CHAPTER XXVII
HOW THE SERGEANT RECOUNTED AN OLD STORY
Viscount Merivale sat alone in the hutch-like sentry-box; his handsome face was unduly grave, his brow care-worn and he bit at his carefully tended nails, which last was a thing in him quite phenomenal.
All at once he clenched his fist and smote it softly on the table:
"Damn him!" he muttered and sat scowling at his torn nails. "Ha, madam, it seems you are like to be the death o' me yet! ... O Woman! ... Howbeit, fight him I will!" Here, chancing to lift his frowning gaze, he saw the Sergeant approaching with a spade on his shoulder.
"What, Zebedee!" he called. The Sergeant glanced round, wheeled and, halting before the arbour, stood at attention. "Ha, Zeb, good old Zeb, come your ways. Sit down, yes, yes, here beside me. I'm beset by devils, Zeb, devils damned of deepest blue, your honest phiz shall fright 'em hence, mayhap—stay though!" The Viscount rose and drew his sword: "That lunge o' yours in tierce, Zeb, 'tis a sweet stroke and sufficiently deadly, show me the 'haviour on't. 'Twas somewhat on this wise as I remember." And falling into a graceful fencing posture, the Viscount made his long, narrow blade flash and dart viciously while Sergeant Zebedee, taking himself by the chin, watched with the eye of a connoisseur. "'Twas so, I think, Zeb?" The Sergeant smiled grimly and shook his head.
"You've got same all mixed up wi' fashionable school-play, Master Pancr—Tom, my lud, which though pretty ain't by no means the real thing."
"How so, Zebedee?"
"Why sir, this here posturing and flourishing is well enough a-'twixt fine gentlemen as happens to draw on each other after a bottle or to wipe out an ill word in a drop or so o' blood—yes. But 'tis different when you're opposite a skilled duellist as means to kill. His honour the Major now, he learned in a hard school and his honour learned me."
"He's had several affairs I think, Zeb?"
"Twenty and two, sir!"
"Ha!" sighed the Viscount, "I've had one and got pricked in the thigh! Here, show me the way on't, Sergeant." So saying, he turned weapon across forearm and bowing in true academic manner, proffered the jewelled hilt to the Sergeant who took it, tested spring and balance of the blade with practised hands, saluted and fell to the "engage"; then he lunged swiftly and recovered, all in a moment.
"'Tis a stroke hard to parry, sir!" said he.
"Gad love me!" sighed the Viscount, "do't again Zeb—slowly man and with explanations."
"Why look'ee sir, 'tis a trick o' the wrist on the disengage. You are in tierce—so, your point bearing so—very good! You play a thrust, thus d'ye see, then—whip! up comes your point and you follow in with a lunge—so! Try it, my lud."
"Hum!" said the Viscount, taking back his sword.
But having "tried it" once or twice with very indifferent success, he shook his head and, sheathing his weapon, sat down again and grew more despondent than ever. "Sit ye down, Zeb," said he, "the blue devils have me sure."
"Devils, Master Tom sir," said the Sergeant, seating himself on the bench his own hands had contrived, "I aren't nowise surprised, same do haunt the place o' late, this here orchard being 'witched d'ye see and full o' hocus-pocus."
"'Tis hard to believe, Zeb, what with the sky so blue and the grass all dappled with sunlight. Nay 'tis a fair world, Zeb, and hard to leave. Life's a desirable thing and hard to lose! Save us! What a world 'twould be if all women were sweet as they seemed and men as true!"
"Sure there's a deal o' roguery i' the world Master Pancras—Tom, sir! As witness—last night!"
The Viscount winced, muttered between clenched teeth and scowled at his fist again:
"Is the Major come home yet?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir. Come in along with Lord Cleeve, same as served under his honour years agone."
"How were they, Zeb?"
"His honour oncommon solemn and my lord oncommon talkative—wouldn't nowise part wi' his boots, threatened to shoot the first man as dared touch same. Last night must ha' been—a night, sir!"
"Aye!" nodded the Viscount absently. "You told me last night you actually caught the fellow one night—in the orchard here?"
"Fellow, my lud?"
"Mr. Dalroyd."
"I so did, sir—same being in the act o' scaling wall—taking my lady's garden by escalade as ye might say."
"'Twas Dalroyd, you're—quite sure, Zeb?"
"If 'twasn't—'twere a ghost sir."
"What d'ye mean?"
"The ghost of an officer of Ogle's as his honour killed in Flanders in a duel, Master Tom."
"Ah!" said the Viscount thoughtfully. "A duel!"
"Aye, sir, only this man's name were Effingham."
"A duel!" repeated the Viscount. "'Twas over a woman of course?"
"Aye sir, and an evil tale it is and I'm a man o' few words—but if so be you've a mind for't——"
"I have, Zeb—proceed——"
"Well, it seems this Captain Effingham with his company had took prisoner a French officer in his own chateau, d'ye see, and meant to shoot same in the morning for a spy. But to Captain Effingham comes the officer's wife—young she was and very handsome, and implored the Captain to mercy, which he agreed to if she'd consent to——"
"I take you, Zeb!"
"'Twas for her husband's life and she was very young, sir—I chanced to see her arterwards. So the Captain had his way. Next morning, very early, comes a roll o' musketry. She leaps out o' bed, runs to the lattice and there's her husband being carried by—dead! So she falls distracted and kills herself wi' the Captain's sword and arter comes his honour the Major and kills the Captain. 'Twas a pretty bout, sir, for the Captain was a master at rapier-play and famous duellist—laid his honour's head open from eye to ear at the first pass and, what wi' the blood-flow and heavy boots I thought his honour was done for more than once—and if he had been, well—I had finger on trigger and 'twould ha' been no murder—him!"
"The Major killed him?"
"Dead as mutton, sir."
"Did you bury the villain?"
"No time, sir, we were a flanking party on a forced march, d'ye see."
"And you say Dalroyd is like him?"
"As one musket-ball to another, Master Tom."
"And she was young and beautiful, Zeb?"
"About my lady Betty's age sir, and much such another."
"Ah!" murmured the Viscount and scowled at his fist again. "Look'ee Zeb, 'tis my fancy to master that thrust, every morning when you've done with the Major you shall fence a bout or so with me, eh?"
"'Twill be joy, Master Tom."
"But, mark this Zeb, none must know of it—especially my uncle. I—I'm minded to surprise him. So not a word and——"
On the warm, sunny air rose a woman's voice rich, sonorous and clear, singing a plaintive melody. The Viscount rose, flicked a speck from velvet coat-skirts and, crossing the orchard, swung himself astride the wall. My lady Betty was gathering a posy; at the Viscount's sudden appearance she broke off her song, swept him a curtsey then, standing tall and gracious, shook white finger at him.
"Naughty lad!" said she. "Since when have you taken to philandering in country lanes after midnight?"
The Viscount actually gasped; then took out his snuff-box, fumbled with it and put it away again.
"I—I—Gad preserve me, Bet!" he stammered, "what d'ye mean?"
"I mean, my poor Pancras, since when ha' you taken to spying on me?"
The Viscount's cheek flushed, then he leaned suddenly forward his hands tight-clenched:
"Betty," said he, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "O Bet, in God's name why d'you meet a man of Dalroyd's repute—alone and at such an hour?" My lady's clear gaze never wavered and she laughed gaily:
"Dear Pancras," she cried, "your tragical airs are ill-suited to the top of a wall! Prithee come down to earth, smooth that face of care, dear creature, and let us quarrel agreeably as of yore!"
The Viscount obeyed slowly and looking a little grim:
"Look'ee Bet," said he as they trod the tiled walk together, "I have lived sufficiently long in this world to know that the mind of a woman is beyond a man's comprehension and that she herself is oft-times the sport of every idle whim——"
"'Tis a Daniel come to judgment! O excellent young man!'" she mocked. Whereat the Viscount became a little grimmer as he continued:
"Yet, because my regard for you is true and sincere, I do most humbly implore you to forego this madcap whim——"
"Whim, Viscount Merivale, my lord?"
"Aye—whim, fancy, mischief—call it what you will! 'Tis impossible you can love the fellow and not to be thought on."
"Dear Pan," she sighed, "I vow there are times I could kiss you as I used, when we were children."
"Trust me instead, dear Bet! Confess, the fellow hath a hold over you? Have you met him often at night?"
"Twice!"
"Shall you meet him again?"
"Thrice!"
"Alone? And—at midnight? Alone, Betty?"
"Quite alone."
"God!" he exclaimed, "what will the world think?"
"The world will be asleep."
"But how if you should be seen as I saw you—in the lane?"
"'Tis small chance," she answered, brushing her roses across red lips a-pout in thought. "'Tis why I choose a spot so remote and so late an hour."
"But alone—at midnight—with Dalroyd! By heaven, Betty, you run greater and more ugly risks than you know."
"I think not, Pan."
"But I tell you, and God forgive me if I misjudge the fellow—from what I know—from what I hear he's a very satyr—a——"
"Indeed I think he is!" she sighed. "So do I go prepared."
"How—how?" he demanded. "I say no maid should run such risk, willingly or no——"
"Pancras!" She turned and faced him suddenly. "You never doubt me—you?"
"Never Bet, never, I swear. But 'tis only that I've known you all your days and because I know you commit this folly and risk these dangers for Charles's sake. But Betty, in God's name what will the end be?"
"An end shall justify the means!"
"The means—the means! Aye, but there are some means so shameful that no end may ever justify—you never think to sacrifice yourself to——"
My lady laughed; then seeing the anxiety of his face, the tremor of his clenched fist, she took that fist in her soft, cool fingers and drawing him within the arbour made him sit beside her.
"Pan dear," she said gently, "O rest secure in this:—'tis true I love my brother but no tender martyr am I so brave or so unselfish, even for his dear sake, to yield myself up to—the beasts. This body of mine I hold much too precious to glut their brutish appetite."
"Why then, Bet, promise me this folly shall cease, you'll see Dalroyd no more, at least at such an hour—promise me."
"No, Pancras."
"Ha! And wherefore not?"
"Because 'tis so my whim."
"Why then you leave me but one alternative, Betty."
"Prithee—what?"
"I'll stop it in despite of you."
"Cry you mercy, sir—how?"
"Very simply."
"Ah, Pancras, you mean a—duel? No no, not that—you shall not—I forbid such folly!" The Viscount smiled. "He'd kill you, Pan, I know it—feel it!" The Viscount's smile grew a little rueful.
"None the less, 'twould resolve the problem—at least for me," he answered.
"But, Pancras, see how clumsily! O Lud, these meddling men!" she sighed.
"Heavens, these wilful women!" he retorted.
"Still, Sir Wiseacre, being a woman I'll meet and outwit the beast with a woman's weapons. So now prithee let there be no thought of such clumsy weapons as this!" and tapping the ornate hilt of the Viscount's sword, she rose. "Come," said she, reaching him her hand, "take me within-doors and I will stay thee with flagons."
Now as they crossed the broad lawn together the balmy air was suddenly pierced by a shrill and flute-like whistle.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Viscount, stopping suddenly to glance about.
As he stood thus he was amazed by an object which, hurtling from on high, thudded upon the grass, and stepping forward he picked up a much worn and battered shoe. From this sorry object his gaze, travelling aloft, presently discovered a figure which had wriggled itself half out of a small dormer window beneath the eaves and, despite this perilous position, was beckoning to him vigorously.
"Oho!" exclaimed the Viscount, turning to my lady Betty. "So you have him here, 'tis as I thought!" But when he would have waved and saluted his lordship of Medhurst in return, Betty stayed him with a gesture.
"The servants, Pan—" she warned him.
"You'll take me up, Bet, you'll let me see the old lad?" the Viscount pleaded. "I've been scheming out ways and means of getting him first to my place in Sussex and then over seas——"
"Phoh!" exclaimed my lady. "And yourself and him dungeoned in the Tower within the week. How should you know he was hereabouts—'twas that Major d'Arcy, I'll vow!"
"True, he mentioned the matter and moreover——"
"Ha!" cried my lady stamping her foot, "so he must be talking already!"
"Aye—to me, Bet, why not i' faith! And—though a Whig——"
"A flapdragon!" exclaimed my lady.
"I say though a Whig he is as ready to aid Charles into safety as you or I. Nay, he hath even proffered to harbour him in his own house."
"Mm!" said my lady, smiling down at her roses, "I wonder why a Whiggish soldier should run such risk for Charles, a stranger?"
"Because the Major chances to be the best, the bravest, the most unselfish gentleman I have the honour to know!" replied the Viscount.
"Dear Pancras!" she sighed, "an you would talk with Charles, you shall, so come your ways and be silent—Pancras dear!"
So she brought him into the house and, finger on lip, led him up back stairways and along seldom used passages to a door small but remarkably strong; here she paused to reach a key from a dark corner, a key of massive proportions at sight of which the Viscount whistled.
"You see, Pan," she explained, fitting it to the lock, "Charles is quite determined to get away at once for my sake, but I'm quite determined he shall stay for his own sake, until I judge him sufficiently recovered, and—hark to him, Pan, hark to my naughty child!" She laughed as an impatient fist thumped the stout door from within and a muffled voice reached them. "Be silent, sir!" she commanded. Followed a sulky muttering, the door swung open and my lord of Medhurst appeared, petulant and eager:
"What Pan!" he cried. "What Tom—Tommy lad! Y'see how she treats me!"
"Hush!" exclaimed my lady, closing the door.
"Gad, Charles!" exclaimed the Viscount as they embraced, "you're thin and pale, is't your wound?"
"Nay—nay, I vow I'm well enough, Tom——"
"But I protest art worn to a shadow——"
"A shadow—aha!" His lordship laughed gaily. "Say a shade, Tom, a ghost and you're in the right with a vengeance. But tell me the latest town news, Tommy, who's in and who's out? Stands London where it did——"
"Nay first, Charles, I'm here to smuggle you away to my Sussex place there to keep you hid until I can arrange for you to cross into France. 'Twill be the simplest matter i' the world, Charles, I'll have a couple of fast horses in the lane at midnight, we shall reach my place by dawn or thereabouts. How say you?"
"Why I say, dear lad, 'tis all very well but you forget one thing."
"And that?"
"Your own risk, Pan."
"Tush!" exclaimed the Viscount.
"Quite so, Tom," nodded my lord, "but d'ye dream I'd ever shelter myself behind thy faithful friendship? How say you, Bet?"
"Spoken like my own Charles!" she answered and clasping her arm about him set her cheek to his, and the Viscount, glancing from one face to the other, fell back in staring surprise.
"Gad love me!" he exclaimed. "'Tis years since I saw you out of a peruke, Charles and now I do—I vow your likeness to Bet is greater than ever—faith 'tis marvellous! Same features, same gestures, same height——"
"Nay I swear I'm taller by a good inch, Tom——"
"But the similarity is wonderful——"
"Except for his voice!" sighed my lady, "and that—hush! 'Tis the coach returned, aunt is back from Sevenoaks already!" So saying, she crossed to the window and leaned out. "Heavens!" she cried, "aunt must ha' driven home galloping, the horses are all in a lather o' foam. I wonder——"
"Betty!" cried a voice, "O Betty!"
"Save us!" ejaculated my lady, crossing to the door and turning the key, "she's coming up!"
"Betty!" cried Lady Belinda from the landing without, "O Betty, let me in—let me in!" Here the strong door was shaken by eager hands. "Let me in, Betty, O I know who's there—I've known for days. Let me in for O Lud—I've such terrible news—quick, open the door!"
Instantly Betty obeyed and Lady Belinda tottered in, closed it again and leaned there breathless.
"Charles!" she cried. "My wicked wanderer! My wayward boy! O I shall faint—I swoon!" But Lady Belinda did neither, instead she caught the earl to her bosom, kissed him tenderly and spoke. "My dears, there are soldiers at Sevenoaks seeking our fugitive—they may be here at any time!"
"The devil!" exclaimed the fugitive.
"We must do something!" said the Viscount.
"We will!" nodded my lady.