HOW I VISITED BEDFORD A SECOND TIME
"It may be nought," said the farmer; "perhaps you, young sir, seeing you have much learning and have read wise books, may say it was nought; nevertheless I believe it was what I say it was, although there is one thing I cannot understand."
"And what do you say it was?"
"I say it was the devil."
"And what is the thing you cannot understand?"
"He had a woman with him."
"Ay, but I can understand that," remarked one of the others, who had been listening intently. "Wherever the devil is at work you always find a woman. For that matter I doubt if the devil could get on at all but for woman."
"That's true, John Trounsen," remarked the third. "My wife is a good woman, let who will say otherwise; but for all that there's a woman in all devilry. The devil could not do his work without witches, and I doubt not he was obliged to have many witches with him at Pycroft. All that's been done there these last few years could not have been done without them."
"But what did he look like?" I asked eagerly, for as may be imagined other thoughts had come into my mind than those spoken by the simple farmers.
"Look like?" said the farmer who told the story. "Well that again seems strange. And yet I do not know. The parson says the devil can appear as an angel of light, so I do not see why he cannot appear as an old man."
"Ay, an old man. This was how it happened, young master. I was passing by the Pycroft woods on Friday evening, when I heard the noise like thunder. It fairly seemed to shake the very ground. I looked around me, but I could see nothing. Then I heard something like a cackle, and on gazing around me I saw him standing a little distance from me with a woman by his side. Mind you, nothing was to be seen afore the great noise, then all of a sudden he appeared."
"Ay, that must have been the devil," remarked the man called Trounsen.
"All of a sudden, all of a sudden, just like he always comes! What did the parson say on Sunday? 'He cometh like a thief in the night,'" remarked the other.
"Did any smoke come out of his nostrils?" asked Trounsen.
"No, he was just a simple old man with a short neck and long whiskers. Ay, but you should have seen his eyes. Fire seemed to come from them."
"Did he say aught?"
"Nay, but he laughed—or rather he cackled, and then he shook his hand towards Pycroft. Ay but I was frightened."
"Did he see you?"
"Nay, he didn't, and you may be sure I made no noise."
"And the woman—what was she like?" I asked.
"Ay, there you have me again, master, for the woman was young, and I thought fair to look upon."
"Did either say aught?"
"Ay, they talked to each other in words which I could not understand; but presently I heard the woman say they must haste to Bedford, for there was work awaiting them there. But when she had spoken he shook his hand towards Pycroft and laughed such a laugh as I never heard before."
"'What'll you find!' he said in a terrible voice. 'Perhaps a few skulls, but nought else;' and then he started, as I thought, to come where I was, so I just creeped under a withy bush, and hid myself. After that I heard no more. When I dared to creep out again nought was to be seen. He had spirited both himself and the woman away."
After this the man told his story again, but I gathered nothing new. He simply detailed for the willing ears of the others such trifles as were of no importance to me. But he had told me enough to set me thinking. The man was doubtless old Solomon. But the woman, who was she? I called to mind that on the night when I first went to Pycroft I saw not only Mistress Constance Denman in the room, but another woman. Might not this be the same woman? She must have known Mistress Constance, else they had not been together. Moreover, what might be the significance of her desire to go to Bedford? Was not this the place to which Constance had flown? Was it not natural, therefore, that some understanding existed between them?
When all was quiet in the inn that night, and the visitors had departed, I lay thinking of all that had taken place, and I felt that I must start for Bedford the next day. It was by this means only that I should again find the old man, and I blessed the lucky happening which had led me to the inn, and thus had been enabled to hear the farmer's story. Much as I cudgelled my brains, however, I was unable to get any nearer the solution of the mystery which faced me, neither could I so much as arrive at a suggestion of the truth concerning the link which bound the unknown woman at Pycroft Hall with Mistress Constance Denman. Also I was as much in the dark as to the ties which bound these women to old Solomon. Everything was a mystery, and I knew not how to explain it.
Next morning I was on horseback again. I knew that my way to Bedford lay straight through London, yet did I not deem it wise to go thither. I had not yet accomplished the thing I had set out to do, and I did not feel like going back to the Duke of York to tell what I had seen and heard. So I determined to bear to the left until I reached the Portsmouth road, and then by riding through the little village of Wandsworth, and crossing Battersea fields, I should miss London altogether. I knew that I could obtain a ferry at Battersea, and then by riding across country I could get to Barnet without so much as being seen by any who dwelt in London town.
Although I was eager to get to Bedford I knew that I incurred great danger by going thither. Doubtless searchers would be abroad to find the man who had liberated the daughter of Master John Leslie from Bedford Gaol, and as not many days had passed since the event, the desire to capture me must be still keen. Still nothing could be done without risk. I did not slacken speed but went straight on.
I wondered much by what means old Solomon could take the woman to Bedford, seeing that his peculiar appearance would attract much attention. But I knew that he was a man of great resource, and possibly he had friends unknown to me.
It took me two days to reach Bedford, even although Black Ben might have covered the distance in less time. The truth was, however, I could not accomplish the journey in one day, and I did not wish to reach Bedford town until after dark on the second day.
I little thought when I had fled from the inn, while a crowd of men were howling after me, that I should so soon draw near the same place, yet as the sun was setting on the second day after I had left the inn where I had heard news of Father Solomon I found myself at the very place where I had met the man called John Bunyan. My plans, however, did not make it a necessity for me to go so straight into danger. Rather it was my purpose to go to Goodlands, and by means of diligent inquiries to find out the things I desired to know. I did not hurry, for the sun had set in a clear sky, and I knew the twilight would last for wellnigh an hour, so Black Ben, catching my humour, walked quietly along, but we had not gone far in this way before I perceived something was afoot. There was the noise of the trampling of many feet in the near distance, while I could hear the excited manner of many voices.
I looked eagerly around me, but the trees and hedges being in full leaf hid wellnigh everything from me. I saw however that I was nearing the place where, on the night of Mistress Constance's escape from prison, we left the main road and turned towards the narrow lane where we had been molested by the constable and his friends.
"They seem to be coming from Goodlands," I said to myself, as I tried to locate the noise of the people, and at this my heart grew cold, for I feared lest something evil had happened to the woman I had tried to befriend.
Forgetting all possible danger to myself, therefore, I urged Black Ben forward, and soon I saw a number of people who as far as I could judge were much wrought upon. That they were not drunken was easy to see, for they walked circumspectly, and yet many angry cries reached me, as though there were a division of opinion among them. I had barely reached the spot where the lane joined the highway when in spite of myself I gave a cry, for there, right in the midst of a motley crowd, was Mistress Constance, while on either side of her walked a constable with a truncheon in his hand. Never, if I live until I am as old as Methuselah shall I forget the look on her face, for although the sun had now set, leaving only a great golden glow in the western sky, I saw it plainly.
She was very pale, I remember, save for a pink spot that burned on her cheeks, but she shewed no other sign of fear. Her lips were compressed and determined, while her eyes burned with a clear steady light. She stood perfectly straight too, and carried herself proudly, as though she were a May Queen walking amidst the plaudits of the multitude, instead of being a prisoner. Headgear she had none, but her hair hung in rich profusion around her shoulders and far down her back. Even then I caught the sheen of those curling tresses, which gave her the appearance of a queen of beauty.
She paid not the slightest heed either to those who muttered angry threats against her or those who evidently sympathized with her; her eyes were fixed on the distant skies, as though her thoughts were far away.
"What are they doing with her?" I said to a man standing on the outskirts of the crowd, but I spoke like a man in a dream, for I knew quite well.
"Doing? Why, taking her to gaol again; and I warrant she does not escape again, witch or no witch!"
And now I have to make confession of that which mayhap will draw away from me the sympathy of all good people, for at that moment I, Roland Rashcliffe, realized that I loved this woman more than my own life. I knew of what she had been accused, and she had never denied these accusations. She was said to be guilty of attempting to murder General Monk for seeking to bring back the king, and had been engaged in evil plots against his Majesty. And yet I loved her. But this was not all. She was the wife of Sir Charles Denman, a man who bore an evil name, and who had been actively interested in the death of the king's father. As such I should never have thought of her save as a murderess who had been married to a bad man. And yet at that moment I forgot everything. Forgot that her hands were stained with blood, forgot that her life was surrounded by mystery, forgot that she owed the allegiance of a wife to a husband, forgot everything, in fact, save that her life was dearer than my own, and that I must seek to save her at all hazards. That my love was hopeless I knew, for she belonged to another; that my determination to save her was madness I also knew, for what could one do among so many? Yet regardless of everything I sprang from my horse, and as if by magic I made a road for myself amidst the crowd till I reached her side.
"Mistress Constance!" I cried.
And then, spite of everything, a great joy came into my heart, for though she spoke no word I saw that as her eyes turned towards me they lit up with a great gladness, and she, as I thought, tried to hold out her hands towards me.
"Mistress Constance!" I repeated, and I forgot the gaping motley crowd which surged around, which I think was at that moment too curious to do anything save to stare at us in wonder. But as I spoke a second time I saw that the joy which shone from her eyes at her first sight of me passed away, and in its place came a look of terror.
"Escape! escape!" she said. "You cannot help me, and——"
But before she could finish the sentence a great yell went up from many throats.
"The man at The Bull!"
"The man who drugged Master Sturgeon's ale!"
"It is he who got her out of gaol!"
"Ay, we saw him taking her to Goodlands!"
These and a hundred other disjointed cries I heard, and then I was roughly seized by many hands.
"What shall we do with him?"
"Do! Why to gaol with him!"
"This will be sugar and honey to Master Sturgeon."
"Ay, and a feather in our cap when the king hears of it!"
"We'll see now if he'll laugh at us a second time!"
All this I heard as I was dragged along, but I took but little heed. My eyes were fixed on Mistress Constance's face, and I heeded not the angry shouts of those who held me in my delight at being near her.
"Why did you do this?" I heard her say.
"Because I could not help it," I replied.
At this moment I heard a great cry of fear, and turning I saw Black Ben rushing towards me, while the crowd made way for him. He might have judged that I was in danger, for he came up to me, his eyes wild and his head uplifted high in the air.
I thought for a moment that those who held me fast would have let me go as he came up, so fearful were they: nevertheless they did not release me, although they sheltered themselves behind me.
What would have happened I know not, for at that moment the crowd was much excited, but Black Ben, as I thought, seemed to be making for Mistress Constance—whereupon I spoke angrily to him and bade him be still. He obeyed like a child, for so much had we been together at home that he had learnt to take note of the tones of my voice, and to come at my call like a well-trained spaniel.
"What are you going to do with me?" I said to the men who held me fast.
"Do? Take you to gaol, young master."
"Why? What charge have you against me?"
"We'll see to that to-morrow morning at the County Court!" was the reply.
"Then let my horse be taken to The Bull stables," I said, for even then I could not bear for him to suffer because of me.
"Ay, and who'll take him?" was the reply.
It was a strange procession as ever man saw, as we walked towards the river; for although my captors still held me fast, Black Ben walked near me, his eyes flashing, while every now and then he shook his head, and snorted dangerously.
When we reached The Bull we stopped.
"Call the ostler," I said, as though I were in command instead of being a prisoner, and a few seconds later, Black Ben allowed himself to be led into the stables.
By this time a greater crowd than ever had gathered. Indeed, as it seemed to me, the whole town had turned out to see us. This vexed me much, for I hated the thought that many hundreds of staring eyes were upon us, but Mistress Constance seemed to heed nothing. She walked along the street, and over the bridge, with head erect, and the faraway look in her eyes as when I had seen her first of all that night.
We were kept near to each other, so near in truth that I could have touched her had my hands been free, but she did not seem to heed me.
"Do not fear," I said to her.
"I fear nothing—for myself," she replied.
"We shall be perchance taken before the king. If we are we shall be set at liberty."
But she shook her head, and after that we spoke to each other no more that night, for a few minutes later I found myself in a dark dungeon of a place, where there was neither light to see, nor fresh air to be breathed.
I will not try to set down here the thoughts and feelings which possessed me that night. Indeed there will be no need to relate them, even if I felt inclined to do so. All who read this will know that it was not of myself that I thought, save only in so far as the interests of Mistress Constance were linked to my own. All my thoughts were concerned with her. Neither did I fear for myself, although I knew I was in great danger. I was for ever asking what would be done to her, and wondering at times whether the mystery which surrounded her would be explained.
As may be imagined, sleep was out of the question, and tired as I should have been under ordinary circumstances, I felt no weariness.
When daylight shewed itself, even in the foul den where I lay, I fell to wondering how Mistress Constance's hiding place had been discovered, and how she, who had felt so certain of being able to avoid capture, should have allowed herself to be taken by such a clumsy set of yokels as those who brought her thither. I wondered much also where Master Leslie might be, and why he was not by his daughter's side. I at length concluded that he must perchance have gone to London, or he might have found it necessary to place himself in hiding.
Concerning the defence I proposed making for myself I meditated not one whit, for all my interests were swallowed up in those of the woman, the very thought of whom filled me with joy, and yet tore my heart with grief. It must have been perchance eight o'clock when the door opened, and Master Sturgeon entered.
"Ah, young Master Jackanapes," he cried. "So your sins, like chicken, have come home to roost?"
"No, Master Sturgeon," I said, looking him steadily in the face. "I so enjoyed your company when last I saw you that I have taken the first opportunity to meet you again."
"Anger me not, or it will go hard with you," he cried.
"As to that, anger me not," I cried, "or I will e'en tell the town clerk and the mayor what a fool you are. I will tell them how drunk you were, and that I could not only have set one prisoner at liberty, but every one you had under lock and key."
I saw that I had made him fear, although he put a brave face on it.
"Bah! Master Braggart," he cried, "you will see that I will not be again taken in by your boasting."
"I never said I was a zealous servant of the king, even while I became so drunk that I failed to do my duty," I replied. "As to being a braggart, Master Gaoler, I have told you nought but the truth. And this I swear, if Mistress Constance Leslie, or whatever you are pleased to call her, be not kindly treated, I will see to it that a true story of the way you conducted yourself be widely published. Ay, it shall even reach the king's ears. In which case you will no longer be a gaoler, but a prisoner."
"As to that it is my full intention that she shall be treated with all due courtesy," he replied, "but tell me the meaning of what hath taken place, young master. Who are you, and why came you to Bedford? I promise you that aught you shall say to me shall do you good rather than harm."
"As to that presently," I replied. "But will you on your part first tell me something?"
"I will tell you all that seemeth right to tell," he replied.
"Then how was the woman who was brought here with me last night taken prisoner?"
"Ay, that is easy to tell," he replied. "I had my suspicion that there might be doings at Goodlands which it might advantage me to know, so I got a warrant to search the place from cellar to cock-loft. And this, as you will see, led to good results, for truly the constables had not been in the house a minute before this daughter of Master Leslie's came to the place where the constables were, and gave herself up. Was not this mighty clever on my part?"
"And then you searched no more?" I said.
"There was nought more to search for. You see I had the house searched the day after you—you—set her free from here; but nought could I find, no not a sign of her. But I bided my time. I said, 'she will return,' and in truth she did."
"You say you did this?" I asked.
"Ay I did—that is me and the justices together."
I said nought at this, although I was sore puzzled at his words, for I thought I saw a meaning in it all far greater than he had dreamt of.
"And now tell me what you promised to tell me?" he said.
"At what hour am I to be brought before the justices?" I asked.
"At ten o'clock," he replied.
"Then I must needs think of my defence," I replied, "and you will have to wait until their worships have examined me."
This, as may be imagined, did not satisfy him, but he had to be content, for I would not answer a single question he put.
At ten o'clock the next day I was brought before the justices of Bedford, but I never dreamed, as I appeared before them, of the things I should presently learn.