Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  I thought of all this as I stood fumbling about the door for the great bell. The times were such that even inns shut their doors at night, and I had to wait and blow on my fingers — for no wind is colder than a May wind — until I was admitted. Inside, however, the blazing fire and cheerful kitchen with its show of gleaming pewter, and its great polished settles winking solemnly in the heat, made amends for all. I forgot the wounded man and his daughter and the fog outside. There were eight or nine men present, among them Hofman, who was then Burgomaster, Dietz, the town minister, and Klink our host.

  They were people I met every day, and sometimes more than once a day, and they greeted me with a silent nod. The lad who waited brought me a cup of beer, and I said that the night was cold for the time of year. Some one assented, but the company in general sat silent, sagely sucking their lips, or exchanging glances which seemed to indicate a secret understanding.

  I was not slow to see that this had to do with me and that my entrance had cut short some jest or story. I waited patiently to learn what it was, and presently I was enlightened. After a few minutes Klink the host rose from his seat. First looking from one to another of his neighbours, as if to assure himself of their sympathy, he stole quietly across the kitchen to a door which stood in one corner. Here he paused a moment listening, and then on a sudden struck the door a couple of blows, which made the pewters ring again.

  ‘Hi! Within there!’ he cried in his great voice. Are you packing? Are you packing, wench? Because out you go to-morrow, pack or no pack! Out you go, do you hear?’

  He stood a moment waiting for an answer, but seemed to get none; on which he came back to his seat, and chuckling fatly to himself, looked round on his neighbours for applause. One winked and another rubbed his calves. The greater number eyed the fire with a sly smile. For my part I was slow of apprehension. I did not understand but waited to hear more.

  For five minutes we all sat silent, sucking our lips. Then Klink rose again with a knowing look, and crossed the kitchen on tiptoe with the same parade of caution as before. Bang!’ He struck the door until it rattled on its hinges.

  ‘Hi! You there!’ he thundered. ‘Do you hear, you jade? Are you packing? Are you packing, I say? Because pack or no pack, to-morrow you go! I am a man of my word.’

  He did not wait this time for an answer, but came back to us with a self-satisfied grin on his face. He drank some beer — he was a big ponderous man with a red face and small pig’s eyes — and pointed over his shoulders with the cup. ‘Eh?’ he said, raising his eye-brows.

  ‘Good!’ a man growled who sat opposite to him.

  ‘Quite right!’ said a second in the same tone. ‘Popish baggage!’

  Hofman said nothing, but nodded, with a sly glance at me. Dietz the Minister nodded curtly also, and looked hard at the fire. The rest laughed.

  For my part I felt very little like laughing. When I considered that this clumsy jest was being played at the expense of the poor girl, whom I had seen at her prayers, and that likely enough it was being played for the tenth time — when I reflected that these heavy fellows were sitting at their ease by this great fire watching the logs blaze and the ruddy light flicker up the chimney, while she sat in cold and discomfort, fearing every sound and trembling at every whisper, I could have found it in my heart to get up and say what I thought of it. And my speech would have astonished them. But I remembered, in time, that least said is soonest mended, and that after all words break no bones, and I did no more than sniff and shrug my shoulders.

  Klink, however, chose to take offence in his stupid fashion. ‘Eh?’ he said. ‘You are of another mind, Master Schwartz?’

  ‘What is the good of talking like that,’ I said, ‘when you do not mean it?’

  He puffed himself out, and after staring at me for a time, answered slowly: ‘But what if I do mean it, Master Steward? What if I do mean it?’

  ‘You don’t,’ I said. ‘The man pays his way.’

  I thought to end the matter with that. I soon found that it was not to be shelved so easily. For a moment indeed no one answered me. We are a slow speaking race, and love to have time to think. A minute had not elapsed, however, before one of the men who had spoken earlier took up the cudgels. ‘Ay, he pays his way,’ he said, thrusting his head forward. ‘He pays his way, master; but how? Tell me that.’

  I did not answer him.

  ‘Out of the peasant’s pocket!’ the fellow replied slowly. ‘Out of the plunder and booty of Magdeburg. With blood-money, master.’

  ‘I ask no more than to meet one of his kind in the fields,’ the man sitting next him, who had also spoken before, chimed in. ‘With no one looking on, master. There would be one less wolf in the world then, I will answer for that. He pays his way? Oh, yes, he pays it here.’

  I thought a shrug of the shoulders a sufficient answer. These two belonged to the company my lady had raised in the preceding year to serve with the Landgrave according to her tenure. They had come back to the town a week before this with money to spend; some people saying that they had deserted, and some that they had returned to raise volunteers. Either way I was not surprised to find them a little bit above themselves; for foreign service spoils the best, and these had never been anything but loiterers and vagrants, whom it angered me to see on a bench cheek by jowl with the Burgomaster. I thought to treat them with silent contempt, but I soon found that they did not stand alone.

  The Minister was the first to come to their support. ‘You forget that these people are Papists, Master Schwartz. Rank Roman Papists,’ he said.

  ‘So was Tilly!’ I retorted, stung to anger. ‘Yet you managed to do with him.’

  ‘That was different,’ he answered sourly; but he winced.

  Then Hofman began on me. ‘You see, Master Steward,’ he said slowly, ‘we are a Protestant town — we are a Protestant town. And it ill beseems us — it ill beseems us to harbour Papists. I have thought over that a long while. And now I think it is time to rid ourselves of them — to abate the nuisance in fact. You see we are a Protestant town, Master Schwartz. You forget that.’

  ‘Then were we not a Protestant town,’ I cried, jumping up in a rage, and forgetting all my discretion, ‘when we entertained Count Tilly? When you held his stirrup, Burgomaster? and you, Master Dietz, uncovered to him? Were not these people Papists when they came here, and when you received them? But I will tell you what it is,’ I continued, looking round scornfully, and giving my anger vent, for such meanness disgusted me. ‘When there was a Bavarian army across the river, and you could get anything out of Tilly, you were ready to oblige him, and clean his boots. You could take in Romanists then, but now that he is dead and your side is uppermost, you grow scrupulous, Pah! I am ashamed of you! You are only fit to bully children and girls, and such like!’ and I turned away to take up my iron-shod staff.

  They were all very red in the face by this time, and the two soldiers were on their feet. But the Burgomaster restrained them. ‘Fine words!’ he said, puffing out his cheeks— ‘fine words! Dare say the girl can hear him. But let him be, let him be — let him have his say!’

  ‘There is some else will have a say in the matter, Master Hofman!’ I retorted warmly, as I turned to the door, ‘and that is my lady. I would advise you to think twice before you act. That is all!’

  ‘Hoop-de-doo-dem-doo!’ cried one in derision, and others echoed it. But I did not stay to hear; I turned a deaf ear to the uproar, wherein all seemed to be crying after me at once, and shrugging my shoulders I opened the door and went out.

  The sudden change from the warm noisy kitchen to the cold night air sobered me in a moment. As I climbed the dark slippery street which rises to the foot of the castle steps, I began to wish that I had let the matter be. After all, what call had I to interfere, and make bad blood between myself and my neighbours? It was no business of mine. The three were Romanists. Doubtless the man had robbed and hectored in his time, and while his hand was strong; and now he suffered as others had
suffered.

  It was ten chances to one the Burgomaster would carry the matter to my lady in some shape or other, and the minister would back him up, and I should be reprimanded; or if the Countess saw with my eyes, and sent them off with a flea in their ears, then we should have all the rabble of the town who were at Klink’s beck and call, going up and down making mischief, and crying, ‘No Popery!’ Either way I foresaw trouble, and wished that I had let the matter be, or better still had kept away that night from the Red Hart.

  But then on a sudden there rose before me, as plainly as if I had still been looking through the window, a vision of the half-lit room looking on the lane, with the sick man on the pallet, and the slender figure kneeling beside the bed. I saw the cat leap, saw again the girl’s frightened gesture as she turned towards the door, and I grew almost as hot as I had been in the kitchen. ‘The cowards!’ I muttered— ‘the cowards! But I will be beforehand with them. I will go to my lady early and tell her all.’

  You see I had my misgivings, but I little thought what that evening was really to bring forth, or that I had done that in the Red Hart kitchen which would alter all my life, and all my lady’s life; and spreading still, as a little crack in ice will spread from bank to bank, would leave scarce a man in Heritzburg unchanged, and scarce a woman’s fate untouched.

  CHAPTER II.

  THE COUNTESS ROTHA.

  My Lady Rotha, Countess of Heritzburg in her own right, was at this time twenty-five years old and unmarried. Her maiden state, which seems to call for explanation, I attribute to two things. Partly to the influence of her friend and companion Fraulein Anna Max of Utrecht, who was reputed in the castle to know seven languages, and to consider marriage a sacrifice; and partly to the Countess’s own disposition, which led her to set a high value on the power and possessions that had descended to her from her father. Count Tilly’s protection, which had exempted Heritzburg from the evils of the war, had rendered the support of a husband less necessary; and so she had been left to follow her own will in the matter, and was now little likely to surrender her independence unless her heart went with the gift.

  Not that suitors were lacking, for my lady, besides her wealth, was possessed of the handsomest figure in the world, with beautiful features, and the most gracious and winning address ever known. I remember as if it were yesterday Prince Albert of Rammingen, a great match but an old man. He came in his chariot with a numerous retinue, and stayed long, taking it very hardly that my lady was not to be won; but after a while he went. His place was taken by Count Frederick, a brother of the Margrave of Anspach, a young gentleman who had received his education in France, and was full of airs and graces, going sober to bed every night, and speaking German with a French accent. Him my lady soon sent about his business. The next was a more famous man, Count Thurn of Bohemia, he who began the war by throwing Slawata and Martinitz out of window in Prague, in ‘19, and paid for it by fifteen years of exile. He wore such an air of mystery, and had such tales to tell of flight and battle and hairbreadth escapes, that he was scarcely less an object of curiosity in the town than Tilly himself; but he knelt in vain. And in fine so it was with them all. My lady would have none of them, but kept her maiden state and governed Heritzburg and saw the years go by, content to all appearance with Fraulein Anna and her talk, which was all of Voetius and Beza and scores of other learned men, whose names I could never remember from one hour to another.

  It was my duty to wait upon her every day after morning service, and receive her orders, and inform her of anything which I thought she ought to know. At that hour she was to be found in her parlour, a long room on the first floor of the castle, lighted by three deeply-recessed windows and hung with old tapestry worked by her great-grandmother in the dark days of the Emperor Charles, when the Count of Heritzburg shared the imprisonment of the good Landgrave of Hesse. A screen stood a little way within the door, and behind this it was my business to wait, until I was called.

  On this morning, however, I had no patience to wait, and I made myself so objectionable by my constant coughing that at last she cried, with a cheerful laugh, ‘What is it, Martin? Come and tell me. Has there been a fire in the forest? But it is not the right time of year for that.’

  ‘No, my lady,’ I said, going forward. Then out of shyness or sheer contradictoriness I found myself giving her the usual report of this and that and the other, but never a word of what was in my mind. She sat, according to her custom in summer, in the recess of the farthest window, while Fraulein Anna occupied a stool placed before a reading-desk. Behind the two the great window gave upon the valley. By merely turning the head either of them could look over the red roofs of Heritzburg to the green plain, which here was tolerably wide, and beyond that again to the dark line of forest, which in spring and autumn showed as blue to the eye as thick wood smoke.

  While I spoke my lady toyed with a book she had been reading, and Fraulein Anna turned over the pages on the desk with an impatient hand, sometimes looking at my lady and sometimes tapping with her foot on the floor. She was plump and fair and short, dressing plainly, and always looking into the distance; whether because she thought much and on deep matters, or because, as the Countess’s woman once told me, she could see nothing beyond the length of her arm, I cannot say. When I had finished my report, and paused, she looked up at my lady and said, ‘Now, Rotha, are you ready?’

  ‘Not quite, Anna,’ my lady answered, smiling. ‘Martin has not done yet.’

  ‘He tells in ten minutes what another would in five,’ Fraulein said crossly. ‘But to finish?’

  ‘Yes, Martin, what is it?’ my lady assented. ‘We have eaten all the pastry. The meat I am sure is yet to come.’

  I saw that there was nothing else for it, and after all it was what I had come to do. ‘Your excellency knows the Bavarian soldier and his daughter, who have been lodging these six months past at the Red Hart?’ I said.

  ‘To be sure.’

  ‘Klink talks of turning them out,’ I continued, feeling my face grow red I scarcely knew why.

  ‘Is their money at an end?’ the Countess asked shrewdly. She was a great woman of business.

  ‘No,’ I answered, ‘but I dare say it is low.’

  ‘Then what is the matter?’ my lady continued, looking at me somewhat curiously.

  ‘He says that they are Papists,’ I answered. ‘And it is true, as your excellency knows, but it is not for him to say it. The man will not be safe for an hour outside the walls, nor the girl much longer. And there is a small child besides. And they have no where else to go.’

  My lady’s face grew grave while I spoke. When I stopped she rose and stood fronting me, tapping on the reading-desk with her fingers. ‘This must not be allowed, Martin,’ she said firmly. ‘You were right to tell me.’

  ‘Master Hofman and the Minister — —’

  ‘Yes,’ she interposed, nodding quickly. ‘Go to them. They will see Klink, and — —’

  ‘They are just pushing him on,’ I said, with a groan.

  ‘What!’ she cried; and I remember to this day how her grey eyes flashed and how she threw back her head in generous amazement. ‘Do you mean to say that this is being done in spite, Martin? That after escaping all the perils of this wretched war these men are so thankless as to turn on the first scape-goat that falls into their hands? It is not possible!’

  ‘It looks like it, my lady,’ I muttered, wondering whether I had not perhaps carried the matter too far.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘you must have made a mistake; but go to Klink. Go to Klink and tell him from me to keep the man for a week at least. I will be answerable for the cost, and we can consider in the meantime what to do. My cousin the Waldgrave Rupert visits me in a day or two, and I will consult him.’

  Still I did not like to go without giving her a hint that she might meet with opposition, and I hesitated, considering how I might warn her without causing needless alarm or seeming to presume. Fraulein Anna, who ha
d listened throughout with the greatest impatience, took advantage of the pause to interfere. ‘Come, Rotha,’ she said. ‘Enough trifling. Let us go back to Voetius and our day’s work.’

  ‘My dear,’ the Countess answered somewhat coldly, ‘this is my day’s work. I am trying to do it.’

  ‘Your work is to improve and store your mind,’ Fraulein Anna retorted with peevishness.

  ‘True,’ my lady said quietly; ‘but for a purpose.’

  ‘There can be no purpose higher than the acquirement of philosophy — and, religion,’ Fraulein Anna said. Her last words sounded like an afterthought.

  My lady shook her head. ‘The duty of a Princess is to govern,’ she said.

  ‘How can she govern unless she has prepared her mind by study and thought?’ Fraulein Anna asked triumphantly.

  ‘I agree within limits,’ my lady answered. ‘But — —’

  ‘There is no but! Nor are there any limits that I see!’ the other rejoined eagerly. ‘Let me read to you out of Voetius himself. In his maxims — —’

  ‘Not this minute,’ the Countess answered firmly. And thereby she interrupted not Fraulein Anna alone but a calculation on which, without any light from Voetius, I was engaged; namely, how long it would take a man to mow an acre of ground if he spent all his time in sharpening his scythe! Low matters of that kind however have nothing in common with philosophy I suppose; and my lady’s voice soon brought me back to the point. ‘What is it you want to say, Martin?’ she asked. ‘I see that you have something still on your mind.’

  ‘I wish your excellency to be aware that there may be a good deal of feeling in the town on this matter,’ I said.