thou villain! The gentleman is where you bade
these wretches leave him,--in the woods, robbed,--mayhap slain! Alas,
having seen his fate, what may I expect for myself!" And again she fell
into lamentations.
"I understand this not," said Ravenshaw. "Cutting Tom, thou blundering
hound, why bring you this maid to this place, and to me?"
"Oh, out upon pretense!" cried Millicent. "Thinkst thou I am so great
a fool as not to see? God send I were Sir Peregrine's wife rather than
such a villain's captive!"
"Mistress, I know not why you are here, nor what hath befallen Master
Holyday. There is some mistake or falseness, which I shall worm out
of this tongue-tied knave; but first assure yourself you are not my
captive."
"Oh, peace! As if this fellow, whom you call by name, and who cringes
before you, had not turned treacherous!"
"Ten to one he hath turned treacherous, and dear he shall pay for it;
but he hath not turned so at my instigation."
"Oh, no more, I pray. Even this fellow is not bold-faced enough to deny
it is for you he has betrayed us. God knows what is to become of me,
a prisoner in your hands, without a soul that knows my whereabouts to
protect me!"
At this, Master Jerningham, who had kept still while an inspiration
perfected itself in his mind, stepped courteously forward, and said,
with grave sympathy:
"Not so, mistress. I, the master of this house, will protect you in it."
She looked at him in surprise. His was a face she recalled vaguely as
having seen, or faces more or less resembling it, in the streets of
London, or in churches, or other public places; but it was not a face
she had ever had reason to note carefully. Whatever were the forgotten
occasions upon which she may have observed it, as she had observed
ten thousand faces worth a careless second glance, the night of her
adventure in February was not one of them; for on that night, besides
keeping himself in shadow, and leaving all talk to Sir Clement Ermsby,
Jerningham had hidden his countenance under the brim of a great Spanish
hat. So his face at this moment, appearing as that of a stranger,
awakened in her mind no association either pleasant or unpleasant; in
itself, it wore so serious and sweet a smile, and the manner of its
owner was so quietly chivalrous, that Millicent's feelings promptly
declared in its favour. A sudden sense of safety came over her,
depriving her for a moment of speech. Then she murmured, unsteadily:
"Master of this house, say you?"
"Ay, mistress, but no conspirator in your being brought here. I am
not often at the place; this man hath newly arrived as steward; I
came to-night without warning, no more expecting to see strangers in
my house than he expected to see me. I know not what hath been afoot;
but Heaven must have sent me here, if my coming has saved you from a
mischief."
He offered her his hand. Cutting Tom had already released her arm.
After a moment, she took the hand, and allowed Jerningham to lead her
to a seat by the table. As she scanned his features, an increasing
trustfulness appeared in her own.
"Sir," she faltered, deeply relieved and grateful, "I must thank Heaven
for my deliverance. To find a gentleman--after these rascals--"
She cast a glance at Ravenshaw, and trembled to think what manner of
man she had escaped; for indeed at that instant the captain looked like
the very devil.
"He deliver you!" exclaimed Ravenshaw, as soon as his feelings
permitted him to speak calmly. "Why, he is of all men the one you most
need deliverance from!"
Jerningham smiled with tolerant contempt. "I scarce think you will
believe that, mistress," said he, lightly, "seeing how completely I am
a stranger to you."
"Believe him?" she replied, scornfully. "He is the prince of cozeners;
he is all made of lies and shifts. I know not how he hath come to be
steward to a gentleman; belike you know not of him; perchance he hath
passed upon you by another name, as he did upon us; he is Captain
Ravenshaw."
"To say truth, mistress, I knew him; but I little thought--"
"Knew me?" said Ravenshaw, with a laugh. "Ay, indeed. Well enough for
me in turn to know his designs against yourself, mistress; from which,
as from marriage with that old dotard, I had hoped to see you saved. As
for your being brought here, ask these men. Find your tongue, Cutting
Tom, and explain this."
"Why, of a truth," said Cutting Tom, slowly, finding courage in a
significant glance from Jerningham, "I know not what you would have me
explain. I am but a dull-witted man; if you had only told me beforehand
what to say--"
"'Tis too clear these knaves acted by your orders, captain,"
interrupted Jerningham.
"Why, yes, so we did, and that's the hell of it," said Cutting Tom.
"Liar and slave!" cried Ravenshaw, half drawing his sword; but he
controlled himself, and said: "'Tis plain that you, Master Jerningham,
have bought this knave, though 'tis beyond my ken how you learned what
he was to be about to-night. Mistress, I swear to you, the man who
intends you harm is he that you put your trust in; the man who would
save you is he that you revile and disbelieve."
"Mistress," said Jerningham, ignoring this speech, "wherever you have
come from, wherever you would go, 'tis now too late in the night to
leave this house. Shall I conduct you to a chamber where you will be
safe and alone? Your ears need not then be assailed by the rude talk of
this man. Surely you will not doubt me upon his wild words?"
"Nay," said she, rising compliantly, "I heed not his words."
"For proof of them," said the captain, "let me tell you that this
gentleman employed me to be his go-between with you."
She blushed. Jerningham said: "Oh, villain! You have the devil's
invention, I think. You would make yourself out a worse knave, that you
might make her distrust me. Mistress, if you have the smallest fear--"
"Sir, God forbid I should doubt a gentleman on the word of a known
rascal!"
Jerningham led her by the hand toward the corridor at the right.
But the captain, not delayed by his momentary reflection upon the
occasional inconvenience of a bad reputation, sprang ahead of them, and
took his place at the corridor entrance, grasping his sword. Master
Jerningham instantly drew back with the maid, in a manner implying that
the captain's threatening action was as much directed against her as
him. He hastened with her toward the opposite passage, but Ravenshaw
was again beforehand. Jerningham thereupon conducted her to the front
part of the hall. It was not his desire to release her hand, as he
must needs do if he himself fought Ravenshaw at this juncture. He did
not wish to call in Ermsby yet, fearing the effect her recognition
of that gallant might have upon her confidence in himself. His own
two followers in the hall were armed only with knives. Cutting Tom,
the disguised Gregory, and their three companions, were his men in
reality; but he must seemingly win them over before using them, lest
she perceive they indeed acted for him in giving this direful turn to
her elopement.
"Thou whom he calls Cutting Tom," said Jerningham, "thou and thy
fellows,--ye have done a dangerous thing for your necks in conveying
this lady hither against her will."
"Sir, I know it," replied Tom. "But I was led by my needs, and these my
followers knew nothing of the business. I take you to be a gentleman
that has power in the world. I beg of you, now that the villainy has
failed, deal not too hardly with us."
"It lies with yourselves. If you be minded to undo the villainy, to
serve me in my protection of this maid--"
"We will, we will! and thank your good worship!" said Tom, quickly,
and turned to his men with a look which elicited from them a chorus of
confirmatory "ayes," supported by a variety of oaths.
"Then seize that man, till I pass with this lady," said Jerningham, in
a decided tone. "To him, all of ye,--Meadows and Goodcole, too!"
Cutting Tom and his men drew their swords; having first attached their
lanterns and torch to wall-sconces, and dropped the bundle of Holyday's
clothes. The party advanced upon Ravenshaw, being joined by Meadows
and Goodcole, which twain preferred wisely that the bearers of longer
weapons should precede them into the captain's immediate neighbourhood.
Tom himself went rather shufflingly, doubtless willing to give
opportunity for any more impetuous comrade to be more forward in the
matter. But the other men were no more eager than he to be first;
and so the movement, beginning with some show of a fearless rush,
deteriorated in a trice to a hesitating shamble. At two steps from the
captain, the party came to a stop.
"Ho, dogs, will ye come dancing up to me so gaily?" cried Ravenshaw.
"Dance back again as fast!" His rapier leaped out, and sang against
three of their own blades in the time of a breath.
All seven of the men, appalled at his sudden onslaught, stepped hastily
back. The captain strode forward. The fellows increased their backward
pace. He followed. They turned in a kind of panic, and ran pell-mell
for the front door. Laughing loudly at their retreat, Ravenshaw
stopped, as he was in no mind to be drawn outside while Millicent
remained within. At sound of his laugh, the fellows turned and stood
about the doorway with their weapons in defence.
"Sir," said Ravenshaw, turning to Master Jerningham, "I pray you, look
upon this maid; consider her youth and her innocence. Will you mar
such an one a lifetime, to pleasure yourself an hour? As you are a
gentleman, I ask you, give her up."
"Do not give me up to him!" she said, affrightedly, clinging closer to
Jerningham.
Ravenshaw shook his head in sorrow. "Ah, mistress, that you should
think I would harm you! If you but knew--but for what you think of me,
no matter. 'Tis a cruel twist of circumstance that you should oppose
him that would save you, and cleave to him that would destroy you. You
would know how the affair stands, if there were a spark of truth to be
found among these knaves and traitors. Oh, for a gleam of honesty! How
foul falsehood looks when it has the whole place to itself!"
A whinny of impatience was heard from the horse waiting outside.
"'Tis high time you were in the saddle, captain," said Jerningham.
"Come, man; I will forget your attempt upon this maid, since no harm
has followed. And she, too, will forget it, if she take my counsel.
Will you trust your welfare in this matter to me, mistress?"
"Entirely," answered Millicent, in a low voice.
"Oh, mistress, how you are deceived!" said Ravenshaw. "What can I do to
save you?"
She shrank back from his look.
"Fear not, mistress," said Jerningham, softly. "Come, come, captain, an
end, an end! Time is hastening. I pray you, be off upon your ride to
Dover."
"Dover!" echoed the captain, with a strange laugh. "Ride to Dover! By
God's death, things have changed in the past ten minutes! I shall not
ride to Dover, thank your worship! not this night! I shall stay here
to save this lady in spite of herself!--in spite of herself and of you
all, good gentlemen!"
"Is this your promise, you rascal?" exclaimed Jerningham. "You gave
your word to ride forthwith."
"And being a rascal, I claim a rascal's privilege to break his word!"
cried Ravenshaw. "Away from that lady, or by this hand--"
He did not finish his threat, but made straightway for Jerningham. The
latter ran with the maid to the farther side of the table, and whipped
out his sword. Ravenshaw, in pursuing, turned his back to the fellows
at the doorway. "Upon him, men!" shouted Jerningham, and then, raising
his voice still higher, called out: "Ho, Ermsby, to the rescue!"
Ravenshaw, trusting his ears to warn him of what threatened in the
rear, kept Jerningham's sword in play rather cautiously, for fear of
too much endangering or frightening Millicent, who was pale as death.
The girl, clinging to Jerningham, was thus rather a protection than an
encumbrance to that gentleman. Very soon the captain heard the bustle
of newcomers entering at the front door, and then a general movement,
led by a more resolute tread than he had noticed before. He turned and
faced Sir Clement Ermsby, whom he recognised but vaguely as a person
with whom he had been in collision sometime in the past. He parried the
knight's thrust, and guarded himself with his dagger from a lunge of
Cutting Tom's. He then spun around on his heel, lest Jerningham might
either pierce his back, or profit by the opportunity to take the maid
away.
Jerningham had chosen the latter course, but he was hindered by the
rush of some of his own men, who had run around the table in order
that the captain might be surrounded. Thus checked for an instant, and
in some way made sensible of Ravenshaw's last movement, Jerningham
turned back, and again engaged the captain. Ravenshaw was thus between
two forces, one headed by Jerningham, the other by Sir Clement. He
leaped upon the table, jumped to the floor on the other side, while
half a dozen blades darted after him; dragged the table to a corner,
and turned to face his enemies from the little triangular space behind
it. Led by Ermsby, they rushed upon him, thinking to find the table of
short use as a bulwark against such numbers.
But Jerningham stood back out of the rush, still holding Millicent by
the hand, and shouted:
"Some keep him busy above the table; some thrust under at his legs. Let
the knave die, 'tis good time! I'll look to the comfort of the lady."
And he started again toward the right-hand passage.
Ravenshaw bent forward across the table, and swept aside the points
of steel with sword and dagger; but they threatened him anew, and he
heard men scrambling under the table to stab his legs; he saw, between
two heads of his foes, Jerningham's movement toward the passage, and he
shouted:
"Ho, rufflers, maunderers, upright men! a rescue! a rescue!"
Jerningham halted, somewhat wondering. The kitchen door flew open, and,
with a hasty thumping of crutches, the beggars hobbled in, men and
women, most of them with pewter cans, from which they had been regaling
themselves. At sight of these maimed creatures, with their frowsy hair,
their gaunt looks, the red blotches and bandages of some, the white
eyeballs of others, Millicent started back in horror. As the door by
which they came in was near the passage toward which Jerningham was
leading her, and as they spread into a wide group in entering, they
blocked the way of her departure.
"Stop the gentry cove!" cried Ravenshaw. "In the name of the salamon,
stand by a brother!"
The captain's assailants had drawn away a little to see who the
newcomers were. Having satisfied himself at a glance, Sir Clement
Ermsby laughed, and said: "A rescue, sooth! A bunch of refuse,--rotten
pieces of men. Come, back to your work!" And he renewed the attack
on Ravenshaw; while Jerningham, calling out, "Ay, to him! these be
helpless cripples," started again for the passage, his sword-point
forward.
But with a wild whoop the beggars straightened out of their lame
attitudes, swung their crutches and staves in the air, lost all regard
of sores and patches, found arms for empty sleeves, showed keen eyes
where white balls had plead for pity, threw off all the shams of their
profession, and swept upon the captain's foes. A sturdy blow of a staff
bore down Jerningham's rapier, a filching hook tore his dagger from his
other hand. Iron-shod crutches and staves rained upon the heads of Sir
Clement and the other men; hooks caught their clothing, and dragged
some to the floor. When at close quarters, the beggars drew their
knives; the women fought like men. Millicent, separated from Jerningham
in the fray, ran shrieking in the one direction open to her; this was
toward the corner at the right of the front door. Ravenshaw, dashing
through the confusion, placed himself triumphantly at her side. She
essayed to run from him; but he gently swept her with a powerful arm
into the corner behind him.
"Oh, God, I am lost!" she cried, seeing Jerningham and his men brought
to pause by the sturdy wielders of staff, crutch, and knife.
Across the captain's mind flashed a wild project of bearing her away
in search of her uncle's house, which he knew was somewhere in the
neighbourhood; but he heard a sudden fierce dash of the long-expected
rain against the rear windows, saw how faint and exhausted she was,
thought of the opposition she would offer, and considered the up-hill
fight he would have to wage against an enemy desperate with the fear of
losing his prey. He had a better idea,--one in which prowess might be
supplemented with craft.
Quite near him, in the wall at his right hand, was the open door to
the porter's room which he had noticed upon arriving at the house; it
had no other means of entrance or exit, its high-placed window being a
mere slit. He purposely moved a little to the left. Millicent, seeing
an opening, glided along the wall to escape him. He sprang forward,
and confronted her just at the door of the porter's room. Recoiling
from him, she instinctively darted through the door. "Good!" cried the
captain, taking his place in the doorway, his face to the hall.
Millicent, in the little room, sank upon a pallet, which was its only
furniture, and put out her hands to keep the captain from approaching
her. But she saw that he had stopped at the threshold, with his back to
her. It was, indeed, no part of his plan to follow her into the room.
Jerningham, startled at the maid's sudden disappearance, ran forward
with a cry of rage; but Ravenshaw met sword and dagger with sword and
dagger, and Jerningham was fain to draw back to save his body. Matters
thereupon resumed a state of abeyance, during which men recovered
breath, regained their feet, and took account of bleeding heads and
flesh wounds.
"Hark you!" spoke the captain, in a tone meant for her as well as for
Jerningham. "It is now for us to prove which of us means this lady no
harm. Let her abide where she is, till the storm and the night are
past; then, together, we'll conduct her to her friends. And meanwhile,
the man who attempts to enter this room declares himself her enemy."
Jerningham's face showed the rage of temporary defeat. "Then come from
the door there," he said, sullenly, for want of a better speech.
"Nay, for this night I am the door here,--though she may close this
wooden door an she please. These"--his sword and dagger--"she'll find
true bolts and bars. She may e'en sleep, if she will,--there's a pallet
to lie on."
Sitting weak and perplexed on the pallet in the dark little apartment,
she wondered what purpose the captain might be about.
At the suggestion of sleep, Jerningham had an idea. Pretending to
confer in whispers with Sir Clement, he secretly beckoned Gregory,
who was still in his false beard. The servant approaching without
appearance of intent, Jerningham, still under cover of talking to
Ermsby, asked in undertone for the sleeping potion which Gregory was to
have obtained. The lackey transferred a phial in an unperceived manner
to his master's hand. Pocketing it in triumph, Jerningham turned to the
captain:
"We shall see how honestly you mean, then. And that the lady may rest
freer of annoyance, send these knaves of yours out of her hearing, back
to their ale."
"With all my heart--when you send away your knaves also."
"I will do so; but fear not, mistress," he called out. "I will not
leave this hall. 'Tis all for the avoiding of bloodshed, and your
better comfort in the end."
"'Tis well, sir; I am not afraid," she answered, in a tired, trembling
voice.
It was agreed that Jerningham's men should go into the room on the
left-hand side of the hall, diagonally opposite that in which the maid
was; that the beggars should return to the kitchen; that the signal for
both parties to withdraw should be given by Jerningham. He was about to
speak the word forthwith, when the captain interposed:
"By your leave, I'll first have private speech with my friends. You
have already had with yours, and may have again ere they depart."
Jerningham saw no way of refusing, or, indeed, much reason therefor;
doubtless the captain wished but to counsel his rascals to be vigilant
for a possible second call. So Jerningham gave consent by silence.
Ravenshaw had a conference with the beggars, in which chief parts were taken by the white-bearded rogue and the ancient cripple who had guided the maunderers to the Grange. |
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