“Thomas Wells always did say that he believed in making sure,” the Speaker repeated with a terrifying evenness of intonation.
Jeremy twisted his shoulders impatiently, as though to shake off an evil omen, and led the stooping figure over to where the horses stood ready. The noise of the rioting and plundering came to them more distinctly here in the courtyard; but Whitehall itself was strangely quiet, as though the frenzied crowds had left the Treasury untouched in order to placate the fast approaching invaders who were to be its new tenants and their new masters.
Jeremy had just seated Eva on one horse and the Speaker on the other and was preparing to lead them out, when they heard the clatter of hoofs coming furiously down Whitehall, rising loud and clear above the confused sounds that filled the air. There was something arresting, sinister, and purposeful in that sharp, staccato sound, and, as if by instinct, they drew together in the dark entrance to the courtyard, while Jeremy hastily blew out the lantern. Then the rider reached them, drew rein, and halted a yard or two away from them, peering into the shadow. They could see him only as a vague shape, thickly cloaked and muffled, while behind him in the distance little figures hurried aimlessly into or out of the dull glow of Henry Watkins’ house. Jeremy put one hand on Eva’s arm lest she should make a rash gesture, while with the other he grasped firmly the barrel of one of his pistols.
The horseman continued to stare at them without moving, as though uncertain whether what he saw in the gate was shadow or substance. But suddenly the flames opposite shot up higher and brighter and cast a red dancing reflection on their faces; and Jeremy felt like a fugitive whose hiding-place is unmasked. The horseman spoke at last, and Jeremy recognized with a shudder the calm drawling voice.
“Well, who are you?” he said. “What do you mean by looting here?” Jeremy clutched the girl’s arm more tightly and made no reply, hoping that in the doubtful light they might still pass for stray fugitives. But the man urged his horse a little nearer, leaning over to look at them, and saying: “Speak up! It’ll be the worse for you if you don’t. I’m looking for the Lady Eva. Have you seen——” And then as he leant still closer, in astonishment, “By God!” Jeremy brought round his arm like a man throwing a stone and dashed the pistol-butt heavily in Thomas Wells’s face.
The Canadian uttered a choked cry, sagged forward on his horse’s neck, and slid free to the ground on the other side. Jeremy fumbled for the bayonet which he still carried with him; but Eva plucked agonizedly at his shoulder, crying: “Jeremy! Jeremy, come!” He hesitated a moment and heard a louder sound of galloping hoofs approaching. Then he jumped into Thomas Wells’s empty saddle, turned the horse and rode out into Whitehall, drawing the girl and the old man after him. A few minutes later they were fighting their way through the thickening crowd of fugitives that still poured southwards over Westminster Bridge.
When day broke they were well clear of the southern edge of London, and a little later they were crossing the broad ridge of the North Downs. They had made a dizzy pace during the short night, and Jeremy, who was no horsemaster, but knew that the horses must be nearly finished, called a halt and suggested that they should rest a little in a small grove which lay on the southern slope of the hill.
The old man, who was calm and indifferent again, and had ceased his muttering, rested his back against the trunk of a tree, his arms falling ungainly like the arms of a broken doll. He shivered violently at intervals, but still did not complain: he had not once spoken to his companions since their journey began. Jeremy after a doubtful glance at him, walked to the lower edge of the grove, and the girl followed him, treading noiselessly on the soft pine-needles. While he stared vaguely out over the misty chequer-board of the Weald, he felt her hand placed in his and dared not turn to look at her.
Presently, mastering himself, he cried: “Look, there’s Chanetonbury!” For the mist had just rolled off that far and noble grove, showing it perhaps a little larger than he remembered it, but in every other respect the same. Then he added: “Go and sleep, Eva, while I keep an eye on the road.” But he spoke without force, because he did not wish her to leave him alone, he did not wish to sacrifice these few quiet minutes with her.