CHAPTER XXXI
THE ASSIGNATION
He had recovered his outward composure at any rate, and the next momentwas busy re-adjusting his doublet and bands before the mirror over thehearth.
"Yes! my violent friend!" he said coolly, speaking over his shoulder,"of a truth it is mine own self! Your landlord you see, to whom thatworthy woman upstairs owes this nice cottage which she has had rent freefor over ten years ... not the foreign vermin, you see," he added with apleasant laugh, "which maketh your actions of just now, somewhatunpleasant to explain. Is that not so?"
"Nay! but by the Lord!" quoth Adam Lambert, still somewhat dazed,vaguely frightened himself now at the magnitude, the importance of whathe had done, "meseems that 'tis thine actions, friend, which will beunpleasant to explain. Thou didst not put on these play-actor's robesfor a good purpose, I'll warrant! ... I cannot guess what is thy game,but methinks her young ladyship would wish to know something of itsrules ... or mayhap, my brother Richard who is no friend of thine,forsooth."
Gradually his voice had become steadier, his manner more assured. Aglimmer of light on the Squire's strange doings had begun to penetratehis simple, dull brain. Vaguely he guessed the purport of the disguiseand of the lies, and the mention of Lady Sue's name was not an arrowshot thoughtlessly into the air. At the same time he had not perceivedthe slightest quiver of fear or even of anxiety on Sir Marmaduke's face.
The latter had in the meanwhile put his crumpled toilet in order and nowturned with an urbane smile to his glowering antagonist.
"I will not deny, kind master," he said pleasantly, "that you mightcause me a vast amount of unpleasantness just now ... although of atruth, I do not perceive that you would benefit yourself overmuchthereby. On the contrary, you would vastly lose. Your worthy aunt,Mistress Lambert, would lose a pleasant home, and you would never knowwhat you and your brother Richard have vainly striven to find out thesepast ten years."
"What may that be, pray?" queried the smith sullenly.
"Who you both are," rejoined Sir Marmaduke blandly, as he calmly satdown in one of the stiff-backed elm chairs beside the hearth, "and whyworthy Mistress Lambert never speaks to you of your parentage."
"Who we both are?" retorted Lambert with obvious bitterness, "two poorcastaways, who, but for the old woman would have been left to starve,and who have tried, therefore, to be a bit grateful to her, and to earnan honest livelihood. That is what we are, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse;and now prithee tell me, who the devil art thou?"
"You are overfond of swearing, worthy master," quoth Sir Marmadukelightly, "'tis sinful so I'm told, for one of your creed. But that is nomatter to me. You are, believe me, somewhat more interesting than youimagine. Though I doubt if to a Quaker, being heir to title and vastestates hath more than a fleeting interest."
But the smith had shrugged his broad shoulders and uttered anexclamation of contempt.
"Title and vast estates?" he said with an ironical laugh. "Nay! SirMarmaduke de Chavasse, the bait is passing clumsy. An you wish me tohold my tongue about you and your affairs, you'll have to be vastlysharper than that."
"You mistake me, friend smith, I am not endeavoring to purchase yoursilence. I hold certain information relating to your parentage. This Iwould be willing to impart to a friend, yet loath to do so to an enemy.A man doth not like to see his enemy in possession of fifteen thousandpounds a year. Does he?"
And Sir Marmaduke appeared absorbed in the contemplation of his leftshoe, whilst Adam Lambert repeated stupidly and vaguely:
"Fifteen thousand pounds a year? I?"
"Even you, my friend."
This was said so simply, and with such conviction-carryingcertainty--that in spite of himself Lambert's sulkiness vanished. Hedrew nearer to Sir Marmaduke, looked down on him silently for a secondor two, then muttered through his teeth:
"You have the proofs?"
"They will be at your service, my choleric friend," replied the othersuavely, "in exchange for your silence."
Adam Lambert drew a chair close to his whilom enemy, sat down oppositeto him, with elbows resting on his knee, his clenched fists supportinghis chin, and his eyes--anxious, eager, glowing, fixed resolutely on deChavasse.
"I'll hold my tongue, never fear," he said curtly. "Show me the proofs."
Sir Marmaduke gave a pleasant little laugh.
"Not so fast, my friend," he said, "I do not carry such important papersabout in my breeches' pocket."
And he rose from his chair, picked up the perruque and false mustachewhich the other man had dropped upon the floor, and adjusting these onhis head and face he once more presented the appearance of the exiledOrleans prince.
"But thou'lt show them to me to-night," insisted the smith roughly.
"How can I, mine impatient friend?" quoth de Chavasse lightly, "the houris late already."
"Nay! what matter the lateness of the hour? I am oft abroad at night,early and late, and thou, methinks, hast oft had the midnight hour forcompany. When and where wilt meet me?" added Lambert peremptorily, "Imust see those proofs to-night, before many hours are over, lest theblood in my veins burn my body to ashes with impatience. When wilt meetme? Eleven? ... Midnight? ... or the small hours of the morn?"
He spoke quickly, jerking out his words through closed teeth, his eyesburning with inward fever, his fists closing and unclosing with rapidfebrile movements of the fingers.
The pent-up disappointment and rebellion of a whole lifetime againstFate, was expressed in the man's attitude, the agonizing eagerness whichindeed seemed to be consuming him.
De Chavasse, on the other hand, had become singularly calm. The blackshade as usual hid one of his eyes, masking and distorting theexpression of his face; the false mustache, too, concealed the movementsof his lips, and the more his opponent's eyes tried to search theschemer's face, the more inscrutable and bland did the latter become.
"Nay, my friend," he said at last, "I do not know that the thought of amidnight excursion with you appeals to my sense of personal security. I..."
But with a violent oath, Adam had jumped to his feet, and kicked thechair away from under him so that it fell backwards with a loud clatter.
"Thou'lt meet me to-night," he said loudly and threateningly now,"thou'lt meet me on the path near the cliffs of Epple Bay half an hourbefore midnight, and if thou hast lied to me, I'll throw thee over andThanet then will be rid of thee ... but if thou dost not come, I'll tomy brother Richard even before the church clock of Acol hath sounded thehour of midnight."
De Chavasse watched him silently for the space of three seconds,realizing, of course, that he was completely in that man's power, andalso that the smith meant every word that he said. The discovery of themonstrous fraud by Richard Lambert within the next few hours was acontingency which he could not even contemplate without shuddering. Hecertainly would much prefer to give up to this uncouth laborer theproofs of his parentage which eventually might mean an earldom and afortune to a village blacksmith.
Sir Marmaduke had reflected on all this, of course, before broaching thesubject to Adam Lambert at all. Now he was prepared to go through withthe scheme to the end if need be. His uncle, the Earl of Northallerton,might live another twenty years, whilst he himself--if pursued forfraud, might have to spend those years in jail.
On the whole it was simpler to purchase the smith's silence ... this wayor another. Sir Marmaduke's reflections at this moment would havedelighted those evil spirits who are supposed to revel in the misdoingsof mankind.
The thought of the lonely path near the cliffs of Epple Bay tickled hisfancy in a manner for which perhaps at this moment he himself could nothave accounted. He certainly did not fear Adam Lambert and now saiddecisively:
"Very well, my friend, an you wish it, I'll come."
"Half an hour before midnight," insisted Lambert, "on the cliffs atEpple Bay."
"Half an hour before midnight: on the cliffs of Epple Bay," assented theother.
He picked up his hat.
"Where art going?" queried the smith suspiciously.
"To change my clothing," replied Sir Marmaduke, who was fingering thatfateful tinder-box which alone had brought about the present crisis,"and to fetch those proofs which you are so anxious to see."
"Thou'lt not fail me?"
"Surely not," quoth de Chavasse, as he finally went out of the room.
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 31