Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “A merry Christmas it will be,” said Smith. “Heaven grant it. But you have not asked, Sir John, who it is I have with me.”

  At that and at a sign he made me, I let fall the collar of the cloak I was wearing; which, in obedience to his directions, I had hitherto kept high about my chin. Sir John, his eyes drawn to me, as much by my action as by Smith’s words, stared at me a moment before his mouth opened wide in recognition and surprise. Then, “I — I am surely not mistaken!” he cried, advancing a step, while the colour rose in his sallow face. “It is — it certainly is — —”

  “Sir John,” Smith cried in haste, and, he, too, advanced a step and raised a hand in warning, “this is Colonel Talbot! Colonel Talbot, mark you, sir; I am sure you understand me, and the reasons which make it impossible for any but Colonel Talbot to visit you here. He has done me the honour to accompany me. But, perhaps,” he continued, checking himself with an air of deference, “it were more fitting I left you now.”

  “No,” I said hurriedly, repeating the lesson I had learned by rote, and in which Smith had not failed to practice me a dozen times that day. “I am here to one end only — to ask Sir John Fenwick to do Colonel Talbot a kindness; to take this ring and convey it with my service and duty — whither he is going.”

  SIR JOHN ... STARED AT ME A MOMENT

  “Oh, but this is extraordinary!” Sir John cried, lifting his hands and eyes in a kind of ecstasy. “This is a dispensation! A providence! But, my lord,” he continued with rapture, “there is one more step you may take, one more effort you may make. Be the restorer, the Monk of this generation! So ripe is the pear that were you to ride through the City to-morrow, and proclaim our rightful sovereign, not a citizen but would bless you, not a soldier but would throw down his pike! The Blues are with us to a man, and enraged besides at Keyes’s execution. And the rest of the army — do you dream that they see Dutch colonels promoted and Dutch soldiers overpaid, and do not resent it? I tell you, my lord — your Grace, I should say, for doubtless the King will confirm it.”

  “Sir John,” I said hastily, assuming an anger I did not feel. “You mistake me. I am Colonel Talbot and no other. And I am here not to listen to plans or make suggestions, but to request a favour at your hands. Be good enough to convey that ring with my service whither you are going.”

  “And that is all?” he cried reproachfully. “You will say no more?”

  “That is all, sir,” I answered; and then catching Smith’s eye, I added, “Save this. You may add that, when the time comes, I shall know what to do, and I shall do it.”

  This time, sobered by my words and manner, he took in silence the ring I proffered; but having glanced at it, gave way to a second burst of rapture and Jubilation, more selfish and personal than the first, but not less hearty. “This will be the best news Lord Middleton has had for a twelvemonth!” he cried gleefully. “And that I should succeed where I am told that he failed! Gad! I am the proudest man in England, your Grace — Colonel Talbot, I mean. We will pound Melfort and that faction with this! We will pound them to powder! He has wasted half a million and not got such an adherent! Good Lord, I shall not rest now until I am across with the news.”

  “Nor I — until Colonel Talbot is on the road again,” said Smith, intervening deftly. “At the best this is no very safe place for him.”

  “That is true,” said Sir John, with ready consideration. “And I should be riding within the half-hour. But to Romney. You, I suppose, return to London?”

  “To London,” I said, mechanically.

  “Direct?” said he, with deference.

  “As directly as we dare,” Smith answered; and with the word moved to the door and opened it. On which I bowed and was for going out; perhaps with a little awkwardness. But Sir John, too deeply impressed by the honour I had done him to let me retire so lamely, started forward, and snatching up a candle, would hold the door and light me; bending his long back, and calling to Brown to look to us — to look to us! Nor was this all; for when I halted half way down the stairs, and turned, feeling that such courtesy demanded some acknowledgement or at least a word of thanks, he took the word out of my mouth.

  “Hist! Colonel Talbot!” he cried in a loud whisper; and leaning far over the stairs he held the light high with one hand and shaded his eyes with the other. “You know that we have the Tower?”

  “The Tower?” I muttered, not understanding him.

  “To be sure. Ailesbury has it in his hand. It will declare for us whenever he gets the word. But — you know it from him, I suppose?”

  “From Lord Ailesbury?” I exclaimed in sheer surprise. “But he is a prisoner!”

  Sir John winked. “Prisoner and master!” he muttered, nodding vigorously. “But there, I must not keep you. Good luck and bon voyage, M. le duc.”

  Which was the last I saw of him for that time. Nor did I ever see him again save on one occasion. That he was a violent and factious man, and a foe to the Protestant succession I do not deny; nor that some passages in his life do him little credit, and the most bruited the least. But for all this, and though I was then even a stranger to him, I am fain to confess that as I stumbled down the stairs, and left the poor misguided gentleman alone in his mean room to pack up those plans for the extension of the old house that would never again own a Fenwick for its master, and so to set out on his dark journey, I felt as much pity for him, as loathing for the trickster who employed me. And so far was this carried and so much influence had it with me that when we reached the room below and the landlord having left us to see to the horses, Smith in his joy at our success clapped me on the shoulder, I shrank from his hand as if it burned me; shrank, and burst into childish tears of rage. Naturally Smith, unable to comprehend, stared at me in astonishment. “Why, man,” he cried, “what is the matter? What ails you?”

  “You!” I said. “You, curse you.”

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  And doubtless it was this outbreak, or rather the suspicion of me which it sowed in Smith’s mind, that occasioned the sequel of our adventure; for when he had cursed me for a fool and had put on his cloak, being now ready to go out, he seemed to be in two minds about it; as if he dared neither leave me where I was, lest I should communicate with Sir John, nor take me with him on his immediate errand. More than once he went to the door, and eying me askance and sourly, came back; but in the end and after standing a while irresolute, biting his nails, he made up his mind, and curtly bade me follow him.

  “Do you think that I am to saddle for you, you whelp?” he cried. “Be stirring! and have a care, or I shall bore that hole in you yet. Take that bag and go before me. By G —— , I wish you were at the bottom of the nearest horse-pond!”

  His words had the effect he intended, of bringing me to my senses; but they went farther. For in proportion as they cooled my temper they awakened my fears; and though I obeyed him abjectly, took up my bag and followed him, it was with a sudden and horrible distrust of his purpose. I saw that I had not only ceased to be of use to him, but was now in his way, and might be a danger to him, and the night — which enveloped us the moment we crossed the threshold and seemed the more dreary and forbidding for the ruddy light and comfort we left behind us — reminding me of the long dark miles I must ride by his side, each mile a terror to one and an opportunity to the other, I had much ado not to give way to instant panic there and then. However, for the time I controlled myself; and stumbling across the gloomy yard to the spot where a faint gleam of light indicated the door of the stables, I went in.

  The landlord was saddling our horses; and a little cheered by the warmth of his lanthorn, I went to help him. Smith turned aside, as I thought, into the next stall. But Brown was sharper and more suspicious, and in a twinkling called to him lustily, to know what he was doing. Getting no answer, “Devil take him,” the landlord cried. “He cannot keep from that horse! Here, you! What are you doing there?”

  “Coming!” Smith answered; but even as he spoke I caught the smart click of
iron falling on iron, and the horse in the distant stall moved sharply with a hurried clatter of hoofs on the stones. “Coming!” Smith repeated. “What is the matter with you, man?”

  “You had better come,” the landlord answered savagely. “Or I shall fetch you. Here you!” this to me, “lead yours out, will you. I want to see your backs, and be quit of you!”

  I took my horse by the bridle, and led it out of the stable, while Brown went to bit the other. And so, being alone outside, and the moon rising at the moment over the roof of the house and showing me the open gates at the end of the yard, the impulse to escape from Smith while I had the opportunity came on me with overpowering force. Better acquainted than the landlord with the villain’s plans I had not a doubt that at that very moment he was laming Sir John’s horse for the purpose of detaining him; and the cold-blooded treachery of this act, filling me with as much terror on my own account — who might be the next victim — as hatred of the perpetrator, I climbed softly to my saddle, and began to walk my horse towards the gates. Doubtless Smith was too busy, cloaking his own movements, to be observant of mine. I reached the gates unnoticed, and turning instinctively from London — in which direction I fancied that he would be sure to pursue me — I kicked my mare first into a quick walk, then into a cautious trot, finally into a canter. The beast, though far from speedy, was fresh from its corn; it took hold of the bit, shied at a chance light in a cotter’s window, and went faster and faster, its ears pricked forward. In a minute we had left Ashford behind us, and were clattering through the moonlight. With one hand on the pommel and the other holding the shortened reins I urged the mare on with all the pressure of my legs; and albeit I trembled, now at some late-seen obstacle, which proved to be only the shadow of a tree, thrown across the road, and now at the steepness of a descent that appeared suddenly before me, I never faltered, but uphill and downhill drove in my heels, and with fear behind me, rode in the night as I had never before dared to ride in the daylight.

  I had known nothing like it since the summer day twelve years before when I had fled across the Hertfordshire meadows on my feet. The sweat ran down me, I stooped in the saddle out of pure weakness; if the horse pricked its ears forward I spread mine backward listening for sounds of pursuit. But such a speed could not be long maintained, and when we had gone, as I judged, two miles, the mare began to flag, and the canter became a trot. Still for another mile I urged her on, until feeling her labour under me, and foreseeing that I must ride far, I had the thought to turn into the first lane to which I came, and there wait in the shadow of a tree until Smith, if he followed, should pass.

  I did this, sprang down, and standing by my panting horse, in a marshy hollow, some two hundred paces from the road, listened intently, for twenty minutes, it may be, but they seemed to be hours to me. After the life I had been leading in London, this loneliness in the night in a strange and wild place, and with a relentless enemy on my track, appalled my very soul. I was hot and yet I shivered, and started at the least sound. The scream of a curlew daunted me, the rustling of the rushes and sedge shook me, and when a sad wail, as of a multitude of lost souls passed overhead, I cowered almost to my knees. Yet, inasmuch as these sounds, doleful and dreary as they were, were all I heard, and the night air brought no trampling of distant hoofs to my ear, I had reason to be thankful, and more than thankful; and my mare having by this time got her wind again, I led her back to the road, climbed into the saddle and plodded on steadily; deriving a wonderful relief and confidence from the thought that Smith had followed me London-wards.

  Moreover, I had conceived a sort of horror of the loneliness of the waste country-side, and to keep the highway was willing to run some risk. I took it that the road I was travelling must bring me to Romney, and for a good hour and a half, I jogged with a loose rein through the gloom, the way becoming ever flatter and wetter, the wind more chill and salt, and the night darker, the moon being constantly overcast by clouds. In that marshy district are few hamlets or farms, and those of the smallest, and very sparsely scattered. Once or twice I heard the bark of a distant sheep dog, and once far to the left I saw a tiny light and had the idea of making for it. But the reflection that a dozen great ditches, each wide enough and deep enough to smother my horse, might lie between me and the house, availed to keep me in the road; the more as I now felt sure from the saltness of the night air that Romney and the sea were at no great distance in front of me. Presently indeed, I made out in front of me two moving lights, that I took to be those of ships riding at anchor, and my weary mare quickened her pace as if she smelt the stable and the hayrack.

  For five minutes after that I plodded on in the happy belief that my journey was as good as over, and I saved; and I let my mind dwell on shelter and safety, and a bed and food and the like, all awaiting me, as I fancied, in the patch of low gloom before me where my fancy pictured the sleeping town. Then on a sudden, my ear caught the dull beat of a horse’s hoofs on the road behind me; and my heart standing still with terror, I plucked at my reins, and stood to listen. Ay, and it was no fancy; a moment satisfied me of that. Thud-thud, thud-thud, and then squash-squash, squish-squish! a horse was coming up behind me; and not only behind me, but hard upon me — within less than a hundred paces of me. The soft wet road had smothered the sound up to the last moment.

  The rider was so close to me indeed, and I was so much taken by surprise that the moon sailing at that instant into a clear sky, showed me to him before I could set my horse going; and, as I started, whipping and spurring desperately, I heard the man shout. That was enough for me; plunging recklessly forward along the wet, boggy road, I flogged my horse into a jaded canter, and leaning low in the saddle in mortal fear of a bullet, closed my eyes to the dangers that lay ahead, and thought only of escape from that which followed on my heels.

  Suddenly, and while I was still kicking and urging on my horse, before the first flush of fear had left me, I heard a crash and a cry behind me; but I did not dare at the moment to look back. I only leaned the lower, and clung the more tightly to my horse’s mane and still pressed on. By-and-by, however, hearing nothing, it flashed on me that I was riding alone, that I was no longer pursued; and a little later taking courage to draw rein and look back wearily, I found that I could see nothing, nor hear any sound save the heavy panting of my own horse. I had escaped. I had escaped and was alone on the marsh. But as I soon satisfied myself, I was no longer on the causeway along which I had been travelling when the man surprised me. The wind which had then met me was now on my right cheek; the lights for which I had been heading were no longer visible. The track, too, when I moved cautiously forward, seemed more wet and rough; after that it needed little to convince me that I had strayed from the highway, probably at the point where my pursuer had fallen.

  This, since I dared not return by the way I had come, terribly perplexed me. I dismounted, and wet and shivering stood by my horse, which hung its head, and restlessly lifted its feet by turns as if it already felt the engulfing power of the moss. Peering out every way I saw nothing but gloom and mist, the dark waste and unknown depths of the marsh. It was a situation to try the stoutest, nor did it need the mournful sough of the wind as it swept the flats, or the strange gurgling noises that from time to time rose from the sloughs about me to add the last touch of fear and melancholy to the scene.

  Though, for my own part, I sank in no farther than my ankles, the horse by its restlessness evinced a strong sense of danger, and I dared not stand still. But as clouds had again obscured the moon and the darkness was absolute, to advance seemed as dangerous as to remain. However, in fear that the horse, if I stood where I was, would break loose from me, I led it forward cautiously: and then the track growing no worse but rather better, and the beast seeming to gain confidence as it proceeded, I presently took courage to remount again, and dropping the reins allowed it to carry me whither it would. This it did slowly and with infinite caution, smelling rather than feeling the way, and often stopping to try a doubt
ful spot. Observing how wonderfully the instinct of the beast aided it, and remembering that I had once been told that horses feared nothing so much as to be smoored (as the fenmen call it), and would not willingly run that risk, I gained confidence myself; which the event justified, for by-and-by I caught the dull sound of sea-waves booming on a beach, and a few minutes afterwards discerned in the sky before me the first faint streaks of dawn.

  Heaven knows how welcome it was to me! I was wet, weary and shivering with cold and with the aguish air of that dreary place; which is so unwholesome that I am told the natives take drugs to stave off the fever, as others do ale and wine. But at the sight I pricked up, and the horse too; and we moved on briskly; and presently by the help of the growing light, and through a grey mist which trebled the size of all objects, I saw a huge wall or bank loom across my path. I was close to it when I discerned it; and I had no more than time to despair of surmounting it, before the horse was already clambering up it. Scrambling and slipping among the stones, in a minute or so and with a great clatter we gained the summit; and saw below and before us the smooth milky surface of the sea lifting lazily under the fog.

  So seen it had a strangely weird and pallid aspect, as of a dead sea, viewed in dreams: and I stood a moment to breathe my horse and admire the spectacle; nor did I fail to thank God that I was out of that dreary and treacherous place. Then, considering my future movements and not knowing which way I ought to take — to right or left along the beach — to gain the more quickly help and shelter, I was reining my mare down the sea side of the bank when a welcome sound caught my ear. It was a man’s voice giving an order. I halted and peered through the sea-haze; and by-and-by I made out a boat, lying beached at the edge of the tide, some hundred and fifty yards to my left. There were men standing in it, I could not see how many; and more were in the act of pushing it off the strand. Their voices came to me with singular clearness; but the words were unintelligible.