CHAPTER VII
CAPTAIN ANTHONY CLYNE
Mr. Bishop of Bow Street alone watched the clerk's pen with a look ofdoubt. He had his own views about the girl. But he did not interfere,and his discontent with the posture of affairs was only made clearwhen a knock came at the door. Then he was at the door, and had raisedthe latch before those who were nearest could open.
"Have you got him?" he asked eagerly. And he thrust his head into thepassage.
Even Henrietta turned to catch the answer, her lips parting. Herbreath seemed to stop. The clerk held his pen. The magistrate by agesture exacted silence.
"No, but----"
"No?" the runner cried in chagrin.
"No!" The voice sounded something peremptory. "Certainly not. But Iwant to see--ahem!--yes, Mr. Hornyold. At once!"
Henrietta, at the first word of the answer, had turned again. She hadturned so far that she now had her back full to the door, and her faceto the farthest corner. But it was not the same Henrietta, nor thesame face. She sat rigid, stiff, turned to stone; she was scarlet fromhair to neck-ribbon. Her very eyes burned, her shoulders burned. Andher eyes were wild with insupportable shame. To be found thus! To befound thus, and by him! Better, far better the gaol, and all it meant!
Meanwhile the magistrate, after a brief demur and a little whisperingand the appearance of a paper with a name on it, rose. He went out. Amoment later his clerk was summoned, and he went out. Bishop had goneout first of all. Those who were left and who had nothing better to dothan to stare at the girl's back, whispered together, or bade oneanother listen and hear what was afoot outside. Presently these werejoined by one or two of the boldest in the passage, who mutteredhurriedly what they knew, or sought information, or stared with doublepower at the girl's back. But Henrietta sat motionless, with the samehot blush on her cheeks and the same misery in her eyes.
Presently Mrs. Gilson was summoned, and she went out. The others,freed from the constraint of her presence, talked a little louder anda little more freely. And wonder grew. The two village constables, whoremained and who felt themselves responsible, looked important, andone cried "Silence" a time or two, as if the court were sitting. Theother explained the law, of which he knew as much as a Swedish turnip,on the subject of treason felony. But mixing it up with the _HabeasCorpus_ which was then suspended, he was tripped up by a neighbourbefore he could reach the minutiae of the punishment. Which otherwisemust have had much interest for the prisoner.
At length the door opened, the other constable cried, "Silence!Silence in the court!" And there entered--the landlady.
The surprise of the little knot of people at the back of the room wasgreat but short-lived.
Mrs. Gilson turned about and surveyed them with her arms akimbo andher lower lip thrust out. "You can all just go!" she said. "And thesooner the better! And if ever I catch you"--to the more successful ofthe constables, on whose feet her eye had that moment alighted--"up mystairs with those dirty clogs, Peter Harrison, I'll clout you! Now,off you go! Do you think I keep carpets for loons like you?"
"But--the prisoner?" gasped Peter, clutching at his fast-departingglory. "The prisoner, missus?"
"The goose!" the landlady retorted with indescribable scorn. "Go youdown and see what the other ganders think of it. And leave me to mindmy business! I'll see to the prisoner." And she saw them all out andclosed the door.
When the room was clear she tapped Henrietta on the shoulder. "There'sno gaol for you," she said bluntly. "Though it is not yourself you'vegot to thank for it. They've put you in my charge and you're to stayhere, and I'm to answer for you. So you'll just say straight out ifyou'll stay, or if you'll run."
Had the girl burst into tears the landlady had found it reasonable.Instead, "Where is he?" Henrietta whispered. She did not even turn herhead.
"Didn't you hear," Mrs. Gilson retorted, "that he had not been taken?"
"I mean--I mean----"
"Ah!" Mrs. Gilson exclaimed, a little enlightened. "You mean thegentleman that was here, and spoke for you? Yes, you are right, it'shim you've to thank. Well, he's gone to Whitehaven, but he'll see youtomorrow."
Henrietta sighed.
"In the meantime," Mrs. Gilson continued, "you'll give me your wordyou'll not run. Gilson is bound for you in fifty pounds to show youwhen you're wanted. And as fifty pounds is fifty pounds, and a mint ofmoney, I'd as soon turn the key on you as not. Girls that run once,run easy," the landlady added severely.
"I will not run away," Henrietta said meekly--more meekly perhaps thanshe had ever spoken in her life. "And--and I am much obliged to you,and thankful to you," in a very small voice. "Will you please to letme go to my room, and you can lock me in?"
She had risen from her seat, and though she did not turn to thelandlady, she stole, shamed and askance, a look at her. Her liptrembled, her head hung. And Mrs. Gilson, on her side, seemed for amoment on the verge of some unwonted demonstration; she stood awkwardand large, and perhaps from sheer clumsiness avoided even while sheappeared to invite the other's look. But nothing happened until thetwo passed out, Henrietta first, like a prisoner, and Mrs. Gilsonstiffly following.
Then there were half a dozen persons waiting to stare in the passage,and the way Mrs. Gilson's tongue fell loose was a warning. In twoseconds, only one held her ground: the same dark girl with thegipsy-like features whose mocking smile had annoyed Henrietta as shedressed that morning. Ah, me! what ages ago that morning seemed!
To judge from Mrs. Gilson's indignation, this girl was the last whoshould have stood.
"Don't you black-look me!" the landlady cried. "But pack! D'you hear,impudence, pack! Or not one drop of milk do I take from your oldskinflint of a father! And he'll drub you finely, if he's not too oldand silly--till you smile on the other side of your face! I'd like toknow what's taken you to-day to push yourself among your betters!"
"No harm," the girl muttered. She had retreated, scowling, half-waydown the stairs.
"And no good, either!" the landlady retorted. "Get you gone, or I'llmake your ears ring after another fashion!"
Henrietta heard no more. She had shrunk from the uproar and fledquickly to her room. With a bursting heart and a new humility shedrew the key from the wards of the lock and set it on the outside,hoping--though the hope was slender--to avoid further words with thelandlady. The hope came nearer fulfilment, however, than she expected;for Mrs. Gilson, after panting upstairs, only cried through the doorthat she would send her up supper, and then went down again--perhapswith a view to catching Bess Hinkson in a fresh trespass.
Bess was gone, however. But adventures are for the brave, and not tenminutes passed before the landlady was at issue with a freshadversary. She found the coach-office full, so full that it overflowedinto the hall. Modest Ann, called this way and that, had need of fourhands to meet the demands made upon her; so furious were the calls forthe lemons and rum and Old Geneva, the grateful perfume of whichgreeted Mrs. Gilson as she descended. Alas, something else greetedher: and that was a voice, never a favourite with her, but nowraised in accents particularly distasteful. Tyson, the Troutbeckapothecary--a flashy, hard-faced young man in pepper-and-salt, andBedford cords--had seized the command and the ear of the company inthe coach-office, and was roasting Long Tom Gilson upon his ownhearth.
"Not know who she is?" he was saying in the bullying tone which madehim hated of the pauper class. "You don't ask me to believe that, Tom?Come! Come!"
"It's what I say," Gilson answered.
He sat opposite the other, his hands on his knees, his face red andsulky. He did not like to be baited.
"And you go bail for her?" Tyson cried. "You have gone bail for her?"
"Well?"
"And don't know her name?"
"Well--no."
The doctor sat back in his chair, his glass in his hand, and lookedround for approbation.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "what do you think of that for adalesman?"
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bsp; "Well, it wasn't long-headed, Tom," said one unwillingly. "Not to calllong-headed, so to speak," with north-country caution. "I'd not gobail myself, not for nobody I'd not know."
"No," several agreed. "No, no!"
"No, but----"
"But what, Tom, what?" the doctor asked, waiting in his positivefashion for the other to plunge deeper into the mire.
"Captain Clyne, that I do know," Gilson continued, "it was he said 'Doit!' And he said something to the Rector, I don't doubt, for he wasagreeable."
"But he did not go bail for her?" the apothecary suggestedmaliciously.
"No," Tom answered, breathing hard. "But for reason she was not there,but here. Anyway," he continued, somewhat anxious to shift thesubject, "he said it and I done it, and I'd do it again for CaptainClyne. I tell you he's not a man as it's easy to say 'No' to, Mr.Tyson. As these Radicals i' Lancashire ha' found out, 'od rot 'em!He's that active among 'em, he's never a letter, I'm told, but has acoffin drawn on it, and yeomanry in his house down beyond both day andnight, I hear!"
"I heard," said one, "in Cartmel market, he was to be married nextweek."
"Ay," said the doctor jocosely, "but not to the young lady as Tom isbail for! I tell you, Tom, he's been making a fool of you just to keepthis bit of evidence against the Radicals in his hands."
"Why not send her to Appleby gaol, then?" Tom retorted, with a fairshow of sense.
"Because he knows you'll cosset her here, and he thinks to loose hertongue that way! They can gaol her after, if this don't answer."
"Oh, indeed!"
"Ay, while you run the risk! If it's not that, what's he doing here?"
"Why should he not be here?" Gilson asked slowly. "Hasn't he the oldhouse in Furness, not two miles from Newby Bridge! And his mother aFurness woman. I do hear that the boy's to be brought there for safetytill the shires are quieter. And maybe it's that brings CaptainAnthony here."
"But what has that to do with the young woman you're going bail for?"the doctor retorted. "Go bail, Tom, for a wench you don't know, andthat'll jump the moon one of these fine nights! I tell you, man, Inever heard the like! Never! Go bail for a girl you don't know!"
"And I tell you," cried a voice that made the glasses ring, "I haveheard the like! And I'll give you the man, my lad!" And Mrs. Gilson,putting aside the two who blocked the doorway, confronted theoffending Tyson with a look comparable only to that of Dr. Keats ofEaton when he rolled up his sleeves. "I'll give you the name, my lad!"she repeated.
"Well," the doctor answered, though he was manifestly taken aback,"you must confess, Mrs. Gilson----"
"Nay, I'll confess nothing!" the landlady retorted. "What need, whenyou're the man? Not give bail for a woman you don't know? Much youknew of Madge Peters when you made her your wife! And wasn't thatgoing bail for her? Ay, and bail that you'll find it hard to get outof, my man, though you may wish to! For the matter of that, it's smallblame to her, whatever comes of it!" Mrs. Gilson continued, settingher arms akimbo. "If all I hear of your goings-on is true! What do youthink she's doing, ill and sick at home, while you're hanging aboutold Hinkson's? Ay, you may look black, but tell me what Bess Hinkson'sdoing about my place all this day? I never saw her here twice in a dayin all my life before, and----"
"What do you mean?" Tyson cried violently. To hear a thing which hethought no one suspected brought up thus before a roomful of men! Helooked black as thunder at his accuser.
"I mean no harm of your wife," the terrible landlady answered;something--perhaps this roasting of her husband on his own hearth--hadroused her beyond the ordinary. "None, my gentleman, and I know none.But if you want no harm said of her, show yourself a bit less atHinkson's. And a bit less in my house. And a bit more in your own! Andthe harm will be less likely to happen!"
"I'll never cross your doorstep again!" Tyson roared.
He neither cared nor saw who it was whom he hadjostled]
And stumbling to his feet he cast off one or two who in their wellmeaning would have stayed him. He made for the door. But he was not toescape without further collision. On the threshold he ran plumpagainst a person who was entering, cursed the newcomer heartily, andwithout a look pushed violently by him and was gone.
He neither cared nor saw who it was whom he had jostled. But thecompany saw, and some rose to their feet in consternation, whileothers, carried their hands to their heads. There was an involuntarymovement of respect which the new comer acknowledged by touching hishat. He had the air of one who knew how to behave to his inferiors;but the air, also, of one who never forgot that they were hisinferiors.
"Your friend seems in a hurry," he said. His face was not a face thateasily betrayed emotion, but he looked tired.
"Beg your honour's pardon, I am sure," Gilson answered. "Something'sput him out, and he did not see you, sir."
Mrs. Gilson muttered that a pig could have seen. But her words werelost in the respectful murmur which made the company sharers in thelandlord's apology.
Not that for the most part they knew the strange gentleman. But thereis a habit of authority which once gained becomes a part of the man.And Anthony Clyne had this. He retained wherever he went some shadowof the quarter-deck manner. He had served under Nelson, and underExmouth; but he had resisted, as a glance at his neat, trim figureproved, that coarsening influence which spoiled for Pall Mall too manyof the sea-dogs of the great war. Like his famous leader, he had leftan arm in the cockpit; and the empty sleeve which he wore pinned tothe lappel of his coat added, if possible, to the dignity of theupright carriage and the lean, shaven face. The death of his elderbrother had given him the family place, a seat in the House, a chairat White's, and an income handsome for his day. And he looked all thisand more; so that such a company as now eyed him with respect judgedhim a very perfect gentleman, if a little distant.
But from Clyne Old Hall, where he lived, he could see on the horizonthe smoke of toiling cities; and in those cities there were hundredswho hated his cold proud face, and thousands who cursed his name. Notthat he was a bad man or a tyrant, or himself ground the faces of thepoor. But discipline was his watchword, and reform his bugbear. Topalter with reform, to listen to a word about the rights of themasses, was to his mind to parley with anarchy. That governors andgoverned could be the same appeared to his mind as absurd as that HisMajesty's ships could be commanded from the forecastle. All for thepeople and nothing by the people was his political maxim, and oneamply meeting, as he believed, all eventualities. Lately he had had itcarved on a mantel-piece, and the prattle of his only child, as theclub-footed boy spelled it out syllable by syllable, was music to hisears.
Whoever wavered, therefore, whoever gave to the violence of thosetimes, he stood firm. And he made others stand. It was his honestbelief that a little timely severity--in other words, a whiff ofgrape-shot--would have nipped the French Revolution in the bud; andwhile he owned that the lower orders were suffering and times werebad, that bread was dear and work wanting, he was for quelling theleast disorder with the utmost rigour of the law.
Such was the man who accepted with a curt nod Tom Gilson's apology.Then "Have you a room ready?" he asked.
"The fire is still burning in Mr. Rogers's room," Mrs. Gilsonanswered, smoothing at once her apron and her brow. "And it'll not beused again to-night. But I thought that you had gone on, sir, toWhitehaven."
"I shall go on to-morrow," he answered, frowning slightly.
"I'll show your honour the way," Tom Gilson said.
"Very good," he answered. "And dinner, ma'am, as soon as possible."
"To be sure, sir." And "This way, your honour." And taking two candlesGilson went out before Captain Clyne, and with greater ceremony thanwould be used in these days, lighted him along the passage and up thestairs to Mr. Rogers's room in the south wing.
The fire had sunk somewhat low, but the room which had witnessed somany emotions in the last twenty-four hours made no sign. The tablehad been cleared. The glass fronts of the cupboards shone dully; onlya chair or two sto
od here or there out of place. That was all. But hadHenrietta, when she descended to breakfast that morning, foreseen whowould fill her chair before night, who would dine at her table andbrood with stern unseeing eyes on the black-framed prints, for whomthe pale-faced clock would tick off depressing seconds, what--whatwould she have thought? And how would she have faced her future?
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