The Coming of the King

by Joseph Hocking

  CHAPTER V

  A MIDNIGHT MEETING

  My first glance at the woman's face showed me that it was the same as Ihad seen a few hours before. In the moonlight she looked very pale, andI saw that she was young, not indeed as I judged more than twenty yearsof age. But what struck me most was the fact that she betrayed no fear;rather I saw a look of defiance, and I could not understand how a womanwho had, as I thought, been cowed by the man at the inn could meet mehere alone at midnight and be so brave. Nay, as I thought, there was alook of defiance in her face, and a confidence in her own strength.

  "I desire naught from you, and I have no will to molest you," I said.

  "Then go your way."

  "Ay, I will go my way," I replied, "and perchance my way may be yours."

  "It cannot be. If you have no will to molest me, take your road and Iwill take mine."

  Her quiet confidence almost angered me. Fearfulness I was prepared tomeet, while cries I expected; but to be quietly commanded to pass on,knowing what I knew, made me somewhat impatient, and hence more at myease.

  "It may be, mistress, when I have told you what is in my mind, you willnot be so desirous to be rid of me."

  "There can be naught in your mind that concerns me." Then with a flashas quick as light she said, "Do you boast of gentle blood, young sir?"

  "I am of gentle birth," I replied.

  "Then you must know that when a lady would be alone no man of honourwill stay by her side."

  "That's as may be," I replied. "The lady may be surrounded by dangersof which she knows nothing, in which case the man of honour will stayand protect her even against her will!"

  For a moment she gazed around her as if she apprehended danger, but onlyfor a moment.

  "Will it please you to pass on?" she said.

  "Not until I have told you what is in my mind."

  "Then you are a spy."

  "As you will," I replied, for the words angered me, and even although Ihad no sufficient excuse for remaining by her side, I determined to knowmore of her.

  "Perhaps my first impression was right," she went on, "and you are acommon thief. If so, it is useless coming to me, I have no money."

  At this I was silent, for my brain refused to give me a suitable answer.

  "So having no money, and having no desire to remain longer in yourcompany, I will e'en go on my way."

  "No you will not."

  At this her eyes flashed like fire.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because you are afraid to let me know where you are going."

  At this she gazed fearfully at me, but she spoke no word.

  "Nevertheless, I know the place for which you are bound," I said. "Butif I were you I would not go."

  "Why?"

  "Because the man who sent you seeks only his own safety and not yours.Because he desires to use you only as a key to unlock the door by whichhe would enter, because he has gained power over you only to make youhis tool."

  "What do you know of the man who sent me?"

  This she said, as I thought, involuntarily, for she quickly went on:"How do you know I have been sent? In these days even a woman may----"and then she stopped suddenly, like one afraid.

  "Because I have been staying at the _Barley Sheaf_," I replied. "BecauseI saw you come to the inn; because I heard your conversation to-nightwith the man who hath sent you to do his bidding, against your ownwill."

  "Then you _are_ a spy?"

  "If you will, but let me tell you what is in my mind before you call meby that name again. I was awakened an hour or two ago by the sound of awoman sobbing. She was pleading with some man not to send her out atmidnight, but he persisted. I heard him threaten her, I heard him tellher that if her name were known some dread calamity would happen to her.I knew that he had some power over her, possessed some secret concerningher, and that she had perforce to do his will."

  "Well, what then, sir?" she asked sharply.

  "He commanded her to go to Pycroft, along a road that is infested byfootpads."

  "And what have you to do with this?"

  "Nothing except that I determined to follow her, and offer her whatprotection and help I could give her. Ay, and more, to rid her from theman who is so unworthy to call himself her protector."

  At this she came up close to me, and looked steadily into my face.

  "Is that all you know?" she said.

  "That is all."

  "And that is your reason for following me?"

  "That is my reason."

  "What is your name?"

  I could see no harm in telling her. My name was unknown, and my missionhither was, I believed, a secret.

  "Roland Rashcliffe," I said.

  "Of Epping?"

  "Of that family, yes."

  "And this is true?"

  "On my word as a gentleman, yes."

  Again she looked at me steadily as if she were in sore straits what todo, and did not know whether she might trust me.

  "You know nothing about me beyond what you have said?"

  "Nothing."

  "And you desire only to see me safe from harm?"

  "That is all," and at the time it was true, for under the influence ofthe woman's presence my own mission to Pycroft seemed of little import.

  "And if I allow you to accompany me you will ask me no questions?"

  "I desire you to answer no questions of mine, nor to reveal to meanything which you would keep secret."

  "You do not know my name--nor his name?"

  "No."

  Again she scanned me eagerly, and then looked around her. All round uswas a weary waste of uncultivated land, beyond the dark woods a cloudshot over the moon, while away in the distance the horizon was blackenedby what looked like a coming storm. The winter had gone, and the springwas upon us, nevertheless the night had grown cold. I saw her shudder.

  "What are you?" she said. "Roundhead, or Cavalier?"

  "I do not know."

  At this she looked at me suspiciously.

  "My father fought for the king in the first Civil War," I replied. "ButI have stayed at home all my life. I have not interested myself inpolitics. I have helped to look after what remains of my father'sestates."

  "You have spent your life in idleness?"

  "I have sought to learn those things which may become a gentleman," Ireplied. "I can use a sword, and I am not altogether an ignoramus."

  "You love books then?"

  "I have read the writings of both William Shakespeare and John Milton,"I replied, "and I know a little of such writings of Corneille andMoliere as have been brought to this country."

  "You know French then?"

  "A little. But that hath nothing to do with my desire to befriend you.You are in trouble, and I would help you."

  "You desire not to harm me?"

  "So help me God, no."

  "But why are you here?" she asked suspiciously. "If your home is atEpping Forest, what are you doing at Folkestone?"

  "I came at my father's bidding," I replied after a moment's hesitation.

  "Ah, you have a secret, too," she cried.

  At this I was silent, while I wondered at the quickness with which shefastened upon the truth. Nevertheless, I was sure her voice wasfriendly, and I thought she was glad to have me near. And this was nowonder, for courageous although she might be, her mission was one whichmust strike terror in the bravest heart.

  But still she hesitated. What was passing in her mind I knew not; but Iimagined that two fears fought one against the other in her heart. One,the fear of going alone to the haunted house situated amid the greatPycroft woods, and the other the fear of accepting the protection of oneof whom she knew nothing, and whom she had never seen until that hour.

  The winds blew colder, while away in the distance I heard the rumble ofthunder, and this I think decided her. Had it been day I do not believeshe would have listened to me for a moment, but it was night and athunderstorm was sweeping towards us; besides, although a courageo
usone, she was still a woman.

  "Promise me again that you will not seek to interfere with my mission,or to harm me," she said.

  "I promise," I replied.

  "I will accept your escort," she said. "Come quickly, for what is donemust be done quickly."

  We walked together across the broad open land, while the black cloudgrew larger and larger. The moon had also sunk low, and the night hadgrown dark. Even now a strange feeling comes into my heart as I think ofour journey towards the old house, for reared in the country as I hadbeen, ay, and in the very midst of the great forest which lies east ofLondon town, I thought I never knew any place so lonely as this.Besides, I knew naught of my companion. That she was young, and fair tolook upon, I could not help seeing, but I knew not her name, neither didI understand the mystery which surrounded her life.

  Twice I saw her turn and gaze furtively at me, as though desiring toknow what was in my mind, but for the most part she walked straight on,never turning to the right nor to the left.

  Nearer and nearer we came to the pine woods which stood on the edge ofthe open land, and as we did so drops of rain began to fall upon us.Then I thought I saw her shudder, but she spoke no word. In spite of theway she had spoken to me, I fell to pitying her more than ever. Fortruly it was a sad predicament for a young maid, evidently well-born andtenderly reared, to be placed in. From what she had said to the man atthe inn, she knew nothing either of Pycroft or its inmates, neithercould she tell what her welcome to the lonely house would be like.

  Once she stopped and listened as though she heard strange sounds near,and then presently moved on again without a word. By and bye we came toa pond beside the road, close by which was a gateway. Beyond were, asfar as I could judge, dense dark woods.

  "This is the place," I said.

  "How do you know?"

  "It accords with the description the man gave you at the inn."

  "Yes, but you know nothing of those who live at the house?"

  "Nothing."

  "You may accompany me until we come in sight of the house, but afterthat you must go no further."

  "Why?"

  "You promised to ask no questions."

  "I promised not to interfere with your mission," I replied, "neitherwill I. I have kept by your side for more than two miles withoutspeaking a word concerning it. Nevertheless I have not promised to obeyyou in all things. Had I, I should not be by your side now. I cannotpromise not to go too close to the house. It may be that you will needhelp, and I mean to keep close by your side."

  "But why?" and I thought my words gave her comfort.

  "Because I desire to be your friend."

  In this I spoke the truth, for although I had it in my heart to enterthe house in order to carry out my plans, yet my pity for the maid, andmy determination to befriend her became stronger each minute.

  "My friend!" she said. "You do not know what you say. Do you know whatit would cost to be my friend? Besides, why should you? You do not knowwho I am; you have never heard my name."

  "No," I replied, "I have never heard your name, I do not know who youare."

  "Then why should you desire to befriend me?"

  I could not answer her, neither for that matter could I answer myselfwhen the question came to me. But I think I know now. Although my fatherhad taught me to distrust all men, he had always led me to think of mymother as a beautiful noble woman, one who was as pure as an angel, andas truthful as the sun which shines in the heavens. Thus it came aboutthat I was led to look at womanhood through the medium of my mother'slife, and to regard it as a gentleman's duty ever to treat them withrespect and reverence. Nay, more, I had learnt, I know not how, toregard it the first duty of a man of honour ever to seek to befriend agentlewoman, and that at all hazards.

  "Because you are a gentlewoman, and you are in trouble," I said.

  We had been standing beside the pond during this conversation, as thoughwe desired to delay entering the dark woods close by. Once beneath theshadows of the trees we should scarce be able to see each other, buthere no shadow fell, and I could see her plainly. I heard her sob, too,as though my words had touched her heart.

  "Do not be afraid," I said, "I will let no man harm you."

  I spoke as a brother might speak to a sister, and there was naught butpity in my heart. Perhaps my voice had a tremor in it, for I was muchwrought upon. Be that as it may, for the first time she lost controlover herself, and she gave way to tears.

  "I am afraid, oh, I am afraid," she said.

  "You need not be," I said, "no harm shall befall you."

  "Oh, but you do not know. You do not know who is by your side, you donot know what I fear."

  "You need not fear to tell me," I said.

  "Fear to tell you!" she cried, "but I do. Ay and if it were known thatyou walk by my side, and that you seek to befriend me, your life wouldbe in danger. You do not know why I have consented to come here, you donot know of what I am accused. Nay, if I told you my name, you wouldeither drag me back to Folkestone town and tell--" Here she ceasedspeaking, as though she were frightened at her own words.

  "No I should not," I made answer.

  "Why?"

  "Because I do not believe you are capable of committing a crime."

  At this she laughed aloud. A hard, cruel, bitter laugh.

  "You had better go back to your bed, Master Rashcliffe," she said. "Youdo not know why I am here, you do not know what my mission is. I willtell you. I am here because I fear the devil, and because I seek to dohis bidding."

  She said this as if through her set teeth, and, as it seemed to me, withterrible passion. In spite of myself I felt a shiver pass through myveins. Nevertheless I still pitied her. For be it remembered I was onlytwenty-three, and the sight of the maid was in truth piteous. All thesame the words I spoke next were dragged from me almost against my will.

  "What!" I cried. "Have you sold yourself to the devil?"

  "Ay, Master Rashcliffe, that is it, and I have found him a hard master."

  I saw her clench her hands as if in a frenzy, while her eyes gleamedwith a great passion.

  "I do not believe in such things," I said, for although many witches hadbeen burnt in England, even in my time, I had no faith in much of what Ihad heard.

  "Why do I go up to the old house in Pycroft woods?" she went on. "Is itfor pleasure? Have you not heard it is haunted? I tell you deeds aredone there which would frighten you, brave as you think you are. And Igo because I must. Now had you not better go back and leave me?"

  "No," I made answer. "I will accompany you even as I have said."

  "But you promised not to hinder me."

  "No, I will not hinder you, because, in spite of what you say, I do notbelieve evil is in your heart."

  "There you make a mistake, Master Rashcliffe. I have evil in my heart.And it is not without reason. Have you a sister?"

  "No, why do you ask?"

  "Because if you had you might understand me. If you had a sister, boundto obey a bad man, as his wife, would she not be justified in havingevil in her heart?"

  "His wife?" I cried.

  "Ay, his wife!" and at this she laughed bitterly. "Now you see howuseless it is for you to try and help me, for a wife must obey herhusband no matter what he commands her. Do you think I would be hereelse? Look!" and she showed me her left hand, where I saw a plain goldring.

  At this I said nothing, nevertheless I did not in any wise think ofgiving up my determination to accompany her.

  "You are still determined to enter this old house?" I said quietly.

  "I go because I must," she replied.

  Without another word I opened the gate and motioned her to pass in.

  "You still persist in going?" she said, as if in astonishment, but shepassed through the open gate, while I walked quietly by her side.

  It was not easy to keep to the track, but I managed to follow it whilethe woman, who I was sure felt glad that I had persisted in accompanyingher, kept near me. How long we walk
ed I do not know. The woods grewdarker and thicker, while the very air we breathed seemed laden withmystery and dread.

  Once or twice I stopped, for I thought I heard footsteps, but as Ilistened all was silent.

  "Oh, I am afraid," she said again and again. I did not reply to her, forI had no word of cheer to offer. In truth I was not far from beingafraid myself. An open enemy I could meet as well as another, but thedreadful silence, with the occasional suggestion of stealthy footsteps,made my heart grow cold in spite of myself.

  At length the track ended in an open space, and then my heart gave aleap, for a little distance away I saw the dark outline of an old house.Never until then did I realise how dark and lonesome a human habitationcould be. Not a sound could I hear save the beating of our own hearts,naught could I see but the grim walls of the time-worn building.

  "Look," she whispered fearfully. "Yonder is a light."

  She spoke truly, for almost hidden by a large evergreen tree, yetplainly to be seen was a tiny light.

  "That will be Master Pycroft!" I said almost involuntarily.

  For answer she only shuddered, and then without saying a word she walkedin the direction of the light.