“Perfectly so,” I replied. “You have cause enough to justify your vindictive feeling! and yet—”
“You would advise me to spare him,” she cried, with a fierce and scornful laugh. “Were I to do so, how would you be righted? Have you now no sense of injury? Do you not know what an outraged woman becomes? If I listened only to the promptings of my heart, I should stab him. But I prefer the mode of vengeance I have adopted.”
Feeling it would be in vain to argue with her, I did not attempt it. She went on:
“I have said that in serving you I am not entirely actuated by feelings of vengeance. I would not have those I love become my betrayer’s accomplices in villany. I would save my father and brother from the commission of a crime. I would shield them from harm. It is on their behalf that I require the promise you have given me.”
“Fear nothing,” I replied. “They are safe so far as I am concerned. But in what way do you propose to right me? Malpas himself told me that the will is destroyed.”
“He lied,” Rue rejoined. “Falsehood is ever on his tongue. The will is still in existence. He affirmed the contrary, because he imagines it can never be produced against him. But he is in error. I will help you to find it.”
“You will for ever make me your debtor,” I cried.
“Spare your thanks till you have gained the prize,” she said. “You shall now hear how matters now stand in regard to Simon Pownall. He is in great jeopardy. He expected to make a good bargain with Malpas for the surrender of that will, but he was indiscreet enough to impart his design to my father and brother. Their cupidity was excited, and a plan, contrived by Obed, was put in execution, by which they hoped to get possession of the document, and make their own terms with Malpas. They managed to drug Pownall’s drink, and while in a state of stupor they conveyed him to a place of security, and shut him up within it. When he came to himself, they demanded the will, threatening, if he refused, to make away with him. But he proved more obstinate than they expected. He told them they might find the will, if they could, but they never should do so with his aid — adding, that if they harmed him they would get the worst of it., My father said that a few days’, confinement would make him alter his tone, and so they shut him up again.”
“And he is still in their hands?” I inquired.
“He is still a prisoner,” she replied, “and as impracticable as ever. My father and Obed have entered into a negotiation with Malpas. What terms they have made with him I know not, for they have kept the transaction secret from me, but to-night, the business will be brought to an end. A last effort will be made to shake Pownall’s resolution, and unless he yields, fatal consequences may ensue. This my father had sworn, and I much fear he will keep his oath. The crime must be prevented.”
“It shall be prevented, if you will take me to the place where Pownall is held captive,” I said.
“The place is not far off,” she rejoined; “when I have brought you to it, you will act according to circumstances — but I rely upon your promise to do no injury to those dear to me. Tell my father that I have sent you — and why I have sent you. It may check his wrath. Have you no other arms except that hunting-whip?”
“No,” I replied; “if I had been aware that I was about to embark on a service of danger, I would have come better prepared. But this hunting-whip will suffice. It has a handle as heavy as a hammer. And Ned Culcheth is provided with a stout cudgel.”
“Enough!” she cried. “Bid Ned follow us. You will need his assistance. I will show you where to leave your horse.”
With this she started off in the direction of the marshy tract adjoining Great Blake Mere, skimming over the ground so lightly, that her footsteps seemed scarcely to make any impression on the heath, and moving so fleetly, that Ned and I had enough to do to keep up with her.
CHAPTER XII.
THE TURF-CUTTER’S HUT.
ERE long a black boggy tract opened upon us, intersected by deep dykes, cut in order to drain the morass, and giving abundant evidences, from its shaven surface and its pits, that the turf-cutter had been at work upon it.
On gaining this sombre region, Rue stopped near a couple of shattered and almost branchless trees, and waiting till Ned Culcheth came up with the horse, bade him tie the animal to one of them. Her order was obeyed, the gipsy girl bade us stay where we were for a moment, and keep behind the trunks of the trees. She then almost instantly disappeared.
Of late the clouds had thickened in the sky, and it had become totally dark. But at this juncture the moon suddenly burst forth and revealed the whole scene. As I have said, we were now on a black bog, hardened by deep drainage, but yielding nothing at present except turf, stacks of which, cut and dried for fuel, were grouped around us in various fantastical shapes; while low walls of the same combustible substance, in various stages of preparation, were reared on all sides. Beyond us was a dismal-looking swamp, which I knew to be Great Blake Mere.
My attention, however, was chiefly directed, during this momentary illumination of the moorland, to the gipsy girl. Catching sight of her figure as it reappeared from amidst the turf-stacks, I discovered that she was hastening towards a low hovel, situated at the edge of the bog on which we were standing, and within a stone’s throw of the mere. No other habitation was visible except this lone hut. Stealing cautiously towards the little hovel, Rue paused close to it, listened for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied with her scrutiny, flew back towards us.
“Our business lies in yonder hut, I suppose, sir?” Ned inquired. Like myself, he had been watching Rue’s proceedings.
“It does,” I replied. “From what I have learnt, the four scoundrels we have so long sought are there. But I have given my word to this gipsy girl not to meddle with two of them — namely, her father and brother.”
“Well, it’s nat’ral she should wish to save ‘em,” Ned rejoined. “It’s a pity two such rascals should get off; but better them than t’other two.”
As he spoke Rue again stood before us.
“They are there,” she said, pointing to the hut. “Are you ready? Have you cautioned Ned Culcheth?”
“Ay, ay,” Ned replied. “Your kin shall come to no harm. from me.”
“Follow, me, then,” she replied.
Hastily making our way through the stacks of turf, and stepping over a plank thrown across a wide and deep dyke, we soon approached the hut. By this time the moon was again hidden, and all around had become dark and blank as before. Rue led us on with so much caution, that, had any one looked out, our approach would hardly have been perceived. When close to the hut, she stopped, and pointing towards it, said: “Your adversary is there. I heard his voice. Go and revenge yourself — and revenge me.”
As she hissed this stern injunction in my ear, I could perceive, even by that imperfect light, that her beautiful features were so distorted by passion, that they scarcely looked human. Without another word she darted back, and disappeared on the instant.
The hut was a small clay-built tenement, with a grey thatched roof. There was a still smaller out-building, or shed, attached to it. Even where we stood voices could be heard proceeding from the dwelling, and amongst them I had no difficulty in distinguishing the tones of Malpas Sale. Stepping cautiously forward, I approached the hut, desirous, if possible, to ascertain what was passing inside it. A little broken window, placed at a very convenient height from the ground, would have served my purpose perfectly; but I did not venture to avail myself of it, for, if I had done so, my presence must have been instantly detected. I was saved further search for means of investigation by Ned Culcheth, who pointed out a crack in the clay wall, and, placing my eye to this crevice, I found that I commanded the whole interior of the cabin.
It was a wretched-looking place, and the only piece of furniture it afforded — a rude three-legged stool — was appropriated by Malpas, who sat with his back towards me, smoking a cigar. He was habited in a dark riding-dress and boots. Opposite him, on a block of wood, sat
Simon Pownall, in the most miserable plight imaginable, his apparel torn and disordered, his visage blackened and begrimed, beard unshorn and grizzly, hair unkempt, and his looks betokening abject terror spiced with malignity. So changed was he by the treatment he had experienced, that I scarcely recognised him. Between the prisoner and the principal personage of the party was an old tub, turned upside down, serving the purpose of a table; and on this lay Malpas’s cigar-case, and a pocket-flask containing spirit.
Light was afforded by a peat fire burning on the hearthstone, which Obed, at the moment I looked in, was fanning into a flame with his cap. Its light fell upon the swarthy and savage lineaments of Phaleg, who was seated upon a heap of turf, in close proximity to Pownall. Both gipsies had short pipes in their mouths, and puffed away at them with as much composure and unconcern as Malpas himself. I did not fail to remark that they had their bludgeons with them as usual, and I also noticed that Malpas was armed, for I saw the butt-ends of a brace of bull-dogs peeping out of his coat pockets, and it struck me that the weapons were rather ostentatiously displayed.
“Well, Pownall,” Malpas said, “you must have found out by this time that your obstinacy is useless. You will be obliged to give in the end, and may as well do so now as later on. Act like a man of sense, and tell us, without more ado, where to find the will.”
“But what am I to have if I do tell you?” Pownall rejoined. “Ask your friends here,” Malpas returned, with a laugh. “My bargain is with them. They have engaged either to produce the will, or keep you out of the way. I don’t deny that I should prefer the former arrangement, but so long as you are in safe custody I am perfectly easy.”
“You hear what the capt’n says, Pownall,” Phaleg remarked. “He knows you’re safe in our hands. If he saw your place of confinement, he wouldn’t think you had much chance of getting out of it without our permission.”
“What is it like, Pownall?” Malpas inquired.
“The capt’n asks you a question,” Phaleg said. “Describe your underground lodging, man.”
“It’s a dark, damp, unwholesome vault, lying under the shed adjoining this hovel,” Pownall cried. “The place is unfit for the vilest criminal — let alone a decent, well-behaved man like me. Look at it yourself, Captain Sale, and it will make your heart sick. I will never believe you could authorise such cruelty as is practised upon me.”
“Who’s to blame for the cruelty but yourself?” Phaleg roared. “I’ll set you free in a moment if you’ll only tell where that will is hidden.”
“Come, don’t be obstinate, Pownall,” Malpas said. “You’ll gain nothing by standing out. Your chance is gone by. The document can be of no use to you now.”
“I don’t know that, Captain Sale,” Pownall rejoined, sullenly. “Perhaps it may.”
“Don’t you heed him, capt’n,” Phaleg cried. “It never shall be of any use to him. Sooner than that, I’ll tie a stone round his neck like a dog, and drown him in one of these black mares.”
“Nay, that would be going a trifle too far, Phaleg,” Malpas remarked. “I only want him kept out of the way.”
“All right, capt’n,” the ruffian rejoined. “He shan’t trouble you again, I’ll warrant him.”
“You will do well to listen to what I have to say, Captain Sale,” Pownall cried, in a half-menacing tone. “I am not about to beg my life of these men, for I know I am in their power, and it appears they will show me no mercy. But understand this, if I am put out of the way as I am threatened by this villian — or even if I am detained a prisoner much longer — that document will be taken to Mervyn Clitheroe.”
Malpas sprang to his feet, and clapped his hands to his pistols.
“Pooh! pooh! this is mere idle talk,” Phaleg cried. “I should like to know how that can be done?”
“You will find out the truth of what I assert if you proceed to extremities with me,” Pownall continued, evidently trying to heighten the impression he had produced; “and so will Captain Sale. I took these precautions in case of some such mischance as has befallen me. You are now warned, Captain Sale, and will know what to expect.”
“Curse the fellow!” Malpas exclaimed. “If this should be so! — but no! I cannot believe him,” he added, sitting down again.
“A mere trumped-up story, capt’n,” Obed remarked. “He never said a word of the sort afore.”
“Because the occasion never arose before,” Pownall said. “I address myself to Captain Sale — not to you. He knows what the consequences will be to himself if the will is produced.” Malpas only gave utterance to a deep oath, but his troubled countenance showed what was passing within. Pownall contemplated him with a malignant grin. The cunning knave began to feel secure.
“Harkee! Phaleg,” Malpas cried, at length; “this rascal is too much for us. We had better make terms with him.”
“If you don’t, you’ll never have that property,” Pownall said, doggedly. “Detain me a prisoner, or put me out of the way altogether, and as sure as I stand here, that will will be taken to Mervyn Clitheroe.”
Both gipsies laughed incredulously.
“Don’t mind him, capt’n,” Phaleg cried. “It’s merely an artful device to get out of our clutches. We’ve got him safe enough, and mean to keep him. He accounts himself a rare conjuror, but with all his tricks he won’t get out of our black-hole.”
“After the warning I have given him, Captain Sale, I am sure, will never be so blind to his own interests as to allow me to be sent thither again,” Pownall said.
Malpas looked perplexed.
“I tell you what it is, Pownall,” he cried, at length. “I don’t attach much faith to what you say, but it’s best to be on the safe side. Just talk over the matter with your friends there, and when you’ve agreed together, I’ll see whether I can meet you.”
“I’m agreeable,” Phaleg said.
“But I am not,” Pownall cried. “I will have nothing more to do with these men, Captain Sale. They have both played me false, and, so far as I can help it, they shan’t derive any benefit from their treachery. They can’t produce what you require. Why should they be parties to any bargain between you and me?”
“What game is t’ owd fox try in’ to play now, I wonder, father?” Obed remarked to the elder gipsy.
“I can’t tell what he be after,” Phaleg rejoined, with a tremendous oath; “but this I know — he never sees daylight again unless the will be forthcoming.”
“Captain Sale, I appeal to you,” Pownall cried. “You are a gentleman, and will protect me. You won’t suffer me to be murdered by these ruffians.”
And as he spoke, he made an effort to rush towards Malpas, but he was forcibly held back by the iron grasp of Phaleg.
“A word will procure your liberation, Pownall,” Malpas observed, in an impassive tone. “You have only to thank yourself if any harm befals you. But since you refuse to listen to me, I must wish you good night. Perhaps you may be more reasonable when I see you next.”
And he proceeded deliberately to light another cigar, as if preparing for departure.
“Captain Sale! Captain Sale!” Pownall cried, in extremity of terror. “You won’t leave me to these merciless ruffians. I shall never survive it, if I am thrown into that black, stifling hole again, and my death will lie at your door. Save me! save me!”
“Speak the word then,” Malpas rejoined. “The will! where is it?”
“Take me with you, and I will find it for you.”
“Don’t trust him, capt’n,” Phaleg said, still maintaining his hold of the trembling caitiff. “Besides, he shan’t go, unless we go with him.”
“Another night’s confinement won’t do you any great harm, Pownall,” Malpas replied, with a savage laugh.
“It’ll bring him to his senses,” Phaleg roared.
“It’ll kill me!” Pownall shrieked. “You won’t find me alive when you come back, Captain Sale.”
“Oh! yes, I shall,” Malpas rejoined, indifferently. “And I’ve no d
oubt by that time you’ll have settled your differences with honest Phaleg and his son. Good night!” And he rose as if to depart.
“I beseech you, Captain Sale, do not abandon me!” Pownall cried. “As I live, I have told you the truth.”
“We’ll talk more about it to-morrow night,” Malpas rejoined.
“But I won’t be left here,” Pownall cried, struggling ineffectually with Phaleg. “Help! help!”
“Shout till you’re hoarse,” the gipsy said. “Ho one will hear you.”
The poor wretch continued his outcries.
“Better thrust him into the vault, Phaleg,” Malpas said. “He may give the alarm.”
“No fear of that, capt’n,” the gipsy rejoined. “Hold your tongue! will you, you cursed warmint,” he added, with a fearful imprecation.
Judging the fitting moment come, I now gave the word of attack to Ned, who begged me, in a whisper, to let him go in first, and without tarrying for my consent, he dashed himself with all his force against the door, bursting it at once from its hinges, and before the occupants of the hut could recover from the surprise caused by his unexpected intrusion, I had sprung over the tub, and forced Pownall from Phaleg’s grasp. The miserable caitiff instantly saw that there was a chance of his liberation, and eagerly caught at it. He dexterously tripped up Obed’s heels, as the latter rushed forward to intercept his flight, and would have made a prompt exit from the hut, if the doorway had not been blocked up by Ned Culcheth, who had seized and pinioned Malpas. All this was the work of a moment, but in that space of time I had got clear of Phaleg. My hunting-whip enabled me to ward off a desperate blow which he aimed at my head, but I forbore to strike him in return, though I could have brained him, if I had pleased, with the handle, but shouted out: “Hold your hand, Phaleg! I don’t want to harm you or your son. I am sent here by Rue.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 486