A Gentleman Player; His Adventures on a Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER VIII.

  "A DEVIL OF A WOMAN."

  "From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us!"--_The Taming of theShrew._

  "And now, my men, upon him!" cried Mistress Hazlehurst, backing to makeroom in which her followers might obey.

  These followers tried to push forward; the horses crowded one another,and there ensued much huddling and confusion. But the lantern-bearer,holding his light and his bridle in one hand, caught Mr. Marryott'sbridle with the other. Hal struck this hand down with one of hispistols, which were not prepared for firing. He then drew his sword,with a gesture that threw hesitation into the ranks of his opposers.

  "Madam," he cried, in no very gentle tone, "may I know what is yourpurpose in this?"

  "'Tis to prevent your flight," she called back, promptly. "The officersof justice are slow; I shall see that you forestall them not."

  For a moment Hal, thinking only of the officers behind him, wondered ifshe could have heard of the council's intention, and whether it was tothe royal messengers that she alluded.

  "What have officers of justice to do with me?" he asked.

  "To call you to account for the killing of my brother!"

  Sir Valentine's fight, in which wounds had been given on both sides,again recurred to Hal's mind.

  "Your brother is dead, then?" he inquired.

  "I am but now from his funeral!" was her answer.

  In that case, Hal deduced, her brother must have died two days before,that is to say, on the very day of the fight. The news must have comebelated to the sister, for she had been at the performance of "Hamlet,"yesterday. And here was explanation of her departure from the theatre inthe midst of the play. The summons to her dead brother's side hadfollowed her to the playhouse, and there overtaken her. Afterward, Halfound these inferences to be correct.

  For a second or two of mutual inaction, he marvelled at the strange waysof circumstance which had brought this woman, whom he had yesterdayadmired in the crowded London playhouse, to confront him in such oddrelations on this lonely, night-hidden road in Hertfordshire. But asound that a turn of the wind brought--the sound of Roger Barnet's menriding nearer--sharpened him to the necessity of immediate actionagainst this sudden hindrance. Yet he felt loath to go from this woman.Go he must, however, though even at the possible cost of violence to herpeople.

  The Puritan retained his place at Marryott's side. Kit Bottle was closebehind, and with horse already half turned so that he might faceBarnet's men should they come up too soon; he had drawn his sword, andwas quietly making ready his pistols.

  "Madam," said Hal, decisively, "I did not kill your brother. Now, byyour favor, I will pass, for I am in some haste."

  "What!" she cried. "Did you lie just now, when you said you were SirValentine Fleetwood?"

  Now, Hal might tell her that he was not Sir Valentine; but, doubtless,she would not believe him; and thus the situation would not be changed.And, on the other hand, if she should believe him, so much theworse,--she would then bend her energies toward the hindrance of thereal Sir Valentine; would ride on toward Fleetwood house, be met andquestioned by Roger Barnet, and set him right, or at least cause him tosend a party back to Fleetwood house to investigate. So Hal's purposewould be speedily frustrated. His only course was to let her think himreally the man he was impersonating; indeed that course would make butanother step in the continued deception of Roger Barnet, and Hal wasbound to take such steps--not avoid them--for the next five days.

  "Mistress Hazlehurst," replied Hal, taking a kind of furtive joy inusing her name upon his lips for the first time, "I do not deny that Iam Sir Valentine Fleetwood; but I did not kill your brother. I wish youheaven's blessing and a good night, for I am going on!" With that hestarted his horse forward.

  "Take him!" she shouted to her men. "Ye shall pay for it an he escape!"

  The threat had effect. The attendants crowded upon Hal, some with swordsdrawn, some with clubs upraised; so that his horse, after a few steps,reared wildly upon its haunches, and sought a way out of the press.

  "Back, dogs!" commanded Marryott, striking right and left with sword andpistol. There were cries of pain from men and horses; the men wieldedtheir weapons as best they could; but a way was somehow opened. MistressHazlehurst herself was forced against the fence at the roadside, one ofher followers--a slender, agile youth--skilfully interposing his horseand body between her and the crush. She would have pressed into themidst of the blows and of the rearing beasts, had not this servantrestrained her horse by means which she, in her excitement, did notperceive. But she continued calling out orders, in a loud, wrathfulvoice.

  As Hal opened way, Anthony and Bottle followed close, preventing theenemy from closing in upon his rear. The Puritan used a short sword witha business-like deliberation and care, and with no word or other vocalsign than a kind of solemnly approbative grunt as he thrust. Bottle, whorode last, handled his long rapier with great swiftness and potency, inall directions, swearing all the while; and finally let off his twopistols, one after the other, at two men who hung with persistence uponHal's flanks, while Hal was forcing the last opposition in front. One ofthese two fell wounded or dead, the other was thrown by his maddenedhorse; and finally the three fugitives were free of the mass of men andbeasts that had barred the way. One of the horses was clattering downthe road ahead, without a rider. Hal informed himself by a single glancethat Anthony and Kit were free and able, and then, with an "On we go!"he spurred after the riderless horse toward Stevenage.

  "After him, you knaves!" screamed Mistress Hazlehurst, in a transport ofbaffled rage; but her servants, some unhorsed, some with broken heads orpierced bodies, one with a pistol wound in his side, and the restendeavoring to get the horses under control, were quite heedless of hercries.

  "A sad plight to leave a lady in!" said Hal, who had heard her futileorder. He and his two men were now riding at a gallop, to regain lostadvantage.

  "A devil of a woman!" quoth Captain Bottle, in a tone of mere comment,void of any feeling save, perhaps, a little admiration.

  "Why did she not know me, either as Sir Valentine, or as not being SirValentine?" asked Hal, calling ahead to Anthony, who had resumed hisplace in front.

  "She hath dwelt most time in London with a city kinswoman," was theanswer, "and Sir Valentine hath lived usually in France since she wasborn."

  "'Tis well Master Barnet knew Sir Valentine better, or knew him wellenough to take me for him in my disguise," said Hal.

  "Trust Roger Barnet to know every papist in the kingdom," called out KitBottle, "and to know every one else that's like to give occasion for hisservices. It is a pride of his to know the English papists whereeverthey be. Roger is often on the Continent, look you. He is the privycouncil's longest finger!"

  "Tell me of this Mistress Hazlehurst," said Hal to the Puritan, to whoseside he now rode up. "Is't true she is the sister of the gentleman SirValentine fought?"

  "His only sister," returned Anthony. "His only close kin. She is nowheiress to the Hazlehurst estate, and just old enough to be free ofwardship."

  "A strong love she must have borne her brother, to fly straight from hisfuneral to see him avenged!"

  "Nay, I know not any great love betwixt 'em. They could not live in thesame house, or in the same county, for their wrangles--being both of anungodly violence. 'Twas her brother's unrighteous proneness to angerthat forced the brawl on Sir Valentine. 'Twas that heathenishquarrelsomeness, some say, that kept Mr. Hazlehurst a bachelor. 'Tis awonder the evil spirit of wrath in him brought him not sooner to hisdeath. He fought many duels,--not hereabouts, where men were carefulagainst provoking him, but in France, where he lived much. 'Twas there,indeed, that he and Sir Valentine best knew each other."

  "And yet this sister must have loved him. Women are not commonly soactive toward punishing a brother's slayer," insisted Hal.

  "Why," replied Anthony, "methinks this woman is a hothead that mustneeds do with her own hands what, if she were another woman, she wouldonly
wish done. 'Tis a pride of family that moveth her to look to theavenging of her brother's death. A blow at him she conceiveth to be ablow at herself, the two being of same name and blood. This sister andbrother have ever been more quick, one to resent an affront against theother from a third person, than they have been slow to affront eachother. I am not wont to speak in the language of the lost, or to applythe name of the arch-enemy to them that bear God's image; but, indeed,as far as a headstrong will and violent ways are diabolical, yon profaneman spoke aptly when he named Mistress Anne a devil of a woman!"

  "All's one for that," said Hal, curtly. "But, certes, as far as amatchless face and a voice of music are angelical, I speak as aptly whenI name this Mistress Anne an angel of a woman! It went against me toleave her in the road thus, in a huddle of bleeding servants and runawayhorses."

  "Tis a huddle that will block the way for Roger Barnet a while," put inCaptain Bottle.

  "Doubtless he and his men have ridden up to her by now," repliedMarryott. "I'd fain see what is occurring betwixt them." Then lapsinginto silence. Hal and his two attendants rode on, passing throughslumbering Stevenage, and continuing uninterruptedly northward.

  Barnet's party had indeed come up to Mistress Hazlehurst's, and thescene now occurring between them was one destined to have a strangeconclusion.

  Anne's followers,--raw serving men without the skill or decision to haveused rightly their numerical superiority over the three fugitives,--allwere more or less hurt, except two,--the slight one who had personallyshielded her, and the lantern-bearer, who had been taken out of thefray by the intractability of his horse. Not only was her escort uselessfor any immediate pursuit of the supposed Sir Valentine, but thecondition of its members required of her, as their mistress and leader,an instant looking to. The necessity of this forbade her own mad impulseto ride unaided after the man who had escaped her, and whom she was themore passionately enraged against because of his victory over her and ofhis treatment of her servants. Nothing could have been more vexatiousthan the situation into which she had been brought; and she was bitterlychafing at her defeat, while forcing herself to consider steps for theproper care of her injured servants, when Barnet's troop came clatteringup the road.

  Mistress Hazlehurst's horses, except the runaway, had now been got undercommand; some of her men, merely bruised in body or head, stood holdingthem; others, worse hurt, lay groaning at the roadside, whither she hadordered their comrades to drag them. Anne herself sat her horse in themiddle of the road, the little fellow, still mounted, at her left hand.Such was the group that caused Barnet and his men to pull up theirhorses to an abrupt halt. Peering forward, with eyes now habituated tothe darkness, the royal pursuivant swiftly inspected the figures beforehim, perceived that Sir Valentine and his two attendants were not ofthem, wondered what a woman was doing at the head of such a party,dismissed that question as none of his business, and called out:

  "Madam, a gentleman hath passed you, with two men. Did he keep the roadto Stevenage, or turn out yonder?"

  "Sir Valentine Fleetwood, mean you?" asked Anne, with sudden eagerness.

  "The same. Way to pass, please you. And answer."

  Roger Barnet was a man of middle height; bodily, of a good thickness andgreat solidity; a man with a bold, square face, a frown, cold eyes, ashort black beard; a keeper of his own counsel, a man of the fewestpossible words, and those gruffly spoken. Anne, because her mind wasworking upon other matter, took no offence at his sharp, discourteous,mandatory style of addressing her. Without heeding his demand for way,she said:

  "Sir Valentine hath indeed passed! See how he dealt with my servantswhen I tried to stay him! Are you magistrate's men?"

  "I am a messenger of the queen," said Barnet, deigning an answerbecause, on looking more closely at her horses, a certain idea had cometo him.

  "In pursuit of Sir Valentine?" she asked.

  "With a warrant for his apprehension," was the reply.

  "What! For my brother's death? Hath her Majesty heard--"

  "For high treason; and if these be your horses, in the queen's name--"

  But Mistress Hazlehurst cut short his speech, in turn.

  "High treason!" she cried, with jubilation; and this thought flashedthrough her mind: that if taken for high treason, her enemy, a Catholicof long residence in France, was a doomed man; whereas a judicialinvestigation of his quarrel with her brother might absolve SirValentine from guilt or blame. True, the state's revenge for an offenceagainst itself would not, as such, be her revenge for an offence againsther family, and would not in itself afford her the triumph she craved;but Sir Valentine was in a way to escape the State's revenge; she mightbe an instrument to effect his capture; in being that, she would findher own revenge. She could then truly say to her enemy, "But for me youmight be free; of my work, done in retaliation for killing my brother,shall come your death; and so our blood, as much as the crown, isavenged." All this, never expressed in detail, but conceived in entiretyduring the time of a breath, was in her mind as she went on:

  "God's light, he shall be caught, then! He went toward Stevenage. I willride with you!"

  "Nay, madam, there are enough of us. But your horses are fresher thanours. I take some of yours, in the queen's name, and leave mine in yourcharge." And he forthwith dismounted, ordering his men to do likewise.But ere he made another movement, his hand happening to seek his pouch,he uttered an oath, and exclaimed:

  "The queen's letters! There's delay! They must be delivered to-night.Madam, know you where Sir William Crashaw's house is? And Mr. RichardBrewby's?"

  "Both are down the first road to the right."

  "Then down the first road to the right I must go, and let Sir ValentineFleetwood gain time while I am about it. Which is your best horse,mistress? And one of your men shall guide me to those gentlemen'shouses." And, resigning his horse to a follower, he strode into themidst of the Hazlehurst group.

  "But why lose this time, sir?" said Anne. "Let my man himself bear theseletters."

  "When I am charged with letters," replied Roger Barnet, "they pass notfrom me save into the hands for which they are intended. I shall carrythese letters, and catch this traitor. By your leave, I take thishorse--and this--and this. Get off, fellow! Hudsdon, bring my saddle,and saddle me this beast. Change horses, the rest of you."

  "But will you not send men after this traitor, while you bear theletters?" queried Anne, making no protest against the pressing of herhorses into the queen's service,--a procedure in which no attempt wasmade to include the horse she herself was on.

  Barnet gave a grunt of laughter, to which he added the words, "My men gowith me!" Perhaps he dared not trust his men out of his sight, perhapshe wished no one but himself to have the credit of taking the fugitive,perhaps he needed the protection of his complete force against possibleattack.

  "But, man," cried Anne, sharply, "you will lose track of Sir Valentine!You will take two hours, carrying those letters!"

  "Why, mistress," replied Barnet, as the change of horses from one partyto the other went rapidly on, "will not people in farmhouses andvillages hear his three horses pass?" Though he assumed a voice ofconfidence, there was yet in it a tone betraying that he shared herfears.

  "He ought to be followed while he is yet scarce out of hearing," saidAnne, "and overtaken, and hindered one way or another till you catchup."

  Barnet cast a gloomy look at her, as if pained at the mention of acourse so excellent, but in the present case so impossible.

  "My horse is the best in the county," she went on. "I can catchhim,--hang me if I cannot! I can delay him, too, if there be any wayunder heaven to do so! Dickon, look to thy wounded fellows! See themtaken home, and show this gentleman the way to Sir William Crashaw's andMr. Brewby's. Come, Francis!"--this to the small attendant who keptalways near her--"God be praised, you are well-mounted, too!" And sheturned her horse's head toward Stevenage.

  "But, Mistress Anne," cried Dickon, in dismay, "you will berobbed--killed! Ride not without
company!"

  "Let go, Dickon, and do as I bid! I shall ride so fast, the fiendhimself cannot catch me, till I fall in with that traitor; and then Ishall have him and his men for company till this officer come up to him.Master Messenger, for mine own reasons I promise to impede SirValentine; to be a burden, a weight, and a chain upon him, holding himback by all means I can devise, till you bear your letters and o'ertakehim. Dickon, heed my orders! Follow me. Francis! Ods-daggers, must I bea milksop, and afraid o' nights, because I wasn't born to wear hoseinstead of petticoats?" And having by this time got her horse clear ofthe group in the road, she made off toward Stevenage, followed by hermounted page. Francis.

  "It may turn out well for us that Sir Valentine Fleetwood happened tokill her brother," was the only comment of Roger Barnet, as he mountedthe horse his man Hudsdon had newly saddled. He had seen much and many,in his time, and was not surprised at anything, especially if it borethe shape of a woman.