It wanted an hour or more of midnight when the party from Monmouth, after surmounting the Kymin steep, entered Staunton—to find the villagers still awake and stirring. They had received news of Massey’s departure from the neighbourhood, so hastily as to seem a retreat, and, indeed, knew the reason, or supposed they did, from the contents of that Coleford despatch. Most of them being of Royalist proclivities, they were sitting up in jubilance over the event.
The soldiers made but short halt among them; just long enough to get answer to some inquiries; then on to High Meadow House.
Why thither none of the rank and file knew, not even the cornet. Alone their commanding officer, who kept the true reason to himself, giving a spurious one—that his object was to make sure of the place being in reality abandoned. A weak force as they were, it would not do to advance farther along the Coleford road, should there chance to be an enemy in their rear.
This seemed reasonable enough, nor were the men loth to accept it. On such a night shelter was above all things desirable, and they were sure to find snug quarters at the mansion of High Meadow, hoping their commander would let them stay there till the storm came to an end.
Just as they turned off the high road, or scarce a minute after, a solitary figure came gliding along from the Staunton side, and passed on towards Coleford. Afoot it was, wrapped in a cloak, with hood, which, covering the head, left visible only a portion of the face. Tall, and of masculine proportions, otherwise it might have been taken as the figure of a man, but for a certain boldness, yet softness of outline, which betokened it that of a woman. And a woman it was—the cadgeress.
She had followed the Royalist troopers from Staunton, silently, stealthily, and at safe distance behind. But as they turned off the main road, she, still keeping to it, broke into a run, not slowing again till she stood under the tree where the four Parliamentarians were on picket. By the fitful flashes these had seen her making approach, at least three of the four knowing who it was—Sir Richard Walwyn; he who had the trumpet, Hubert; and one of the troopers, wearing the chevrons of a sergeant, Rob Wilde.
That she in turn recognised them, and had been expecting to find them there, was evinced by her behaviour. For when she thought herself within hearing, she called out,—
“Cavalières turned off and goed for High Meadow House. ’Bout forty theys be in all.”
“Sound the signal, Hubert!” said Sir Richard, in command to his trumpeter, adding to the big sergeant, “Ride back, Rob, and tell Captain Harley to bring on our men as rapidly as possible.”
The lightning still flashed and forked, with loud thunder, now in quick claps, now in prolonged reverberation. But between came the notes of a cavalry bugle, in calls, which, reaching the glade where Massey’s men sat waiting in their saddles, caused a pricking of spurs, and a quick forward movement at the command, “March!”—word most welcome to all.