Heiress of Haddon

by W. E. Doubleday

CHAPTER XV.

SIR GEORGE AT WESTMINSTER.

Go, let the treacherous throw their darts
And sore the good malign
Perjure their conscience, stain their hearts,
To gain their foul design.
Yet shall right triumph at the end;
And virtue fortune shall defend.

ANON.

For some time the two noblemen sat in silence, but at length Sir
Thomas Stanley looked up and gave the baron some very pleasant news.

"You are safe," he said. "You need no longer fear this Nathan Grene, nor Sir Ronald Bury, nor anybody else for the matter of that; you are perfectly safe."

Sir George Vernon simply opened his eyes and his mouth wide in sheer surprise, and seeing that he made no attempt to speak, Sir Thomas proceeded.

"This is a letter from Grene's own counsel. It is of the utmost importance. Nathan Grene must have been here yesterday."

"What! at the inn here? This very inn?"

"Aye! and in this very room. Here is his signature, dated yesterday.
Maybe he is above even now."

"Like enough," said the baron fiercely, and he looked as if he would like to search each separate chamber in the house there and then.

"Listen," said Stanley, "this is what the lawyer says: 'I am doubtful if, after all, the prosecution will not fall through. The summons was issued by your direction against "The King of the Peak," whereas it ought to have read "Sir George Vernon." Warder, who, I hear, is the agent of the Vernon family, will surely recognise this, and if the baron refuses to answer the title contained in the summons, then our case will fall to the ground. We must hope for the best, as we can do no more. It is too late to rectify the error now.'"

"Here," said Sir Thomas, looking up, "the counsellor stops; but our friend Grene has added a few notes of his own, evidently directions to some of his friends."

"Go on, then," commanded Sir George impetuously.

"'We must get Warder out of the way till the trial is over,' he writes. 'The ostler here, who brings this message to thee, is in our confidence, and may be trusted. Meet as arranged to-night. If we fail at the trial we will have our revenge elsewhere. I am in danger, and may not meet you yet, but follow Sir Ronald and he will reward you.'"

He stopped reading, for while they had been thus together the household had become astir, and it was evident that someone was about to enter the room in which they were seated.

His conjecture was right, for barely had he paused ere the door was pushed open, and the ostler stepped quickly in, startled indeed to find the library already occupied. He started to retire, but the baron called him back.

"Come hither, sirrah," he cried, regardless of his friend's wiser counsel to desist.

Hugh unwillingly returned.

"Do you know that?" Sir George exclaimed, holding up the packet he had discovered.

Hugh had come purposely to seek it, but deeming it unwise to admit the fact, he boldly answered in the negative. "That will do," said the younger knight quietly; "you can depart."

Again he started to go, but again Sir George called him back.

"Read it," he said peremptorily, and he thrust the parchment into the ostler's hands.

"I cannot read," he replied; but suddenly bethinking himself that he was implicated by the written evidence, he quickly changed his mind, and eagerly snatching the document from the baron, he hastened out of the room and turned the lock sharply upon the wonder-stricken knights.

No time was to be lost; Hugh knew their knocking would soon be heard, and that before long they would be released, when there would be hue and cry after him; so, rapidly catching up a few of his own things—and he had few of his own handy enough to take—and adding a few convenient valuables belonging to his master to pay for his services, he quickly passed out of the house and sped on his way to join the confederates of Edmund Wynne.

Edmund, too, had passed a sleepless night. At first he had attempted to burst his chains asunder, but soon realising the utter uselessness of such conduct, and being also covered with bruises, he desisted and passed the next hour in calling out for relief. No relief came; only the mice and the insects heard his cries, and the former affrighted, sought seclusion in their holes, leaving the latter to survey in silent surprise the new comer who had intruded upon their privacy.

Wearied out, he gave over shouting at last, and lay upon the floor of his damp cell, tossing uneasily about from side to side. The sun set; the dark night came and went; the morning sun arose, and yet he knew it not. It was too dark for him to see anything, for even no ray of light found its way inside to gladden the heart of the prisoner. He was altogether shut off from the world; he was, for the time being, to all intents and purposes, buried alive.

At length, after a night of abject misery, which seemed as if it never would end, he heard the key turned in the lock, and in another moment the gaoler entered. He fastened Edmund's hands securely behind his back, and unlocking the fetters he bade him follow him to the court.

The landlord of the Cock Tavern was already there, much enraged at the loss of his property and the conduct of his servant, which he laid to the charge of the prisoner. In a very short space of time Edmund Wynne was convicted as a vagabond, and he listened akin to relief as the Judge sentenced him to be kept in the stocks for the rest of the day and threatened him with a whipping in the pillory if he were brought before him on a second occasion. Much to the annoyance of the innkeeper, the attempt to connect the prisoner with the loss of his property and the ostler's flight entirely broke down; and disgusted with everybody and everything, the good man returned to the tavern to smile with counterfeited pleasure at his customers, and to vent his rage upon the servants who were left him.

The loss of the paper somewhat disconcerted Sir George Vernon, and after the disappearance of the ostler he sat for a minute or two quite dumbfounded, gazing in speechless surprise at the closed door. His companion was a man of action, however, and undaunted by finding the door locked, he hastened to the window, and would have attempted an exit there had it not been that the windows were too narrow for such a procedure.

Baffled again, but in nowise disheartened, he began to thunder at the door, and with the assistance of Sir George Vernon he soon made noise enough to attract attention.

The first to hear them was the chambermaid, and she, very naturally suspecting that thieves were in the room, ran out into the yard and intimated as much, at the top of her voice, to all the neighbours.

Meanwhile the knocking continued, and was, if anything, more vigorous than before. Startled by such an unusual din, the worthy Boniface awoke from his slumbers, and, in no very enviable frame of mind, set off, poker in hand, to summon aid. Help soon came, and, armed with pokers, brooms, and pitchforks, the door was quickly broken open and the gallant company rushed in, knocking Sir George over as they entered.

In the pause that followed the first rush the mistake was discovered, and the situation was explained. The landlord was profuse in his apologies, the more so as he caught the look of anger in the baron's eye, but peace being quickly made, he rewarded his followers and sallied out to discover the whereabouts of his delinquent servant, breathing out dire threatenings against him. He searched in vain, and after a thorough examination, returned in ill mood to partake of the first meal of the day, and to discover the extent of his losses ere he proceeded to appear against the unfortunate Edmund Wynne.

As the baron and Sir Thomas rode together to Westminster a few hours later, it was with spirits considerably higher than they could have expected four-and-twenty hours earlier. Sir George had resumed his haughty bearing, but he was, in truth, though he would never have confessed it, more than a trifle nervous. At last the great Justice Hall was reached, and, with a parting injunction not to answer to the challenge, Sir Thomas separated from him, passing in by one door while the baron entered by another.

Sir George's nervous temperament was severely tried upon this occasion, for he had a considerable time to wait, and he found no better plan of whiling it away than that of impatiently pacing up and down in the little room allotted to him; and he imagined himself suffering all sorts of horrible tortures.

At last his turn came. The door opened; his name was called; and composing himself as well as he was able, he stepped into the crowded hall with considerable dignity, accompanied by a pompous member of the Court, and at once became the cynosure of all eyes.

He stood impassively, casting his eyes around in search of Sir Thomas Stanley, and curious to recognise as many as he could among the motley crowd which had come to see him tried. During the time the charge was being read, and just as he had discovered his companion in the throng straight before him, he was challenged by the Clerk of the Crown to plead.

"King of the Peak," cried the officer of the law, "hold up thine hand. Thou art accused of the murder of Mary Durden, spinster. Art thou guilty or art thou not guilty?"

Instinctively he held up his hand as directed, and in a bold and fearless voice which echoed along the passages answered, "Not guilty."

As soon as he had uttered the words he remembered that he had done wrong, but it was too late to recall it now, and filled with no pleasant forebodings by learning that the one who had just stepped out of the place in which he had stood had been committed to the Tower, he watched the swearing-in of the jury with stolid indifference.

It was soon evident that something was wrong somewhere. The minions of the court rushed hither and thither in the utmost haste; messages passed from the Judge to the clerks who sat at the table below; and by-and-bye the fact leaked out that neither the prosecutor nor the witnesses were in attendance.

"Nathan Grene," called the clerk, "stand forth." There was no answer.

"Nathan Grene," he repeated in a louder voice, "come forward and accuse this man."

The cry was taken up both inside the hall and without; but still no Nathan Grene appeared, nor was he likely to, for at that time he was sitting securely in the stocks; the sport of every passer-by, and the delight of some little mischievous urchins, who were amusing themselves by pulling his hair and sprinkling him with dirty water, while he was powerless to defend himself in any way.

"Nathan Grene," exclaimed the Judge in tones of awful dignity, "you are called upon to support the charge of murder against the King of the Peak; a charge made by yourself. This is the last time thou wilt be summoned to answer, and unless you now appear, or afterwards show good, full, and sufficient cause for thine absence, the law shall turn its course on thee."

The long silence which followed this speech was broken only by the Judge, who rose again from his seat, and turning to Sir George told him he was free; and amid the congratulations of his friends and the concealed disappointment of his enemies, he passed triumphantly out of the hall which had proved so fatal to so many of the nobility before him, as it has also done since.