The Pigeon Pie

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER VIII.

  AFTER pacing up and down Rose’s room till he was tired, Walter sat downto rest, for Rose had especially forbidden him to lie down, lest heshould derange his hair. He grew very sleepy, and at last, with his armscrossed on the table, and his forehead resting on them, fell soundasleep, and did not awaken till it was broad daylight, and calls of“Rose! Rose!” were heard outside the locked door.

  He was just going to call out that Rose was not here, when he luckilyrecollected that he was Rose, pulled his hood forward, and opened thedoor.

  He was instantly surrounded by the three children, who, poor littlethings, feeling extremely forlorn and desolate without their mother, allgathered round him, Lucy and Eleanor seizing each a hand, and Charlesclinging to the skirts of his dress. He by no means understood this; andRose was so used to it, as to have forgotten he would not like it. “Howyou crowd?” he exclaimed.

  “Mistress Rose,” began Deborah, coming half way up stairs—Lucy let go hishand, but Charles instantly grasped it, and he felt as if he could notmove. “Don’t be troublesome, children,” said he, trying to shake themoff; “can’t you come near one without pulling off one’s hands?”

  “Mistress!” continued Deborah; but as he forgot he was addressed, and didnot immediately attend, she exclaimed, “Oh, she won’t even look at me! Ithought she had forgiven me.”

  “Forgiven you!” said he, starting. “Stuff and nonsense; what’s all thisabout? You were a fool, that’s all.”

  Deborah stared at this most unwonted address on the part of her younglady; and Lucy, a sudden light breaking on her, smiled at Eleanor, andheld up her finger. Deborah proceeded with her inquiry: “Mistress Rose,shall I take some breakfast to my lady, and the young gentlemen, poorsouls?”

  “Yes, of course,” he answered. “No, wait a bit. Only to my mother, Imean, just at present.”

  “And the soldiers,” continued Deborah—“they’re roaring for breakfast;what shall I give them?”

  “A halter,” he had almost said, but he caught himself up in time, andanswered, “What you can—bread, beef, beer—”

  “Bread! beef! beer!” almost shrieked Deborah, “when she knows the colonelman had the last of our beer; beef we have not seen for two Christmases,and bread, there’s barely enough for my lady and the children, till webake.”

  “Well, whatever there is, then,” said Walter, anxious to get rid of her.

  “I could fry some bacon,” pursued Deborah, “only I don’t know whether tocut the new flitch so soon; and there be some cabbages in the garden.Should I fry or boil them, Mistress Rose? The bottom is out of thefrying-pan, and the tinker is not come this way.”

  The tinker was too much for poor Walter’s patience, and flinging awayfrom her, he exclaimed, “Mercy on me, woman, you’ll plague the life outof me!”

  Poor Deborah stood aghast. “Mistress Rose! what is it? you look wildly,I declare, and your hood is all I don’t know how. Shall I set it right?”

  “Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine!” cried Walter.

  “Alack! alack!” lamented Deborah, as she hastily retreated down stairs,Charlie running after her. “Mistress Rose is gone clean demented withtrouble, and that is the worst that has befallen this poor house yet.”

  “There!” said Lucy, as soon as she was gone; “I have held my tongue thistime. O Walter, you don’t do it a bit like Rose!”

  “Where is Rose!” said Eleanor. “How did you get out?”

  “Well!” said Walter, “it is hard that, whatever we do, women and babiesare mixed up with it. I must trust you since you have found me out, butmind, Lucy, not one word or look that can lead anyone to guess what I amtelling you. Edmund is safe out of this house, Rose is gone withhim—’tis safest not to say where.”

  “But is not she coming back?” asked Eleanor.

  “Oh yes, very soon—to-day, or to-morrow perhaps. So I am Rose till shecomes back, and little did I guess what I was undertaking! I never wasproperly thankful till now that I was not born a woman!”

  “Oh don’t stride along so, or they will find you out,” exclaimed Eleanor.

  “And don’t mince and amble, that is worse!” added Lucy. “Oh you willmake me laugh in spite of everything.”

  “Pshaw! I shall shut myself into my—her room, and see nobody!” saidWalter; “you must keep Charlie off, Lucy, and don’t let Deb drive medistracted. I dare say, if necessary, I can fool it enough for therebels, who never spoke to a gentlewoman in their lives.”

  “But only tell me, how did you get out?” said Lucy.

  “Little Miss Curiosity must rest without knowing,” said Walter, shuttingthe door in her face.

  “Now, don’t be curious, dear Lucy,” said Eleanor, taking her hand. “Weshall know in time.”

  “I will not, I am not,” said Lucy, magnanimously. “We will not say onesingle word, Eleanor, and I will not look as if I knew anything. Comedown, and we will see if we can do any of Rose’s work, for we must bevery useful, you know; I wish I might tell poor Deb that Edmund is safe.”

  Walter was wise in secluding himself in his disguise. He remainedundisturbed for some time, while Deborah’s unassisted genius was exertedto provide the rebels with breakfast. The first interruption was fromEleanor, who knocked at the door, beginning to call “Walter,” and thenhastily turning it into “Rose!” He opened, and she said, with tears inher eyes, “O Walter, Walter, the wicked men are really going to take dearmother away to prison. She is come down with her cloak and hood on, andis asking for you—Rose I mean—to wish good-bye. Will you come?”

  “Yes,” said Walter; “and Edmund—”

  “They were just sending up to call him,” said Eleanor; “they will find itout in—”

  Eleanor’s speech was cut short by a tremendous uproar in the next room.“Ha! How? Where are they? How now? Escaped!” with many confusedexclamations, and much trampling of heavy boots. Eleanor stoodfrightened, Walter clapped his hands, cut a very unfeminine caper,clenched his fist, and shook it at the wall, and exclaimed in an exultingwhisper, “Ha! ha! my fine fellows! You may look long enough for him!”then ran downstairs at full speed, and entered the hall. His mother,dressed for a journey, stood by the table; a glance of hope and joylighting on her pale features, but her swollen eyelids telling of a nightof tears and sleeplessness. Lucy and Charles were by her side, the frontdoor open, and the horses were being led up and down before it. Walterand Eleanor hurried up to her, but before they had time to speak, therebel captain dashed into the room, exclaiming, “Thou treacherous woman,thou shalt abye this! Here! mount, pursue, the nearest road to thecoast. Smite them rather than let them escape. The malignant nurslingof the blood-thirsty Palatine at large again! Follow, and overtake, Isay!”

  “Which way, sir?” demanded the corporal.

  “The nearest to the coast. Two ride to Chichester, two to Gosport. Orhere! Where is that maiden, young in years, but old in wiles? Ah,there! come hither, maiden. Wilt thou purchase grace for thy mother bytelling which way the prisoners are fled? I know thy wiles, and willvisit them on thee and on thy father’s house, unless thou dost somewhatto merit forgiveness.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Walter, swelling with passion.

  “Do not feign, maiden. Thy heart is rejoicing that the enemies of therighteous are escaped.”

  “You are not wrong there, sir,” said Walter.

  “I tell thee,” said the captain, sternly, “thy joy shall be turned tomourning. Thou shalt see thy mother thrown into a dungeon, and thou andthy sisters shall beg your bread, unless—”

  Walter could not endure these empty threats, and exclaimed, “You know youhave no power to do this. Is this what you call manliness to use suchthreats to a poor girl in your power? Out upon you!”

  “Ha!” said the rebel, considerably surprised at the young lady’s mannerof replying. “Is it thus the malignants breed up their daughters, ininsolence as well as deceit?”
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br />   The last word made Walter entirely forget his assumed character, andstriking at the captain with all his force, he exclaimed, “Take that, forgiving the lie to a gentleman.”

  “How now?” cried the rebel, seizing his arm. Walter struggled, the hoodfell back. “’Tis the boy! Ha! deceived again! Here! search the houseinstantly, every corner. I will not be balked a second time.”

  He rushed out of the room, while Walter, rending off the hood, threwhimself into his mother’s arms, exclaiming, “O mother dear, I bore it aslong as I could.”

  “My dear rash boy!” said she. “But is he safe? No, do not say where.Thanks, thanks to heaven. Now I am ready for anything!” and so indeedher face proved.

  “All owing to Rose, mother; she will soon be back again, she—but I’ll sayno more, for fear. He left love—duty—Rose left all sorts of greetings,that I will tell you by and by. Ha! do you hear them lumbering about thehouse? They fancy he is hid there! Yes, you are welcome—”

  “Hush! hush, Walter! the longer they look the more time he will gain,”whispered his mother. “Oh this is joy indeed!”

  “Mamma, I found out Walter, and said not one word,” interposed Lucy; butthere was no more opportunity for converse permitted, for the captainreturned, and ordered the whole party into the custody of a soldier, whowas not to lose sight of any of them till the search was completed.

  After putting the whole house in disorder, and seeking in vain throughthe grounds, the captain himself, and one of his men, went off to scourthe neighbouring country, and examine every village on the coast.

  Lady Woodley and her three younger children were in the meantime lockedinto her room, while the soldier left in charge was ordered not to letWalter for a moment out of his sight; and both she and Walter were warnedthat they were to be carried the next morning to Chichester, to answerfor having aided and abetted the escape of the notorious traitor, EdmundWoodley.

  It was plain that he really meant it, but hope for Edmund made LadyWoodley cheerful about all she might have to undergo; and even trust thatthe poor little ones she was obliged to leave behind, might be safe withRose and Deborah. Her great fear was lest the rebels should search thevillages before Edmund had time to escape.