“Don’t ’ee see?” he said. “Jock o’ Grantford were to take your writing to Goodrest, and play upon the gentleman there, to keep him biding till the red-coats come. What were it as you wrote down that day, mistress?”
As in a flash of painful memory Beatrice saw the dainty tablets once more, with words traced upon them in a hand rendered somewhat unsteady by the slow pace of the sorrel horse—a hand unmistakable, however, to the eyes of Charlie Cope.
I pray you, do not stir far from home. There is risk abroad.
B. C.
She understood then; and she turned quickly to Patty Joyce, who had come back bringing bread and milk ere Bill’s tale was half done. Bill, even in the eagerness of his disclosure, had clutched the bread and cheese; and now he drained the mug of milk, while the good-natured maid stood open-mouthed, her eyes fixed upon Mistress Beatrice.
“Patty,” the young lady whispered, “I think you are faithful and true.... I must trust you with a perilous secret. This gentleman whom they seek at Goodrest is my only brother; he has papers of importance in his keeping, and a warrant is out for his arrest. They will lure him to his destruction by means of me, his sister; he knows my handwriting and will trust to my warning. He will lie close at Goodrest, as a hare upon her form; and they will take him—oh! they will take him prisoner!—ere morning dawns. I must to Goodrest now, in the dark night.—Boy! is there time? is there time?”
Bill Lampeter nodded, munching his bread.
“They’ll not be back afore the dawning, them troopers,” he said. “They’ve limed the twig, ye see; the bird is made fast. If Mr. Cope do hear the country’s up, he’ll bide where he be there at Goodrest, reckoning ’tis safest to keep still. Between now and the first streak as shows over the Black Scaur, mistress, you can do as you will.”
“Eh, Mistress Beatrice, you can’t never go,” said Patty, trembling. “You couldn’t dare to do it. And this here boy,” she whispered, standing close to Mistress Beatrice, “is a very proverb for wicked story-telling. ’Tis a naughty little varlet; who knows that he has not been set on to bring this tale?”
“’Tis true enough, though I be a story-teller,” said Bill, whose ears were sharp. “Yon gentleman at Goodrest has need of thee the night, mistress. And now let me lie down on the straw in the big barn, for my bones do ache, and I be dizzy wi’ running.”