Beau Brocade: A Romance

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XVIII

  MOONLIGHT ON THE HEATH

  The jolting of the carriage along the quaggy road had been well nighunendurable. Mistress Betty was groaning audibly. But Lady Patience,with her fair head resting against the cushions, was forgetting allbodily ailments, whilst absorbed in mental visions that flitted, swiftand ever-changing, before her excited brain.

  There was the dear brother in peril of his life, his young face lookingwan and anxious, then Sir Humphrey Challoner, the man she instinctively,unreasonably dreaded, and John Stich, the faithful retainer, brave andburly, guarding his lord's life with his own. These faces and figureswandered ghostlike before her eyes, and then vanished, leaving beforeher mental vision but one form and face, a pair of merry, deep-set greyeyes, that at times looked so inexpressibly sad, a head crowned with amass of unruly curls, a figure, lithe and active, sitting upon achestnut horse and riding away towards the sunset.

  It was a pleasant picture: no wonder Patience allowed her mind to dwellon it, and in fancy to hear that full-toned voice either in lively songor gay repartee, or at times with that ring of tenderness in it, whichhad brought the tears of pity to her eyes.

  The hours sped slowly on, the cumbrous vehicle jostled onwards, plungingand creaking, whilst Thomas urged the burdened horses along.

  Suddenly a jerk, more vigorous than before, roused Patience from herhalf-wakeful dreams. The heavy coach had seemed to take a plunge on itsside, there was fearful creaking, and much swearing from the driver'sbox, a shout or two, panting efforts on the part of the horses, andfinally the vehicle came to a complete standstill.

  Mistress Betty had started up in alarm.

  "Lud preserve us!" she shouted, putting a very sleepy head out of thecarriage window, "what's the matter now, Thomas?"

  "We be stuck in a quagmire," muttered the latter worthy, vainly tryingto smother more forcible language, out of respect for her ladyship'spresence.

  Timothy, the groom, had dismounted: lanthorn in hand, he was examiningthe cause of the catastrophe.

  "Get the other lanthorn, Thomas!" he shouted to the driver, "and comeand give me a hand, else we'll have to spend the night on thisGod-forsaken heath."

  "Is it serious, Timothy?" queried Lady Patience, anxiously.

  "I hope not, my lady. The axle is caked with mud on this side, and wedo seem stuck in some kind of morass, but if Thomas'll hurry himself..."

  The latter, with many more suppressed oaths, had at last got down fromhis box, and had brought a second lanthorn round to the back of thecoach, where Timothy had already started scraping shovelfuls of inky mudfrom the axle of the off-wheel.

  It was at this moment, and when the two men were intent upon their work,that a voice, loud and distinct, suddenly shouted behind them,--

  "Stand and deliver!"

  Thomas, who was of a timorous disposition, dropped the lanthorn he held,and in his fright knocked over the other which was on the ground. Hewas a man of peace, and knew from past experience that 'tis safer not toresist these gentlemen of the roads.

  When therefore the highwayman's well-known challenge rang out in thenight, he threw up both hands in order to testify to his peacefulintentions; but Timothy, who was younger and more audacious, drew acouple of pistols from his belt, and at all hazards fired them off, oneafter the other, in the direction whence had come the challenge. Thenext moment he felt a vigorous blow on his wrists and the pistols flewout of his hand.

  "Hands up or I shoot!"

  Thomas was already on his knees. Timothy, thus disarmed, thought itmore prudent to follow suit.

  From within the coach could be heard Mistress Betty's shrill andterrified voice,--

  "Nay! nay! your ladyship shall not go!" followed by her ladyship'speremptory command,--

  "Silence, child! Let me go! Stay you within an you are afraid!"

  There was a moment's silence, for at sound of her voice Beau Brocade hadstarted, then he leaned forward on his horse, listening with all hismight, wondering if indeed his ears had not misled him, if 'twas not adream-voice that came to him out of the gloom.

  "Have I the honour of addressing Lady Rounce?" he murmured mechanically.

  At this moment the darkness, which up to now had been intense, beganslowly to give place to a faint, silvery light. The moon, pale andhazy, tried to pierce the mist that still enveloped her as with a cold,blue mantle, and one by one tipped blackthorn and gorse with a clusterof shimmering diamonds.

  Like a ghostly panorama the heath revealed its thousand beauties, itsmany mysteries: the deep, dark tangle of bramble and ling, beneath whichhide the gnomes and ghouls, the tiny blue cups of the harebells, whereinthe pixies have their home; the fairy rings in the grass, where thesprites dance their wild saraband on nights such as this, with thecrickets to play the tunes, and the glow-worms to light them in theirrevels.

  But to Beau Brocade the dim radiance of the moon, shy and golden throughher veil of mist, only revealed one great, one wonderful picture: thatof his dream made real, of his heavenly vision come down to earth, thepicture of _her_ stepping out of the coach that she might speak to him.

  She came forward quickly, and the hood flew back from her face. She waslooking at him with a half-puzzled, half-haughty expression in her eyes,and Beau Brocade thought he had never seen eyes that were so deeplyblue. He murmured her name,--

  "The Lady Patience!"

  "Nay, sir, since you know my name," she said, with a quaint, almostdefiant toss of her small, graceful head. "I pray you, whoever you maybe, to let me depart in peace. See," she added, holding a heavy purseout to him, "I have brought you what money I have. Will you take it andlet me go?"

  But he dared not speak. He longed to turn Jack o' Lantern's head and togallop away quickly out of her sight, before she had recognised him andlearnt that the man on whom she had looked with such tender pity, andwith such glowing admiration, was the highway robber, the outlaw, thenotorious thief. Yet so potent was the spell of her voice, the moistshimmer of her lips, the depth and glitter of her blue eyes, that hefelt as if iron fetters held him fast to the ground, there enchainedbefore her, until at least she should speak again.

  He dismounted and she stepped a little closer to him, so close now that,had he stretched out his hand, he might have touched her cloak, or eventhose white finger-tips which...

  "Believe me, sir," she said a little impatiently, seeing that he did notspeak, "I give you all I have freely an you molest me no more. I haveurgent, very urgent business in London, which brooks of no delay.Kindly allow my men to go free."

  She was pleading now, all the haughtiness vanished from her face. Hervoice, too, shook perceptibly; the tall, silent figure before her wasbeginning to frighten her.

  Yet he dared not trust himself to speak, lest by a word he should dispelthis dream. This golden vision of paradise that heaven had sounaccountably sent to him this night! it might vanish again amidst thestars and leave the poor outlaw to his loneliness.

  This moment was so precious, so wonderful.

  Madly he longed for the god-like power to stop Time in its relentlessway, to make sun, moon and stars, the earth and all eternity pauseawhile, whilst he looked upon her, as she stood there, with the pleadinglook in her eyes, the honey-coloured moon above throwing a dim andflickering light upon her upturned face ... her golden hair ... thattiny hand stretched out to him.

  She seemed to wait for his reply, and at last in a low voice, which hetried to disguise, he murmured,--

  "Madam, I entreat you, have no fear! Believe me, I would sooner neversee the sun set again than cause you even one short moment's anxiety."

  Again that quaint puzzled look came into her eyes, she looked at theblack mask that hid his face, as if she would penetrate the secret whichit kept.

  "Will you not take this purse?" she asked.

  "Nay! I will not take the purse, fair lady," he said, still speakingvery low, "but I would fain, an you would permi
t it, hold but for oneinstant your hand in mine. Will you not let me?"

  The impulse was irresistible, the desire to hold her hand so strong thathe had no power to combat it. She seemed puzzled and not a littlefrightened, but neither haughty nor resentful at his presumption:perhaps she felt the influence of the mystery which surrounded the dark,cloaked figure before her, or the more subtle spell of the mist-coveredmoon. She made no movement towards him, her hand which he craved tohold had dropped to her side.

  There was magic in the vast stillness of the Moor; on each dew-tippedpoint of grey-green gorse, from every frond of emerald bracken, thereglistened a tiny crystal. Timothy and Thomas had retreated to a saferposition, out of sight behind the huge vehicle, and inside the coachBetty was cowering in terror. They stood alone, these two, away from allthe world, in a land all their own, a land of dreams, of poetry, andromance, where men died for a look from women's eyes, and conquered theuniverse for a smile.

  How silent was the Heath while he looked at her, and she returned hisgaze half-trembling, wholly puzzled.

  "Will you not let me?" he pleaded. And instinctively his voice trembledin the pleading, and there came back to her mind the memory of this samevoice, young and tender, as she had heard it in the forge. But shewould not let him know that she had guessed.

  "Sir," she said with sudden, unaccountable shyness, "you haveoverpowered my men, they are but loutish cowards, and you are heavilyarmed. I am a defenceless woman.... How can I refuse if you command?"

  He took the pistols from his belt and laid them on the ground at herfeet.

  "Nay, fair lady!" he said, "there is no question of command. See! I amunarmed now, and your men are free. Give them the word and I'll notstir hand or foot till you have worked your will with me. You see, 'tisI am at your mercy ... yet I still crave to hold your hand ... for onemoment ... in mine..."

  For one second more she hesitated: not because she was afraid, butbecause there was a subtle sweetness in this moment of suspense, adelicious feeling of expectancy for the joy that was to come.

  Then she gave him her hand.

  "Why! ... how it trembles," he said, "like some tiny frightened bird.See how white it looks in my rough brown hand. You are not afraid?"

  "Afraid? ... oh, no! ... but ... but the hour is late ... I pray you letme depart ... I must not tarry ... for so much depends upon myjourney.... I pray you let me go."

  "No, no! don't go," he pleaded, clinging to the little hand whose cooltouch had made his very senses reel, "don't go ... not just yet.... Seehow glorious is the moon above those distant hills ... and themist-laden air which makes your hair glisten with a thousand diamonds,whilst I, poor fool, holding your cool, white hand in mine, stand heregazing on a vision that whispers to me of things which can never, neverbe.... No! no, don't go just yet ... let the moon hide her light oncemore behind the mist ... let the Heath sink into darkness ... let melive in my dream one moment longer ... it will be dispelled all toosoon."

  He had spoken so low, she scarce could hear, but she could feel his handscorching hers with its fever-heat, and when he ceased speaking sheheard a sigh, like a sob, a sigh of bitter longing, of hopeless regret,that made her heart ache with a new pain which was greater, more holythan pity.

  A strange excitement seemed to pervade him. Madness was in his veins.He longed to seize her, to lift her up on Jack o' Lantern's back andgallop away with her over the Moor, far, far out beyond bracken andheather, over those distant Tors, on, on to the mountains of the moon,to the valley of the shadows, she lying passive in his arms, whilst helooked for ever into the clear blue depths of her eyes. Perhaps she toofelt this excitement gradually creeping over her; she tried to withdrawher hand, but he would not let it go. To her also there came the senseof unreality, of a vision of dreamland, wherein no one dwelt but she andthis one man, where no sound came save that of his voice, rugged andtender, which brought tears of joy and pity to her eyes.

  In the grass at her feet a cricket began to chirp, and suddenly from alittle distance there came the quaint, sweet sound of a shepherd's pipe,playing an old-time rigadoon.

  "Hark!" she whispered.

  The sound came nearer and nearer: she loved to hear the faint, elusiveecho, the fairy accompaniment to her own dreamlike mood.

  "What a sweet tune," she murmured, as instinctively her foot begantapping the measure on the ground. "I mind it well! How oft have Idanced to it beneath the Maypole!"

  "Will you then dance it with me to-night?"

  "Nay, sir ... you do but jest..."

  But his excitement was at fever-point now. The outlaw at least couldwork his will upon this Heath, of which he alone was king. He could notcarry her away on Jack o' Lantern's back, but he could make her staywith him a while longer, dance with him, here in the moonlight, her handin his, his arm at times round her waist in the mazes of the dance, hercheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her breath panting, aye! for she shouldfeel too that reckless fire that scorched him. All the fierce, untamedblood in him ran like molten lava in his veins. Aye! for one more briefhalf-hour he--the lonely dweller on the Moor--the pariah, the outcast,would taste the joys of the gods.

  "I was never more earnest in my life!" he vowed, with that gay, mad,merry laugh of his, "a dance with you here in the moonlight! Aye! adance in the midst of my dreams!"

  "But indeed, indeed, sir," she pleaded, "the hour is late and mybusiness in London is very urgent."

  "Nay, ten minutes for this dance will not much delay your journey, and Iswear by your sweet eyes that after that you shall go unmolested."

  "But if I refuse?"

  "An you refuse," he said, bending the knee before her, and bowing humblyat her feet, "I will entreat you on my knees..."

  "And if I still refuse?" she murmured.

  "Then will I uproot the trees, break the carriage that bears you away,tear up the Heath and murder yon knaves! God in heaven only knows whatI would _not_ do an you refuse."

  "No, no, sir, I pray you..." she said, alarmed at his vehemence,puzzled, fascinated, carried away by his wild, reckless mood and thepotent spell of the witching moon. "Nay! how can I refuse? ... I am inyour power ... and must do as you bid me.... An you really wish for adance..."

  She allowed him to lead her away to a short distance off the beatentrack, there, where a carpet of ling and grass, and walls of bramble andgorse formed a ball-room fit for gods and goddesses to dance in. At thefurther end of this clearing the quaint, shrivelled figure of JockMiggs, the shepherd, had just come into view. At a little distance tothe left, and close to the roadside, there was a small wooden shed, andbeyond it a pen, used by the shepherds as a shelter on rough nights whentending their sheep on the Heath.

  For the moment the pen was empty, and Jock Miggs was evidently makinghis way to the hut for a few hours' sleep, and had been playing his pipefor the sake of company.

  "Aye! a dance here!" said Beau Brocade, "with the moon and stars tolight us, a shepherd to play the tune, and the sprites that haunt theHeath for company! What ho! there! friend shepherd!" he shouted toMiggs.

  The worthy Jock caught sight of the two figures standing in the centreof the clearing, not twenty paces away from him.

  "Lud have mercy upon me!" he gasped. "Robbery! Violence! Murder!"

  "Nay, friend! only merry-making," quoth Beau Brocade, gaily. "We wantto dance upon this Heath, and you to play the tune for us."

  "Eh? what?" muttered the shepherd, in his vague, apologetic way,"dancing at this hour o' the night?"

  "Aye!"

  "And me to play for a parcel of mad folk?"

  "Well said, honest shepherd! Let us all be mad to-night! but you shallplay for us, and here!--here is the wherewithal to set your pipe intune."

  He threw a heavy purse across to Miggs, who, still muttering somethingabout lunatics on the Heath, slowly stooped and picked it up.

  "Guineas!" he muttered, weighing it in his hand, "guineas, as I live!Guineas for playing a dance tune. Nay, sir, you're mad,
sure enough."

  "Wilt play the tune, shepherd?" shouted Beau Brocade in wild impatience.

  Jock Miggs shook his head with a determined air.

  "Nay! your madness is nought to me. You've paid for a tune, and youshall have the tune. But, Lordy! Lordy! these be 'mazing times."

  He settled himself down on a clump of grass-covered earth, and stolidlybegan piping the same old-time rigadoon. These were a pair of lunatics,for sure, but since the gentleman had paid for this extraordinarypleasure, 'twas not for a poor shepherd to refuse to earn a few honestguineas.

  Beau Brocade bowed to his lady with all the courtly grace of a towngallant.

  "Madam! your most humble, and most obedient servant."

  As in a dream Patience began to tread the measure. It was all sostrange, so unreal! surely this was a dream, and she would wake anon.

  She turned and twisted in the mazes of the dance, gradually theintoxication of it all had reached her brain; she seemed to see roundher in the grass pixie faces gazing curiously upon her. All theharebells seemed to tinkle, the shepherd's pipe sounded like fairybells. Through the holes in the black mask she could see a pair ofburning eyes watching her as if entranced.

  She felt like a creature of some other world, a witch mayhap, dancing awild saraband with this man, her lord and master, a mad, merry spritewho had arranged this moonlight Sabbath.

  Her cheeks began to glow, her eyes were sparkling with the joy of thisdance. Her breath came panting through her parted lips.

  Aye! mad were they both! what else? Their madness was the intoxicationwhich man alone can feel when his joy equals that of the gods! Quicker,shepherd! quicker! let thy pipe wake all the fairy echoes of thismystic, ghostlike Moor! Let all the ghouls and gnomes come runninghither, let the stars pale with envy, let fairies and sprites clap theirhands for joy, since one man in all this world was happier than all thespirits in heaven!

  How long it lasted neither of them could tell. The honey-coloured moonlighted them all the while, the blue mist wrapped them as in a mysticveil. Still they danced on; at times she almost lay in his arms, hot,panting, yet never weary, then she would slip away, and with eyes aglow,cheeks in rosy flame, beckon to him, evade, advance, then once more puther hand in his and madden him with the touch.

  Oh! that heaven-born hour! why did it ever cease?

  A wild shriek, twice repeated, brought them both to a standstill.

  She, with heart beating, and hand pressed to her panting bosom, wasunable to stir. Whilst the excitement kept her up she had danced, butnow, with that piercing shriek, the dream had vanished and she was backon earth once more.

  "What was that?"

  Thomas and Timothy, attracted by the strange spectacle, had graduallycrept up to the clearing, and through a clump of gorse and bracken hadbeen watching the weird, midnight dance. On the further side, and closeto Jock Miggs, John Stich had been standing in the shadow of a thornbush. He had been running all the way, ever since he heard the twopistol-shots. Amazed at the strange sight that met his honest eyes, hehad not dared to interfere. Perhaps his honest faithful heart felt with,even if it did not altogether comprehend, the wayward, half-crazy moodof his friend.

  Betty alone, terrified and not a little sulky, had remained in thecoach. It was her shriek that roused the spectators and performers ofthis phantasy on the Heath.

  "My lady! my lady!" screamed Betty once more at the top of her voice.

  Then, all of a sudden, Patience understood. Fairyland had indeedvanished. The awful reality came upon her with appalling cruelty.

  "My letters!" she gasped, and started running towards the coach.

  But already Jack Bathurst had bounded across the clearing, closelyfollowed by John Stich. Patience's cry of mad, terror-stricken appealhad gone straight to his brain, and dissipated in the fraction of asecond the reckless excitement of the past hour.

  The wild creature of one moment's wayward mood was in that same fractionof time re-transformed into the cool and daring dweller of the Moor, onwhose head the law had set a price, and who in revenge had made everylaw his slave.

  His keen, quick eye had already sighted the smith.

  "After me, John!" he commanded, "and run for your life."

  When the two men had fought their way through the clumps of gorse andbracken which screened the clearing from the road, they were just intime to see a man quickly mounting a dark brown horse, which stood sometwenty yards in front of the coach.

  The carriage door nearest to them was open, and poor Mistress Betty layon the ground close beside it, still screaming at the top of her voice.

  With one bound Beau Brocade had reached Jack o' Lantern, who, accustomedto his unfettered life on the Heath, had quietly roamed about at will,patiently waiting for his master's call. The young man was unarmed,since he had placed his pistols awhile ago at Patience's feet, but Jacko' Lantern was swift-footed as the deer, and would overtake any strangehorseman easily.

  Beau Brocade's hand was on his horse's bridle and there were barely afew yards between him and the mysterious horseman, who was preparing togallop away, when the latter turned, and suddenly pointing a pistol athis pursuer, fired two shots in rapid succession.

  The young man did not stop at once. He clutched Jack o' Lantern'sbridle and tried to mount, but he staggered and almost fell.

  "After him, John," he cried in a hoarse voice, as, staggering once more,he fell upon one knee. "After him! quick! take Jack o' Lantern, don'tmind me!"

  John had no need to be told twice. He seized the horse's bridle andswung himself into the saddle as quickly as he could.

  But these few seconds had given the horseman a sufficient start.Although the moon was bright the mist was thick, and the bracken andthorn bushes very dense on the other side of the road. Already he haddisappeared from view, and John's ears and eyes were not so keen asthose of Beau Brocade, the highwayman, the wounded monarch of the Heath.