The men stared and waited for more, but the woman recoiled with a pale face. “You little liar!” she cried hoarsely. “What woman? What woman is there here?”
The boy shook his head. “I did not see her face,” he said, “but she came down with a lanthorn.”
Mistress Gridley gasped. The boy knew something, but she could not tell how much. And then beyond this doubt lay the mystery, which was as much of a mystery to her as to the others, how he came to be here instead of in the locked cupboard.
“Bring the lanthorn!” Simon Gridley exclaimed on a sudden. “We can see if it has been lately used, at any rate; and so far test his story.”
His wife went for it. When she returned with it, it was empty. “There is no candle in it,” she said sullenly. “The boy is a liar.”
Simon took it from her hand and thrust his nose into the opening. “Softly, woman,” he said. “It has been used within the week. Come, boy,” he continued sharply, “who opened the door for you?”
“I saw no one,” the child answered with tears. “There was a woman with a lanthorn. But I saw no one when the door was opened!”
Simon glared at him impatiently, and raised his hand as if he were minded to try if a little correction would not render his account more intelligible; but Luke, breaking in with one of his fierce rhapsodies, called off his brother’s attention, and the three, without further questioning, went downstairs to discuss the matter there. Simon alone, however, was able to do so with any degree of coolness and judgment; for though the woman did not altogether agree with Luke’s interpretation, or find his gloomy fancies convincing, she had more substantial reasons than either of the others for fearing and hating the child: and no more notion than they had how he had contrived to free himself from the closet in which she had placed him. That riddle she could not read; and the longer she considered it, the darker grew her thoughts and suspicions, until nothing, not even Luke’s sombre theory, seemed too strange or too improbable for belief. Conscience makes not only cowards of us all, but the most credulous of cowards.
Jack would scarcely have escaped further examination but for the return of the butler; who brought such news as not only broke up the family council, but caused the bearer to be taken back into fellowship. The main road westward to Clitheroe and Preston crossed the moor not far from the house. He came to say that the advanced guard of the Parliamentary army was even then passing along it. Simon and Luke, with the Edgingtons, who arrived at the moment, hurried off on the instant to a sight than which none could be better calculated to fill their stern breasts with joy. This left Mistress Gridley and the butler together, and they had so much to say to one another that the boy, stealing timidly downstairs, found himself ignored, and, seizing the opportunity, slipped out on his own account at the back of the house. Taking every precaution he could think of to avoid notice, he passed through the yew-trees, and reached the mouth of the rift in safety.
Here he waited a little, sitting on the ground, and presently Frank came to him. “Are you quite sure you are not followed, lad?” he said, glancing warily round.
Jack replied that he was, and brought out a little food which he had managed to secrete. Then he told his brother what he had heard about the march of Cromwell’s army. “They say the main body will pass to-morrow,” he added.
“Preston way, do you say?”
“Yes.”
Frank’s face grew dark and thoughtful. “If he is in strength he will take them by surprise,” he muttered. “What does he number, I wonder? Has he got only Ashton and the western Presbyterians, or is his southern army with him? If I knew, I would get across the moors at all risks, and take the news. But it would not do to go with wolf in one’s mouth, and be called a fool and a croaker for pay!”
“They talk of twenty-five thousand men passing to-morrow,” Jack said.
“If that be true, and the Duke be marching, as he was marching three days back, with his head a score of miles from his tail, he will be cut in two as surely as he lives!” Frank cried with an oath. He started up and began to pace the hollow, three steps this way and three that, while Jack watched him eagerly. Four-and-twenty hours of skulking had not improved the fugitive’s appearance. He was hatless and had lost his sword. His face was caked with dust and sweat, his clothes were frayed and stained with blood. He had torn off part of one sleeve to bind his head, and this, with his unshaven chin and haggard eyes, contributed to his wild and desperate appearance.
Yet the boy looked at him with pure admiration. The lad felt himself a man by reason of the share he had in his perils. The younger brother longed to help the elder. “You can see the road from the lower moor,” he said eagerly; “that is no more than a mile from here. Could you not go there and see them pass, Frank, and then go to the Duke?”
“Could I see them pass in these clothes?” Frank answered, with a bitter smile. “True, I am not much like a cavalier, but I am not much like a Parliament man either! I should have the cry raised on me before I was a mile across the moor.”
“I forgot that,” the boy said despondently. “Yet it would be a great thing to warn Duke Hamilton, Frank, would it not? Do you think he will be beaten if you cannot reach him?”
The elder brother nodded gloomily, standing still and gazing at the ground. The sides of the rift rose high above them, for the place where Jack had seated himself to wait lay close to the yew wood, where the fissure at its first starting from the ravine was deepest. They had little to fear from observation; and familiarity with danger so early breeds contempt that Frank fancied he had been in hiding here a week instead of a day, and felt a proportionate confidence in his lurking place. The sun lay hot on the moor: the shadow where the two stood was cool and pleasant.
“I suppose I could not do it,” Jack said at last, humbly, and as one expecting a rebuff. “I am afraid I could not count well enough, Frank; but I will try, if you like.”
His brother looked at him with a sudden light in his face. “You?” he said. “I never thought of that!”
But he began to think of it; and as he thought, his face bore witness to the struggle which was passing in his mind. The lad beside him was a mere child; the risk to which he would expose him was such that a grown man might shun it without shame. And the boy was not a child only, but his own brother — one who had a claim upon him and a right to expect at his hands peculiar care and protection.
But he began to think of it. — Page 108.
He knew, in a word, that he was not justified in exposing the child to the risk he meditated. But on the other side lay inclination and more than one cunning argument. The prospect of turning defeat into victory, and building on misfortune a claim to gratitude shone brightly before him. He saw himself the saviour of the army, thanked, honored, and exalted by men who had lately looked coldly on him. And then again was it not the duty of every subject, young and old, to dare all for the King; to think nothing which aided him dishonorable, nor any danger by which he might profit excessive? In some such creed he had been brought up, and it came to his help at this moment.
“I do not see why you should not do it,” he said slowly and thoughtfully. “You would run less risk after all than a grown man, and be subject to less suspicion.”
“Only I don’t think I could count — not thousands,” said Jack despondently.
“That is easily managed,” Frank answered with a slight frown. “But you had better not do it if you are afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” Jack said, with a flushed face. “It is only the counting, Frank.”
Frank nodded and stood awhile in doubt, twisting a bit of fern to and fro between his fingers. “If they caught you doing it they might — I do not know what they would do to you, Jack, lad,” he said at last.
“I do not mind,” the boy cried bravely. “It is for the King, is it not, Frank?”
“Of course it is.”
“It might put him on the throne again, might it not, Frank?”
“It might,” s
aid Frank. “But — —”
“What?” the boy asked, his face falling at the word.
Frank did not answer. The child’s loyalty and courage touched him almost to the point of giving way. For a moment it was on his tongue and in his mind to refuse the offer. But then his own past error stepped in his way. The temptation to turn the tables by a dazzling success on those who had blamed him for his breach of parole — the still greater temptation to justify the breach by showing, at least, that he had not sinned in vain, overcame him.
“You think you could do it, lad?” he said at last — instead of that which he had meant to say.
“I am sure I could — if I could count,” Jack answered eagerly.
“Well, then, look here,” Frank said. “Or wait a moment.”
He began to search up and down the rift until he came upon two pieces of wood, one a foot long or something less, the other half as long. He trimmed them with his knife, and then cutting off one of the points which fastened his breeches at the knee, tied the two sticks together with it in such a way that they became a rude cross. He put it into Jack’s hands, and gave him his knife also. “Now,” he said, “look here! The thing I want you to notice first and foremost, lad, is the number of guns. For every cannon, Jack, cut a nick on this long piece. Do you see, Jack? For a regiment of foot cut a notch on the right arm. They will pass by in regiments, probably with a space between, for they have discipline enough to suit old Leslie, and so you will have no trouble with them. The horse you will not count easily, and may not be exact with them. Still, notch them on the other arm as well as you can, troop by troop. If you get the cannon and foot regiments right, I shall be able to guess the horse pretty nearly.”
“And then shall I bring it to you?” Jack said, gazing with childish pleasure at his new plaything.
“Yes, as soon as you think that they have all passed. But do not be in a hurry. When you come, if you do not find me, leave the cross on the bank here under the moss. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Jack.
“It will not be the only thing hidden here,” his brother continued. “Look, lad, what do you think of that?”
He displaced some overhanging moss with his hand, and Jack, looking into the crevice thus revealed, fairly gasped with surprise. “Why, they are — —”
“They are the gold vessels from Pattenhall Church!” Frank exclaimed, in a tone of triumph. “I have despoiled the spoilers! The woman who came out with the light last night had them buried under yonder tree — the one you can see at the end here. Come this way, and I will show you! When I slipped out, fearing she might surprise me, I found her at work covering something up with a spade. I watched her go, and then as soon as it was light I tried my luck there. I found these little matters tied up in a napkin.”
“And you took them?” Jack said.
“Took them? Of course I took them. I put three stones in the napkin in place of them, and filled up the ground neatly. And one of these days some one will be disappointed.”
“Hush!” said Jack, raising his hand quickly. “What is that?”
CHAPTER VI.
DEAD SEA APPLES.
The two had advanced without thought to the foot of the tree which Frank had indicated, and in doing so had quitted the shelter of the rift, from which an open space a dozen yards in width now separated them. The deep shade of the yew-tree which stretched its arms above them still afforded some protection, the glare of the sun on the moorland intensifying its gloom and blackness. But such protection was partial only; it could not avail against persons approaching the tree closely.
The horror of the two may be imagined, therefore, when they awoke suddenly to this fact, and to the conviction that some one was approaching — nay, was already near. Before Jack’s muttered warning had well been uttered, the sharp crack of a stick, broken under foot, and the tones of voices drawing each moment nearer placed the danger beyond dispute.
For a moment the brothers stood as still as stones, the man’s face growing hard and stern as he listened and comprehended too late the reckless folly he had committed in leaving a secure hiding-place at that time of the day. His eyes traveled from the boy’s, in which he read a pitiful alarm more overmastering if less intense than his own, to the space which separated him from the rift and from safety. Alas! he measured it with a despairing eye. A moment before he could have passed that interval at a bound, and at will; now he recognized with an inward groan that the attempt was hopeless. A single step in that direction must place him at once in full view of those who were approaching.
Would they stop short of the tree which hid him? That seemed his only chance. He set his teeth together, and gripped Jack’s shoulder hard as he listened, and heard them still come on — come on and come nearer. His brain sought desperately for some way, some plan of escape. At the last moment, when all seemed lost, and less than a score of paces now lay between him and the newcomers, he hit upon one which might possibly help him.
“It is that woman!” he hissed in Jack’s ear. “Lie down and pretend to be asleep! Take their attention for a moment only, and I may slip round this tree and reach another.”
Jack, poor lad, was almost paralyzed with terror, but he understood; and he found one part of his instructions easy enough to execute. His knees were already so weak under him with fear and excitement that he sank to the ground under the pressure of his brother’s hand, with scarce any volition of his own; and crouching in the shadow with his knees drawn up to his chin, remained motionless with dismay.
For a moment after reaching the spot, Mistress Gridley and the butler did not see him. The boy sat deep in the shadow, and the sun shone in their eyes as they crossed from one tree to another, and from that one to the farthest of all. The butler had even begun the argument afresh — they had been disputing about the removal of the treasure — and had stuck his spade into the ground that he might lean upon it while he talked, when he espied the pale face shining in the gloom beside the trunk, and started with affright. “Ha!” he exclaimed in a high tone, “what is that?”
The woman started too. Her mind was ill at ease; and it was strange that the child should have chosen that particular square yard of ground to sit upon. But she recovered herself more quickly. “You little brat!” she cried, peering at him with her eyes shaded, “what are you doing here? Be off! Go to the house, and stay there till I come, do you hear?”
“What is that!” — Page 118.
The child did not move.
“Do you hear, you little booby?” she repeated angrily. “Get up and be off before I give you something to remember me by!” As she spoke, she advanced a step nearer to him and raised her hand to strike him.
Still the child did not move: and the woman’s hand fell harmless by her side. The peculiar pallor of the boy’s face, a pallor heightened by the shade in which he sat, his immobility, the strangeness of his attitude and position, above all the fixed glare of his eyes, had their effect upon her, scared and impressed as she already was by his unexplained delivery from the closet. She hesitated and fell back a step.
The butler, who knew nothing of the closet episode, attributed the move to prudence. “Soft and easy,” he muttered approvingly, “or he may suspect something. It is odd he should be here.”
“Suspect!” the woman answered with a shiver; for when a strong nature gives way to panic, the rout is complete. “I doubt he knows. The child is not canny,” she added, staring at him in an odd, shrinking fashion.
The butler was at all times a coward, and without understanding the woman’s reasons he felt the influence of her fear. “Not canny!” he said uneasily; “why, what is the matter with him? Hi, Jack, my boy, what are you doing here?” he continued, addressing the lad with a poor attempt at good-fellowship. “Are you ill, or what is it?”
The boy did not move.
Gridley advanced gingerly towards him, as a timid man approaches a strange dog. When he came near, however, and saw that i
t really was the boy, little Jack Patten whom he had known from his birth, the assurance made him laugh at the woman’s fears. “Come, get up, lad,” he said roughly; “get up and go and play!”
He seized Jack by the collar and raised him to his feet. “Jump, lad, jump!” he said. “Be off! You will get the ague here. Go into the sun and play!”
The boy had shaken off his first terror. Frank, he thought, must be safe by this time. He kept his feet therefore, but hesitated in doubt what to do; standing, to outward view a sullen pale-faced child, beside the dark trunk of the yew. Gridley noticed that he kept his one hand closed, and acting on a momentary impulse asked him roughly what he had there. The boy, without answering, opened his fingers mechanically, disclosing three tiny whinberries which he had picked while he talked with his brother in the rift, and had involuntarily retained in his hand ever since. The butler struck them out of his little palm with a disappointed “pish!” and turning him round by the shoulder sent him off with a push. “There, go and pick some more!” he said. “Be off! Be off!”
The lad obeyed slowly, and with apparent reluctance. When he was out of sight, Gridley, who had stepped a few paces from the tree that he might watch him the better, returned and picked up his spade. “There, he is gone!” he said, with an inquisitive look at the woman, whose mood puzzled him. “And if you will have the things up, it must be done. Let us lose no more time.”
He struck the spade into the ground, and began to dig, while his companion watched him. But her face betrayed none of the greedy excitement which had always marked it before when the treasure was in question. Instead, it wore a look of dread and expectation. Something like grey fear lay like a shadow upon it, and left it only when the man stopped digging, and throwing down his spade, dragged a small white bundle from the shallow hole he had made.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 241