Beau Brocade: A Romance
Page 30
CHAPTER XXX
SUSPENSE
Throughout the whole range of suffering which humanity is called upon toendure, there is perhaps nothing so hard to bear as suspense.
The uncertainty of what the immediate future might bring, thefast-sinking hope, the slowly-creeping despair, the agony of dull, wearyhours: Patience had gone through the whole miserable gamut during thatlong and terrible day when, obedient to Bathurst's wishes, she had shutherself up in the dingy little parlour of the Packhorse and refused tosee anyone save the faithful smith.
And the news which John Stich brought to her from time to time washorrible enough to hear.
He tried to palliate as much as possible the account of that awfulbattue organised against Beau Brocade, but she guessed from the troubledlook on the honest smith's face, and from the furtive, anxious glance ofhis eyes, that the man whom she had trusted with her whole heart was nowin peril, even more deadly than that which had assailed her brother.
And with the innate sympathy born of a true and loving heart, sheguessed too how John Stich's simple, faithful soul went out inpassionate longing to his friend, who, alone, wounded, perhaps helpless,was fighting his last battle on the Heath.
Yet the trust within her had not died out. Beau Brocade had sworn to doher service and to bring her back the letters ere the sun had risentwice o'er the green-clad hills. To her overwrought mind it seemedimpossible that he should fail. He was not the type of man whom fate oradverse circumstance ever succeeded in conquering, and on his wholemagnetic personality, on the intense vitality of his being, Nature hadomitted to put the mark of failure.
But the hours wore on and she was without further news. Her terror forher brother increased the agony of her suspense. She could see thatJohn Stich too had become anxious about Philip. There was no doubt thatwith an organised man-hunt on the Moor the lonely forge by thecross-roads would no longer be a safe hiding-place for the Earl ofStretton. The smithy was already marked as a suspected house, and JohnStich was known to be a firm adherent of the Gascoynes and a faithfulfriend of Beau Brocade.
During the course of this eventful day the attention of the Sergeant andsoldiers had been distracted, through Bathurst's daring actions, fromStich's supposed nephew out o' Nottingham, but as the beautifulSeptember afternoon turned to twilight and then to dusk, and band afterband of hunters set out to scour the Heath, it became quite clear bothto Patience and to the smith that Philip must be got away from the forgeat any cost.
He could remain in temporary shelter at the Packhorse, under the guiseof one of Lady Patience's serving-men, at anyrate until anothernightfall, when a fresh refuge could be found for him, according as theevents would shape themselves within the next few hours.
Therefore, as soon as the shadows of evening began to creep overBrassing Moor, Stich set out for the cross-roads. He walked at a briskpace along the narrow footpath which led up to his forge, his honestheart heavy at thought of his friend, all alone out there on the Heath.
The weird echo of the man-hunt did not reach this western boundary ofthe Moor, but even in its stillness the vast immensity looked hard andcruel in the gloom: the outlines of gorse bush and blackthorn seemedakin to gaunt, Cassandra-like spectres foreshadowing some awfuldisaster.
Within the forge Philip too had waited in an agony of suspense, whilsttwice the glorious sunset had clothed the Tors with gold.
Driven by hunger and cold out of the hiding-place on the Moor whichBathurst had found for him, he had returned to the smithy the firstnight, only to find John Stich gone and no trace of his newly-foundfriend. His sister, he knew, must have started for London, but he waswithout any news as to what had happened in the forge, and ignorant ofthe gallant fight made therein by the notorious highwayman.
The hour was late then, and Philip was loth to disturb old MistressStich, John's mother, who kept house for him at the cottage. Moreover,he had the firm belief in his heart that neither Bathurst nor Stichwould have deserted him, had they thought that he was in imminentdanger.
Tired out with the excitement of the day, and with a certain amount ofhope renewed in his buoyant young heart, he curled himself up in acorner of the shed and forgot all his troubles in a sound sleep.
The next morning found him under the care of old Mistress Stich at thecottage. She had had no news of John, who had wandered out, so shesaid, about two hours after sunset, possibly to find the Captain; butshe thrilled the young man's ears with the account of the daring fightin the forge.
"Nay! but they'll never get our Captain!" said the worthy dame, with abreak in her gentle old voice, "and if the whole countryside was afterhim they'd never get him. Leastways so says my John."
"God grant he may speak truly," replied the young man, fervently; "'tisshame enough on me that a brave man should risk his life for me, whilstI have to stand idly behind a cupboard door."
The absence of definite news weighed heavily upon his spirits, and asthe day wore on and neither John Stich nor Bathurst reappeared, hishopes very quickly began to give way to anxiety and then to despair.Philip always had a touch of morbid self-analysis in his nature: unlikeJack Bathurst, he was ever ready to bend the neck before untoward fate,heaping self-accusation on self-reproach, and thus allowing his spiritto bow to circumstance, rather than to attempt to defy it.
And throughout the whole of this day he sat, moody and silent, with theever-recurring thought hammering in his brain,--
"I ought not to have allowed a stranger to risk his life for me. Ishould have given myself up. 'Twas unworthy a soldier and a gentleman."
By the time the shadows had lengthened on the Moor, and Jack o' Lanterncovered with sweat had arrived riderless at the forge, Philip wasformulating wild plans of going to Wirksworth and there surrenderinghimself to the local magistrate. He worked himself up into a fever ofheroic self-sacrifice, and had just resolved only to wait until dawn tocarry out his purpose, when John Stich appeared in the doorway of hissmithy.
One look in the honest fellow's face told the young Earl of Strettonthat most things in his world were amiss just now. A few eagerquestions, and as briefly as possible Stich told him exactly how mattersstood: the letters stolen by Sir Humphrey Challoner, Bathurst'sdetermination to re-capture them and the organized hunt proceeding thisvery night against him.
"Her ladyship and I both think, my lord, that this place is not safe foryou just now," added John, finally, "and she begs you to come to her atBrassington as soon as you can. The road is safe enough," added thesmith, with a heavy sigh, "no one'd notice us--they are all after theCaptain, and God knows but perhaps they've got him by now."
Philip could say nothing, for his miserable self-reproaches had brokenhis spirit of obstinacy. His boyish heart was overflowing with sympathyfor the kindly smith. How gladly now would he have given his own lifeto save that of his gallant rescuer!
Obediently he prepared to accede to his sister's wishes. He knew whatagony she must have endured when the letters were filched from her; heguessed that she would wish to have him near her, and in any case hewanted to be on the spot, hoping that yet he could offer his own life inexchange for the one which was being so nobly risked for him.
Quite quietly, therefore, and without a murmur, he prepared to accompanyStich back to Brassington. At the Packhorse a serving-man's suit couldeasily be found for him, and he would be safe enough there, for a littlewhile at least.
John Stich, having tended Jack o' Lantern with loving care, took a hastyfarewell of his mother. While his friend's fate and that of his younglord hung in the balance he was not like to get back quietly to hiswork.
"The Captain may come back here for shelter mayhap," he said, with acatch in his throat, as he kissed the old dame "good-bye"; "you'll tendto him, mother?"
"Aye! you may be sure o' that, John," replied Mistress Stich, fervently.
"He'll need a rest mayhap, and some nice warm water; he's such a dandy,mother, you know."
"Aye! aye!"
"And you might lay out his best clothes for him; he may need 'emmayhap."
"Aye! I've got 'em laid in lavender for him. That nice sky-blue coat,think you, John?"
"Aye, and the fine 'broidered waistcoat, and the black silk bow for hishair, and the lace ruffles for his wrists, and..."
Stich broke down, a great lump had risen in his throat. Would thefoppish young dandy, the handsome, light-hearted gallant, ever gladdenthe eyes of honest John again?