Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

by G. P. R. James

Dighton drank, and it seemed to revive him. "I have had worse than this before now," he said, "I can go on now; and we had better make haste, for there were certainly people coming."

"Away, then," said Richard de Ashby, "away then to Lenton, and then run down to Bridgeford. If you could get to Thorp to-night, you would be safe. I will to the castle, and be ready to console my fair cousin when the news reaches her."

"She will have heard it before that," murmured Dighton, "for I tell you there were certainly people coming," and taking another deep draught of the wine, he contrived to walk, almost unassisted, to the horse's side, and mount. There was a black look, however, under his eyes, a bloodless paleness about his face, and a livid hue in his lips, which told that his wound, though "not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door," to use the words of Mercutio, "was enough."

"Fail not to give me tidings of you," said Richard de Ashby, speaking to Ellerby; and going round to the back of the cottage, he mounted his horse--which by his pawing, seemed to show that the long delay had not been less tedious to himself than to his master--and galloped away to Lindwell, anxious to reach the castle before the news.

Even at the rapid pace at which he went, he could not escape thought. Black care was behind him; and eagerly he turned in his mind all the consequences of the deed that had been done. His own conduct was the first consideration, and a strange consideration it was. What was he to say? what was he to do? At every step he must act a part: ay, and--like the poor player, who sometimes, distressed in circumstances, pained in body, or grieved in mind, has to go laughing through the merry comedy--the character which Richard de Ashby had now to play, was the direct reverse of all the feelings of his heart.

Crime, however, produces an excitement of a certain kind independent of the very gratification obtained. We have, in our own day, seen murderers laugh and sing and make merry, with hands scarcely washed from the blood of their victim; and, strange to say, when Richard de Ashby resolved to assume a face of cheerful gaiety on arriving at Lindwell Castle, the only danger was that he would over-act the part. In truth, remorse, like a tiger, lay waiting to spring upon him the moment action ceased; but for the time his mind was much relieved, and more buoyant than it had been while watching in the cottage. Doubt, hesitation, apprehensions regarding the failure of the deed, were all gone: it was done irretrievably. It was accomplished, not only without any mischance, but with a circumstance which promised to remove one of his accomplices, and that was no slight satisfaction. So smooth does one crime make the way for another, that he who had lately pondered with no small hesitation the very deed in which he was engaged, now felt glancing through his mind with satisfaction the thought of disposing of Ellerby also by some similar means, and leaving none but the two inferior ruffians, whom he might easily attach to himself, and render serviceable in the future. Crimes are gregarious beings, and are seldom, if ever, met with single.

His horse was fleet; the distance was not great; and in the space of about a quarter of an hour, he saw the towers of Lindwell rising over the woody slopes around. He then checked his speed, in some degree, going on at a quick, but still an easy canter, knowing that there was always some one on the watchtower, who might remark the furious gallop at which he came, unless he slackened his pace.

He had soon reached the open space--he had soon mounted the hill. The drawbridge was down, the doors of the barbican were open, one of the warders sitting quietly on a bench in the sun, two or three stout yeomen and armed men were amusing themselves between the two gates, and all turned to salute their master's kinsman as he passed, without giving the slightest indication that anything was known amiss within the walls of Lindwell.

Dismounting at the inner gate, and giving his horse to one of the grooms, Richard de Ashby was upon the point of asking for his cousin Lucy, but recollecting his part again, he inquired if the Earl were there, adding, "I thought to have met him between this and Nottingham."

"No, Sir Richard," replied the porter, moving slowly back the great gate of the hall; "my lord had ordered his horses and train to be ready for Nottingham by noon, but news came from the city, which stopped him; and then the son of old Ugtred, the swine-driver, brought a letter, on which my lord went out on foot and alone. He would not even have his page, but carried his sword himself."