CHAPTER XXII
The earl maintained a great retinue and a kind of military state, and the courtyard of his castle was alive this morning with pages and serving-men in his livery, exercising or bustling about on various errands; but I had little fear any of them would know me, for not many of the gentlemen of the isle chose to enter his train, nor did the common folk relish the restraint and weariness of his service, so the bulk of those who wore his colours were enlisted from distant parts of the country. My confidence was justified, no one accosting me or taking any heed of me. I told the porter, using the style of speaking which matched my apparel, I had tidings for the earl of the first importance. He conducted me to a little room, where he bade me wait the leisure of the steward and left me. The door of the room stood ajar, and I heard voices in a room opposite, one of them being Boswell's. Needless to say I listened with both ears.
"Oh, sir, persuade the earl to hear me for one moment—I beg for only a moment."
"You do but waste my time. I tell you the earl will not see you."
"Then for pity's sake, good Master Nicholas, go you to him and let him know Vavasour is found. He is in hiding at Lindholme. If the earl will order a dozen men to go with me, the murderer shall be in his hands this afternoon. The frost makes the bog like stone."
"His lordship shall hear this, certainly."
"And beg him to spare my girl until I bring Vavasour. Entreat him to be so far merciful, Master Nicholas!"
"I will let you know his lordship's pleasure," answered the steward, and crossed the passage to the room in which I awaited him.
"And what is your business, my man?" he asked loftily, toying with his gold chain of office.
"To give up the man that killed my Lord Sheffield and get my reward," I answered in rustic fashion.
"And where is the man?"
"By your leave, that is for his lordship's ear."
"Art insolent, knave? May'st take thyself off. Thy information is late. We happen to have one of the murderer's familiars on the rack."
"Who knows no more than you do."
"Which chances to be all that is needful. In a few hours we shall have the villain."
"If I give him up to you, not else. 'Tis a fool's errand to go to Lindholme to look for him."
"Ah! how know you that? To be sure the doors were open. There's a big reward offered for the apprehension of the rascal, and a percentage is due——"
"You shall have one pound out of every ten," I broke in. While this man delayed and chaffered, poor Bess might be suffering horribly.
"'Tis a bargain; follow me," he said.
He led me to the chamber in the tower which, I knew, was used for "questioning" accused prisoners and stubborn witnesses. Bidding me remain outside, he entered, closing the door behind him, and in a minute reappeared and beckoned me in. The old earl sat wrapped in furs on one side of the hexagonal room. Behind him stood a man whom I took to be a physician; in the corner, to the earl's right hand, stood another with writing materials on a small, high table in front of him.
The rack lay at his lordship's feet, two stout fellows at each end of it, with long staves in their hands, the ends inserted in the sockets of the poles on which the cords are wound. Bess was stretched by the wrists and ankles, so that no part of her body touched the floor, with nothing to cover her save a short smock. On the instant she knew me, and a hot flush came into her face; and I turned away my eyes unable to bear the sight of her pain and shame. For a moment the same red haze came over my sight as I saw when Staniforth fell by my side at Thorne, and a mad humour of smiting them that did the cruelty seized me. But I was brought to my senses by the thin, piping voice of the old nobleman—
"My steward informs me you pretend to know where Vavasour is to be found."
How hard he strove to control himself! But his voice shook with eager desire.
"You shall have him safe within the hour, my lord, if you will give me the reward I ask."
"You speak positively, fellow, of the capture of a man who has evaded all pursuits for more than a month."
"He has not the ghost of a chance to escape me, my lord. You shall have him as fast as a bird in a cage."
"But you want a larger reward than a hundred pounds? How much?"
"I don't want a penny, my lord. I ask for what will cost you nothing."
"Shalt have it, whatever it is, only make thy word good," said he, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me.
"The boon I ask is liberty for the prisoner on the rack."
"Release her," he ordered. "And now where is Vavasour."
"Here, my lord—I am he."
The earl rose from his seat, and sank back again, staring. The clerk let fall the pen with which he had been making notes. The four men who had lowered Bess to the floor gazed on me open-mouthed.
She was the first to speak. "Your lordship, this is a poor fellow who has had his head turned by trouble, and his craze is to think himself Frank Vavasour; but his true name is Jack Unwin. He has J.U. tattooed on his chest."
At a sign from the earl, the men laid hands on me and bared my breast, while the old nobleman sat choking with rage and mortification, glaring from me to Bess, and from Bess to me.
"My lord," said I, "you have given me your word to let the prisoner go free. Her subsequent lie, meant to shield and save me, will not hinder the fulfilment of your promise. As for these marks on my breast, and these scars on my face, the man who inflicted them is now in your steward's room, and may be compelled to say why he made them, if that be your pleasure. But of a surety I am Frank Vavasour, at one time your son Edmund's boyish friend, and familiar with everything in this castle."
The earl rubbed his hands. "Vavasour, assuredly," he said. "The matchless impudence proves the breed."
He turned to Bess, who had taken her stand in the utmost shadow she could find.
"Get you gone, jade, before I order you a whipping."
Then he gave instructions to the steward and the scribe.
"Nicholas, bring hither the fellow Boswell, saying nothing of what has passed here. Fetch your book of depositions and informations, Pennington."
Bess looked at me reproachfully as she went out, and I answered her with a smile, glad to note she walked not amiss for one who had been stretched on the rack. For the minute or two, while the steward and clerk were absent, the earl leaned back in his chair, gloating on me like a cat on the mouse she has struck. When they returned, he said—
"Boswell, look at this fellow, who says he is Frank Vavasour. What sayest thou?"
For half a second the gipsy hesitated.
"Quick, man, speak the truth, or——" and his lordship finished his sentence by a motion of the hand toward the rack.
"It is the man, your lordship."
"Pennington, read me the description of Vavasour given in our proclamation."
When the clerk had done so, the earl turned on Boswell.
"How comes it that you, who were in my son's service, and knew this man, did not inform Pennington of the errors in this document? There is not a word here of scars on the face or marking on the breast. What is the meaning of this? Subornation?"
"No, my lord. I did not know of the scars; or if I did, I had forgotten them."
It was amazing to me that the ready, crafty villain should bungle and blunder so.
"Forgotten your own handiwork?" asked the earl, in the silkiest tone.
Boswell was so confounded by the question that he had nothing to say. Before he could recover himself, the earl cried—
"Into the rack with him."
In little more than the twinkling of an eye, the men had pounced on him, stripped him to his shirt, and tied his feet and hands. It made one shudder to think what long practice had made them so dexterous at the work. They plied their levers, until their victim was stretched, and one heard wrists and ankle-joints crack sickeningly.
At a downward wave of the earl's hand they stayed.
"Why did you not report to my secretary the errors in this description?"
"The proclamation had been posted far and wide before I knew of it; and I was afraid to mention the marks, lest I should be further questioned concerning them, and I thought to take Vavasour myself."
Again the earl's hand moved, and the levers moved.
"Mercy, my lord, mercy!" groaned the gipsy.
"You kept the knowledge to yourself, at the imminent risk of the murderer's escape, in hope to make sure of the reward."
"Yes."
"When and where did you inflict the wounds?"
"Last August in Melwood Priory. Mercy, my lord."
"To what end?"
"Because my Lord Sheffield desired to have him sent to the plantations under the name and likeness of one Jim Ulceby."
The earl sat silent for what seemed a long time, Boswell moaning feebly the while. Then again the hand waved, the levers moved, and Boswell shrieked in agony.
"My son gave you order to mutilate Vavasour?"
"Yes; I did all by his lordship's command.'"
"Take both prisoners away and bestow them safely in separate dungeons," said his lordship; "and bring me a cordial, Nicholas."
The secretary motioned to me to follow him, and two of the men came behind me. Pennington led the way down the winding stairs to a dungeon lighted only by a slit in the wall, and containing no other furniture than a stone table.
"'Tis more than a trifle cold here, Master Pennington," said I. "Some straw for one's feet, and a wrap for one's body, would be welcome."
"I will take my lord's pleasure on the matter," replied the secretary, who, to do him justice, had little of the Jack-in-office in his manners.
"Pray remind him, Master Pennington, that I have saved him a hundred pounds, which deserves acknowledgment."
I thought I saw a faint smile on the man's face as he answered—
"You take things easily for a prisoner charged with the murder of the heir to an earldom."
"Charged with nothing as yet, and well prepared to clear myself from any such accusation, when I am brought into court of law."
"The President of the Council has large discretion and plenary powers; nay, has in a sense the royal prerogative," rejoined the secretary.
"Give you my word, I never heard that the King had prerogative to hang a man without trial."
Master Pennington made me no answer to this, but withdrew, barring and locking the door on the outside.
I know not how it was that I rose to a jesting temper, now that the worst had come to me. Perhaps that was the reason, or it may be my pleasure in saving Bess from further torment raised me to a jocund spirit, or the look I saw on the old earl's face, when he heard Boswell's confession, put heart into me, but truly I was in better cheer than I had been for many a day. I knew well enough the scope of the earl's authority, and how he might override the law in his black vengeance, but I was nowise daunted. I could have sung a ballad, if my lips had not trembled with the cold.
About noon, Master Pennington entered my dungeon, accompanied by two serving-men, who brought food and wine, and a truss of straw and blankets.
"His lordship is liberal," said I.
"You owe your provision to the former steward," answered the secretary. "He still has authority, though past service, and charged me to say that his rheumatic joints forbid his coming to you, but whatever a bedridden old man can do shall be done on your behalf."
"The kind old man! I pray you give him thanks for me. I owe Master Wintringham gratitude for many a favour in bygone days."
Three times a day, good food was brought to my dungeon by a serving-man, but the half-friendly secretary did not come again for days, and the servitors could not, or would not, tell me news of any kind. My condition, so far as bodily comfort went, would have been tolerable, but for lack of warmth. I paced the floor, slapped my shoulders, held boxing bouts with an invisible adversary, jumped till I had no breath left, all to get me some heat into my body, able to think of nothing but that I was like to die of cold. Of nights I wrapped the coverlets tightly round me, and burrowed in the straw, but could not sleep for shivering. After a while, the rigorous weather abated somewhat, or I became hardened to it, though it was November. But I was now to suffer no less by thinking. My gamesome temper had soon left me, and I have no words for a description of the heaviness which followed.
I knew it was in vain to revolve thoughts of escape, for watch was kept continually, and I had no means to enlarge the long, narrow slit in the wall that served to give me light and air. I could do nothing but sit wondering and waiting miserably, for such was the strange commotion in my brain, that my prayers for deliverance brought me no hope or consolation.
So I passed a fortnight, and then the secretary appeared again to summon me to the presence of the earl, who lay on a couch, looking worn and feeble, his hands trembling as if he had no control of them. Behind his couch stood a youth, whom at first I did not know, not having seen him since he was a child. He was the earl's heir now, Lord Butterwick by proper title, but in our country usage, Lord Sheffield. He inclined his head to me, saying, "Be seated, Mr. Vavasour."'
What this courtesy might portend I could but wonder. The secretary sat down at a desk, and I in front of the couch, half stifled by the heat of the chamber.
"My father wishes you to hear a sworn deposition read, and afterwards to give your own account of the affair," said the young man.
Pennington took up a paper and read. It described the doings at Thorne, when my friend Staniforth was killed, but falsely. According to the deponent, the business began by my inciting my comrades to attack the earl's men, myself leading the assault. Staniforth's death was recorded as happening in the thick of the fray. When the secretary had finished the reading, I told the story from beginning to end, as I have before told it in this book.
Lord Butterwick asked me for the names of eyewitnesses, which I gave.
Another deposition was to the effect that I had been seen to go to the cottage where Daft Jack (John Temperton he was named in the document) lived; that the deponent had followed me, and heard me use language tending to encourage him in a design on the life of the King's Commissioner. What I had said to Jack, after the event, was cunningly perverted, and reported as having been said before the scene at the White Hart. Again, I gave the true account. All the time the earl said not a word, but kept his eyes steadily on me. Now he turned to his son, saying something in a voice too low for me to hear, and Lord Butterwick replied also in a low tone, but I caught the words, "able to bear more." After they had spoken together in this manner, Lord Butterwick turned again to me.
"The earl bids me request your report of the enmity between you and my late brother."
"My lord, it began long ago in this house; as I think you will remember, but it came to no more than flouts on his part and scornful answers on mine, when we chanced to meet, which was not often. But of late it has been quickened because we were rivals for the love of Mistress Goel, whom you know. Once I smote him on the face, because he slandered her, but I have done no other ill to him, save a blow with the fist, defending Mistress Goel from his lust and violence. God knows I had no intent to kill him, as may be evident from my smiting with the fist, when I had weapons at my side and in my belt, nor do I believe the blow would have given him his death, had he not turned aside, so that he took it below the ear. At the time I thought him no worse than insensible for the moment."
The earl's face grew dark while I spoke, and when I had ended, he said—
"The peine forte et dure might extort a less plausible story."
"The prisoner to be laid on his back, and to have iron placed on his breast, as much as he can bear and more, and to be fed with bad bread and stagnant water on alternate days until he testifies truly or dies," murmured the secretary, as if he read from a book.
I saw no reason why I should answer, and there was a long silence. At last the earl asked—
"Who were present when you struck the blow?"
"Doctor Goel, his daughter, and their serving-maid."
"Where are they now?"
"As I hope and believe, in their own country."
"They fled at your suggestion?"
"Not because they feared to bear testimony for me, but having too much reason to dread persecution themselves."
The earl's countenance darkened yet more, and his hands shook violently. His son bent over his couch, pleading with him, as I judged by the tone, but did not hear what was said.
"Take away the prisoner," at length the earl commanded; and the secretary opened the door, and called two men to conduct me again to my dungeon. There I remained yet another fortnight; but since I have dilated upon my suffering there more than enough, I will say nothing further thereon.
On the last day of November, hearing a dolorous sound of trumpeting, I climbed on the stone table, from which I could see through my window a little piece of the road. Across this small space passed a number of the earl's serving-men, two by two, in long black cloaks, with black bands streaming from their hats; then two trumpeters in black, making mournful music; then an esquire, mounted, and bearing a pennon or guidon, one half black and the other white. Next came two grooms on foot, leading a horse covered with black caparison, the reins being held by a gentleman on horseback. A number of gentlemen in mourning followed two by two, and then two trumpeters. Was Earl Mulgrave dead and this his funeral, I asked myself, with a thrill of hope, God forgive me. The next comer determined me—a rider, carrying a black banner with the Mulgrave arms silver-embroidered. After other gentlemen in mourning, one passed bearing a black staff with a pair of spurs on the end of it. Then came another, who bore the gauntlets in the same manner, and one carrying sword and target. Shortly appeared a gentleman carrying the coronet on a cushion, with two others, one walking on either side of him. After them, came one who bore the mantle, helmet, wreath, and crest. Then a number of clergymen, two by two, and one who walked alone. And now the pall-covered coffin was carried shoulder-high, pall-bearers, on each side, attended by six banners, three on the one side, and three on the other. Another horse was led behind his master's coffin, and the coach of state followed, drawn by four horses, all draped in mourning fashion. Other coaches rolled by, and after them a long train of gentlemen on horseback passed slowly, and I sank down to wonder what the old nobleman's death might mean to me. Within twenty-four hours I knew. Master Pennington came to my dungeon, and, briefly informing me of the late earl's death, bade me go with him to meet the new lord of Mulgrave Castle.
He dismissed the secretary, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, said—
"Mr. Vavasour, I am not President of Council, or in any kind of judgeship, and therefore have no right to detain you prisoner in my house; but as the brother of the man you killed, it is my duty to hand you over to the rightful authorities, that you may stand your trial for the deed."
I bowed my head.
"I am advised there is no evidence against you but your own confession," continued the young earl.
What a fool I had been to make it, was my first thought.
"But that confession bore so much the seal of truth, and all you said has been so strongly confirmed by the avowal of the gipsy Boswell, and by more credible witnesses, that, considering what you have endured from us, and, to be frank with you, considering how little creditable to the house of Mulgrave it might be to publish what you have suffered at our hands, although you and I may not be friends, I incline to think we might be generous enemies."
I had no answer ready to his surprising speech, which he had either taken some pains to prepare, or had had prepared for him. He went on—
"Will you give me your word, Mr. Vavasour, to take your trial, if I call upon you to do so?"
"Assuredly, my lord," I replied.
"Then you are at liberty to go whither you will. But worthy Master Wintringham desires much, to see you before you leave the castle."