The Lions Whelp 45

The Lions Whelp 45

She was sitting, one afternoon, talking to Stephen about advices he had

just received from his confederates in London, when a servant entered.

"My lady," he said, "here has come a man with a letter, which he will

deliver to none but you." Matilda’s first thought was, "It is some

private word from Rupert;" and she ordered the messenger to her presence

at once. When she saw it was Jane’s writing, she was much annoyed. "I

will wager it is some bad news, or it had not come through this gate,"

she said; and she opened the letter with angry reluctance. Hastily she

glanced over the lines, until she came to the discovery of the plot.

 

"Oh, indeed, here is the burden of Jane Swaffham!" she cried in a

passion. "We are discovered. All is known—all has been known from the

very first. Stephen, you are in instant danger. You must away at

once."

 

"I do not believe it."

 

"Fool! How else could Jane have sent this word? She says Cromwell has

known it from its beginning. The man has a devil; who can circumvent

him? You must fly at once. The warrant for your arrest will doubtless

come by to-night’s mail. My God, are our troubles never to cease? Is

everything not countersigned by Cromwell to be a failure? It is

unendurable!"

 

"Everything with which Prince Rupert meddles is unfortunate," answered

Stephen. "He assigns all he touches with failure. I said so from the

beginning. He is, and was, the King’s evil genius."

 

"You lie! You lie downright, Stephen! But this is no time for

quarreling. You must away, and that at once."

 

"And, pray, how? or where? I will not run. I will stand or fall with

the rest."

 

"What drivel, what nonsensical bombast are you talking? It is ’I,’ ’I’

and still ’I’ with you. Have you no consideration for others—for uncle

and aunt, and for poor, dying Anthony? Think of all he has done, and at

least let him go in the belief that he has saved de Wick."

 

"It is better to stand together."

 

"It is already—I’ll wager that much—every man for himself. You must

take the North Road to Hull; you are sure of a ship there."

 

"And how the devil, sister, am I to reach Hull?"

 

"Take the sorrel horse; if any one sees you, you are for Squire

Mason’s;" then hastily unlocking a drawer, she brought a little bag of

gold and put it in his hand. "There is enough and to spare for your

road to Paris." He flung the gold from him, and Matilda clasping her

hands frantically, cried "My God, Stephen, are you not going?"

 

"Storm your utmost, Matilda. I care not a rap; I will not budge from

this spot."

 

"But you must go! Stephen, Stephen, for my sake," and she burst into

passionate tears and sobs.

 

"Be quiet, Matilda. Women’s counsel is always unlucky, but I will run,

if you say so. I feel like an ever-lasting scoundrel to do it."

 

"They will all run—if they can. There is a little time yet in your

favour. The mail-rider does not pass here till eight o’clock, or after.

You have four or five hours’ grace."

 

He rose as she spoke, and she kissed him with passionate tenderness.

When he left the room, she ran to the roof of the house to watch which

road he took. If he went northward, he was for Hull, and bent on saving

his life; but if he went south, he was for London, and would doubtless

have the fate on Tower Hill he had been warned against. In about a

quarter of an hour she saw him riding at great speed northward, and

after watching him until he became a speck on the horizon, she went back

to her room, and she was weeping bitterly though quite unconscious of

it.

 

Her first act was to tear Jane’s letter into minute pieces. She did it

with an inconceivable passion. Every shred of the paper fluttered into

the fire as if in conscious suffering, and when the last particle was

consumed, she stood with her folded hand on her mouth, looking at the

white ashy films, and considering what next to do. Her face was set and

frowning; she was summoning to her aid, by the very intensity of her

feeling, whatever power she possessed to counsel her perplexity.

 

Suddenly her face lightened; she smiled, nodded her handsome head with

satisfaction, and then in a leisurely manner put on her garden hat and

walked to the stables. She was a daily visitor there, and her appearance

caused no surprise. She went at once to a young man known to be Stephen

de Wick’s constant attendant whenever he was in the neighbourhood. She

knew he could be relied on, and as they stood together by Matilda’s

Barbary mare, she said with the critical air of one talking about a

favourite animal, "Yupon, can you help in a matter for Earl Stephen? It

is life or death, Yupon, and I know of no one but you to come to—also,

there will be a few gold pieces."

 

"With or without gold, my lady, I am your servant. What is to be done?"

 

"You know the three large oak trees, just beyond the boundary of de

Wick?"

 

"I know them well, my lady."

 

"Be under the oaks to-night, at eight o’clock. Have with you a lanthorn

and a coil of strong rope. You will see Earl de Wick there, and when he

speaks, join him on the instant. Can he rely on you?"

 

"By my soul, he can; even to blood-letting."

 

"Be this our bargain then. Eight o’clock—no later. And on my honour, I

promise, there shall no guilt of blood-letting stick to your hands."

 

"Let me perish, if I am not there."

 

All the man’s words had the savour of a strong, faithful spirit, and

Matilda went back to her room satisfied. The principal part of her plan

for Stephen’s safety was accomplished; she had no doubts now as to its

prosperous carrying out. So she lay down and tried to compose herself;

and as the day darkened and the time for action came, she found a

strength and calmness that was sufficient. Without a sign of anxiety in

her heart, she eat her evening meal with her aunt, and then said,

 

"I am going to dismiss Delia, go to bed early, and sleep a headache

away." Lady Jevery said she was "in the same mind"; and this

circumstance, being much in Matilda’s favour, gave her that satisfactory

feeling of "having the signs favourable," which we all appreciate when

we intend important work.

 

About seven o’clock she went to her brother’s room, and brought away a

suit of his clothing; and when she had dressed herself in it, and put a

pistol and hunting-knife in her belt, and a large plumed hat on her

head, she looked in the mirror with the utmost satisfaction. She was

her brother’s double; quite his height, and singularly like him in

carriage, face and manner. Of this resemblance she had soon a very

convincing proof, for as she passed through the hall, her own maid Delia

curtsied to her, and said, "My lady is sick to-night, sir, and will not

be disturbed." And Matilda bowed and passed on. As for the other

servants, in and out of the house, they knew they were to have eyes and

see not; and ears, and hear not. Therefore, though several met, as they

supposed, the young Earl leaving the house, there was no further

recognition of the fact among themselves, than a lifting of the

eyebrows, or some enigmatical remark, only to be understood by those _en

rapport_ with the circumstances.

 

Matilda walked quickly through the garden, and still more quickly

through the lonely chase. She was not afraid of the thing she was going

to do, but she was afraid of the toads and snails, and the unknown deer

and dogs that thought the wooded space their own. But without

molestation she arrived at the three oaks. Yupon Slade was already

there. He showed her the light of the lanthorn for a moment, and then

his black-cloaked figure and masked face blended indeterminately with

the darkness around him. For nearly an hour Matilda walked up and down

the road, keeping well within call of her companion. But about nine

o’clock the sound of a horse coming at an easy gallop was heard, and

Yupon was softly called. He was at Matilda’s side as the rider came

near them. She advanced to meet him, calling pleasantly, "Miles Watson,

a word, if it please you."

 

The voice was familiar and kind, and Miles drew rein and asked, "Who

calls me? I am on the Commonwealth’s business, and cannot be delayed."

 

Then Matilda, pointing the pistol in his face said, "You must light from

your horse, Miles Watson." Miles tried then to proceed, but Yupon had

whispered to the animal he rode, and the creature took no notice of his

rider’s persuasions. The pistol was dangerously near; Yupon’s rough

order "to tumble" was not unaccompanied by threats, and Watson thought

it best to obey quietly, where he could not resist. When Yupon had

bound him securely, Matilda took the lanthorn, and drawing from her

girdle the sharp hunting-knife, she cut open the leathern mail-bag, and

turned the light upon its contents. The small private letters she

hardly noticed, but there were three ominous-looking papers closed with

large red seals, and these she instantly seized. They were all directed

to the Sheriff of Ely; and she felt sure they were the authority for

Stephen’s arrest. She took possession of the whole three, bade Yupon

set loose the horse, and leaving the other contents of the rifled

mail-bag on the grass by the side of the bound carrier, she put into her

companion’s hand the promised gold pieces, and then slipped away into

the shadows and darkness of de Wick chase.

 

[Illustration: "THREE OMINOUS-LOOKING PAPERS."]

 

Once within its boundaries she ran like a deer till she reached the

house. All was shut and silent, but she was prepared for this

emergency. She had a key to her private rooms, and she reached them

without sight or sound that could betray her. Indeed, she felt

reasonably certain that neither Yupon nor the mail-rider had suspected

her disguise. When she put the gold in Yupon’s hand he had said quite

naturally, "Thanks to you, Earl Stephen;" and twice over Miles Watson

vowed, "I shall be equal to you yet, Earl de Wick. I know who you be,

Earl de Wick."

 

There was still fire on her hearth, and she pushed the dying logs

together, and lit a candle by their blaze. Then she opened one of the

letters. It was a warrant for the arrest of Squire Mason. The next

opened was a warrant for the arrest of Lord Frederick Blythe; but the

third was, truly enough, the warrant for the arrest of Stephen de Wick,

for treason against the Commonwealth and conspiracy against the life of

the Protector. She drew her mouth tightly, and tore the whole three

warrants across, and threw them into the flames. When they were ashes,

she turned quickly, divested herself of her brother’s clothing, and put

on her own garments. Then she carried Stephen’s suit to his room, and afterwards put out the candle and went to bed.