“And heaven help the poor French, if they are out there,” said Hawth. “They won’t stand a chance.”
“The poor French?” Warren’s tone was half friendly, half mocking. “A good thing young Winterton’s not here to listen to that!”
“Oh, he’d understand, I think,” said Hawth. “It’s not the French are our enemies, but Bonaparte.” He gripped his friend’s arm. “George, look!” A light was gradually growing to the west, where the point lay.
“Dear God,” said George Warren. “It’s really happening.”
“Looks like it.” Hawth bent to trim the wick of the lamp and replenish the fire. “Let me fill your glass, George. No chance of more action for an hour or so. And this waiting comes hard!”
“Yes; Thanks.” He took the glass and moved back to the window. “Lord, what a blaze. You wouldn’t think the French could mistake it.”
“Beating across Channel, on a filthy night, expecting a light? What would you think?
“I suppose so. And meanwhile your friends the wreckers are getting ready to receive them. You didn’t warn the barracks?”
“How could I, George? And betray my friends? You and I will have to do the best we can to protect any Frenchmen who should survive. Not many on a night like this, I fear.”
“Fear?” Once again George Warren took him up on it.
“They’re men, George. With wives … children.” Now he was gazing out towards the blaze on the point. “Any sign of life at the barracks?” Moving across the room, he paused to glance out of the window that faced directly south, down to the bay. His voice changed, “George, come and look! Something’s happening at Tidemills.”
“Tidemills?”
“It’s dead south from this window. Look!” He stood back and Warren took his place and saw small points of light flickering against the black dark.
“Torches?” he asked.
“Yes. But why?”
“They must have seen the beacon,” said Warren. “I suppose they’d know what it meant.”
“Yes. But so soon? They must have been watching.”
“The wreckers and the smugglers were in closer touch than you thought.”
“I suppose so.” But he said it doubtfully. “I’ve made a fool of myself so many times just lately that I can believe I’ve done it again, but I’d have sworn—” He broke off, “Look!” The flickering lights had now martialled themselves into a group. “Wouldn’t you say they are coming this way? Not to the shore?”
“Yes,” said Warren gravely. “I would. You think—it’s the beginning.”
“It has to be. What else? Thank God we were watching.” He turned from the window. “They are coming this way. Up the hill. But not fast, thank God.” He threw it back over his shoulder as he started at breakneck speed down the steep stairs. “I’m for the servant’s wing to rouse out the men. We must meet them at the top of the hill, where the lane forks. It’s the only place to hold them.”
“Yes.” Warren had paused to take one last glance southwards. “Have you a boy you can spare?” He followed Hawth quickly downstairs. “Some of them have branched off along the coast path.”
“To your house? An organised attack on all of us? The beginning, for certain. Here, you!” A servant had come bearily through the green baize door. “Over, to the stables, rouse the men there. The first one ready’s to ride hell for leather to Warren House. Tell Mr. Warrender there to be ready to defend it. The second to the barracks. Tell them the mob’s out from Tidemills. We’ll hold them as long as we can.”
“The Dower House,” said Warren.
“I’ve sent a man to warn Winterton, Told him to rouse the ladies and get them over to the hall. Easier to defend, if it comes to that.” More and more servants were assembling now, most of them armed. “A good thing I made them all join the militia,” said. Hawth, and addressed them briefly. “The mob’s out from Tidemills. We’ve got to stop them at the top of the hill or not one of your wives or sweethearts is safe. Parsons, you will stay here. Mr. Winterton and Joe will be bringing the ladies over from the Dower House. If the worse comes to the worse, you’ll defend them here.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
Warren listened with admiration as Hawth swiftly allocated the best riders to the available horses. “The rest of you, run,” he concluded. “We’ll hold them till you come.”
It had all taken a dangerous amount of time, but at least a faint lightening of the pre-dawn sky made the going easier along the well-kept drive to the sea gate. They found the lodge keeper there, ready and waiting at the gate, having been roused by the messenger to Warren House. “Have you heard anything?” Hawth reined in his horse for a moment.
“Not to say heard, but a while back I thought mebbe there was something. What do I do if they come, my lord?”
“Lock the gate and hide in the woods, you and your wife. But I pray they won’t come.” He was through the gate and taking his horse at dangerous speed down the lane towards the comer where it forked for Tidemills. And now, unmistakably, they could hear a mixture of singing and shouting from somewhere down the hill towards Tidemills. “Good,” said Hawth. “They don’t expect opposition or they’d come quietly. Surprise will be on our side.”
“It had better be.” George Warren looked back at the too small group of mounted servants.
“This is the place!” Hawth reined in his horse at the point where the lane to Tidemills sloped steeply away to their left. He made his dispositions quickly. The two best marskmen in the party dismounted on his orders and climbed the banks on either side of the lane. “Don’t fire till I give the word. Aim for the leaders: And try to disable, not kill. You and I at the front, George, the rest of you spread out behind there, ready to back us up. The others will form our last line, when they get here.”
“When,” said a footman, but he said it under his breath.
They could hear the rioters very close now, singing raggedly a song with a refrain of Blood, blood, bread or blood. The lights of their torches showed as a glow above the little wood that masked the turn of the lane. “They’ll have them in their right hands,” said Hawth. “Won’t be expecting a fight here.”
Blood, Blood, bread or blood. The refrain sounded suddenly much louder as the first torches came into view. “Hush,” said Hawth quietly, “they won’t see us for a minute more.” He nudged his horse gently forward and Warren suddenly realised why he had chosen an elderly grey whose colour would stand out in the dark. “Halt!” His shout echoed strangely between the two bodies of men in the high-banked lane.
For a moment, the first torch-bearers paused, but then inevitably moved forward again, pushed by the mass of men behind them, jostling together in the narrow lane, torches flaring dangerously close, but the singing dwindling into silence.
“Halt, or we fire!” Hawth shouted again into the hush.
“Be damned to you, Hawth!” Jewkes the publican came forward at a rush, his torch raised to strike Hawth.
“Fire!” The shots from the bank cracked out as Hawth gave the order and Jewkes fell to the ground, to be trampled over by his own followers. In the sweating, cursing struggle that followed firearms were useless. It was sword against torch or cudgel, with the advantage of height on the horsemen’s side, but that of sheer mass on their opponents’, who came forward it seemed endlessly, fighting their way up the lane over the writhing bodies of their wounded friends.
And some of the horses were beginning to panic, terrified by the torches that were thrust at their eyes. Or were their riders encouraging them to panic? Certainly their numbers were rapidly diminishing, when Warren, parrying a cudgel stroke that might have felled him, heard the welcome sound of horses, hardridden up the lane from Glinde. The messenger to the barracks must have had wings, he thought, parried another stroke, and edged his horse over to where he could see Hawth laying about him with the flat of his sword. It had got much lighter. It was becoming possible, disconcertingly, to see how few of t
heir party were left.
The rioters, who had withdrawn for a moment, saw it, too. “Come on boys,” came a shout. “One push and we’re through, and then who’s for the hall and the Dower House!”
“Huzza,” came the answer, and, “Bread or blood,” they shouted, “Blood, blood, bread or blood,” as they came on again, slow but steady, up the slope.
Up at the hall, Kate and her mother were sitting shivering over a newly lighted fire in the morning room. “If only someone would come,” said Kate, not for the first time.
“We must think no news is good news,” said her mother patiently. And then, also not for the first time: “Kate, I wish you would change.”
“No!” Kate adjusted the ruffles of her shirt-sleeves. “I’d rather be killed as a man than raped as a woman. Besides, who knows? Kit Warrender may still carry some weight with the rioters. Anyway—” she laughed wickedly—“it was worth it all to see young Winterton’s face.”
“Your reputation’s quite gone,” said her mother.
“Darling mamma, it’s my life I’m worrying about, not my reputation. That’s gone anyway. Let’s just survive this, and then I’m your most obedient spinster for the waters in Tunbridge Wells.”
“Yes, dear,” said her mother without enthusiasm. And then: “What’s that?”
“Bad news, I’m afraid.” John Winterton had entered the room, carefully looking away from Kate’s, buck skinned legs. “The servants are coming back. The foot party met the riders, fleeing.”
“Coming back?” Kate jumped to her feet. “But, Mr. Warren? Lord Hawth?”
“Vanished, they say. I don’t like the sound of it.” He was addressing himself to Mrs. Warrender, rather as if Kate did not exist. “I’m afraid the rioters must have captured them, or worse. Ma’am, I’m sorry to say it, but I think we should prepare to evacuate the hall.”
“Evacuate?” asked Kate. “You mean we should run away?”
“Hide in the woods,” he said, again to Mrs. Warrender. “Lord Hawth left me responsible for your safety. I can think of no better way.”
“And let them burn the hall as well as the Dower House?” asked Kate dangerously. “How many men have you, Mr. Winterton?”
“It makes no difference.” He turned to her with a kind of desperation. “They’ve run away once, they will again. I tell you, we cannot hold the hall.”
“Let me talk to them,” said Kate. “They know me. Kit Warrender.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Winterton. “He’s under arrest, down at the Warren. I tell you, ma’am,” he turned back to Mrs. Warrender, “we must rouse the children and hide them in the woods. I said we should have got them ready in the first place. If you won’t do it, I’ll send one of the maids.”
Left alone, the two women looked at each other with a kind of mute despair. Then: “I don’t believe it,” said Kate. “‘Vanished,’ he said. As if they had ran away!”
“Impossible. But in the dark … killed, Kate?”
“I won’t believe it. Not both of them. Not together. Oh, mamma.” Silently, she reached out to take both her mother’s hands in her own.
“Oh, Kate.” They exchanged a long look of complete understanding.
“How long have you known?” asked Kate at last.
“That you loved him? Longer than you have.” Mrs. Warrender managed a shaky laugh. “Longer than he has, come to that.”
“But it’s no use!” Kate took a furious stride to the window and pulled back a curtain to look out. “No use for either of us. Let’s face it, just once, together. If they survive this—and we do—we must go, mamma. Anywhere. Away!” And when had she dismissed Christopher and Warren House as a possible refuge? How strange, and how sad, but she had done so.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Warrender. “And if they don’t, who cares what happens to us?”
“Not I!” She pulled back the curtain. “Listen! There’s someone coming. Horses. It must be them!”
“Unless the rioters have taken theirs.”
“I won’t believe it. And, even if it’s true, the place to meet them is at the front door. It’s light enough now for them to see us, to know what they are doing. And to see I am armed. It’s our best hope, I promise you. Much better, and more bearable, than cowering here, waiting for the worst. And might give Winterton time to get the children away, if it should come to that”
“Yes. I’d not thought of that.” Mrs. Warrender dried the tears that had been trickling quietly down her cheeks and rose to her feet
“Bless you.” Kate picked up the pistol she had never returned to Brown, made doubly sure it was loaded and ready, and led the way to the front door. Winterton must still be in the nursery wing, but a little group of menservants were huddled in the front hall, being harangued by Parsons.
“There’s someone coming.” Kate ignored the men’s amazed glances. “Throw open the door, Parsons. We’ll meet them on the steps. No need for torches. It’s almost light outside.”
“They’ll see how few we are.”
“They’ll listen to me. I hope. Besides, listen! It’s only a few. Two perhaps. His lordship and Mr. Warren? Needing help? Quick! Do as I say, man!”
Slowly, reluctantly, without any help from the other men, Parsons threw open the big doors. Kate took her mother’s arm to lead her firmly out on to the steps. And saw two horsemen emerge from the park shrubbery. “Thank God.” At the sight of Hawth and Warren she uncocked the pistol and handed it to Parsons.
“You’re safe?” Hawth sat in the saddle for a moment, swaying slightly, looking up at the two figures on the steps. “They’ve not been here?”
“No, no,” said Kate, and looked beyond him to George Warren, who was staring at her in amazement. And horror? Time for all that later. “You’re not hurt? Either of you?”
“Nothing to signify. It’s all over, I think.” He laughed sardonically as he strode into the hall. “A miracle. The same beacon seems to have alerted both rioters and wreckers. We were having a hard fight of it, George and I, with the rioters—and not much help from my men!” An angry look round at trembling servants gave point to his words. “When along came the wreckers from Glinde, so we just stepped quietly aside, and let the two gangs fight it out between them. I wonder how long it will take before they recognise each other, join forces and go down to watch for the French in the bay.”
“The French?”
“They had planned a landing tonight. Thanks to the wreckers’ beacon, they’ll be landing any time now, but not the way they meant. We must get down there, George, and see what we can do for them. You’ll look after things here for me, Winterton. I’m glad you kept your head and didn’t ran for it.”
“Not my doing, my lord.” Winterton spoke up from behind Kate. “It was Miss Warrender said we must stay.”
“Where is Miss Warrender?” asked George Warren. “And what are you doing here?” to Kate.
“I’m …” Kate began to attempt the impossible explanation, then turned, astonished, as warm arms were, thrown around her from behind.
“You’re safe! You’re here! Oh, thank God!” cried Susan. And then, recoiling: “But you’re not! You’re not you!”
“No,” said Kate apologetically, “I’m afraid I’m not.”
“It serves you both richly right.” Hawth had dismounted by now and joined them at the top of the steps. “You!” He turned with fury on the gaping servants. “Back to your duties! The night’s work is over, no thanks to you. Now get out of my sight, for the pack of poltroons you are.” He turned to take Mrs. Warrender’s’ hand. “They’ve behaved themselves? The servants?”
“Behaved?” She looked up at him in wide-eyed surprise.
“Yes.” Kate understood him. “I was afraid when they came back that they might take it into their heads to throw in their lot with the rioters, That—” she turned to Winterton—“is why I thought flight would be madness. Show fear, and a bull attacks.”
“You were right, Miss Warrender
, and I owe you an apology.” Winterton had Harriet and Giles on either side of him, and the children were staring wide-eyed at Kate.
“It’s Kit Warrender,” said Giles.
“No, it’s not, silly,” said Harriet. “It’s our Miss Warrender in … in fancy dress. You look splendid, Miss Warrender!” She held up her face to be kissed and Kate bent to give her a strong hug. Then, looking up, she met George Warren’s amazed eyes squarely. “Kit Warrender,” she held out a hand. “At your service, Mr. Warren.”
“Two of you! But it was you!” He took her hand in his own cold one and bent to kiss it. “You saved my life that time! But … but why, Miss Warrender? Why the masquerade?”
“ ‘No sister of yours?’” Kate began to quote him bitterly, but was interrupted.
“No time for explanations,” said Hawth. “You seem to have forgotten, George, that your house may be in flames by now.”
“Not his house.” While all attention had been centred on Kate, the front door had opened once more and Christopher had entered and stood for a moment surveying the scene. Now he took a leisurely step forward. “Well, mamma, no welcome for the prodigal?”
“Christopher!” She flung herself into his arms. “You’re alive! You’re safe! But Chris—” She drew away a little to look up at him. “How? I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long story.” He turned, dismissing her, to George Warren, who was still gazing at Kate. “The Warren’s safe, by the way. The servants seem to care for you. They fought like tigers. Apropos: I must thank you, Cousin George, for taking such good care of my house. The chinoiserie is not quite to my taste, but we’ll let that pass. There, child!” Susan, who had stood for a few moments staring from him to Kate, now threw herself upon him. “Calmly, please.” He held her off with one hand and his mother with the other “Mother, may I make you acquainted with my future wife.”
“You may not.” Lord Hawth was biting back rage “This is neither the time nor the place for such a proposal. I am to take it though that you are, in fact, Christopher Warrender?”
Red Sky at Night, Lovers' Delight Page 26