My lady of Cleeve

by Percy John Hartley

In front, mounted upon the chestnut mare I had last seen in the stable, rode my lady. She was dressed in the same grey-velvet costume she had worn the night previous and her face was partially concealed by a riding mask of black silk. At her side rode the steward, a loose scarf around his neck. But my eyes were fixed upon the third member of the party, and there remained. He was, I think, the biggest man that I have ever seen. Mounted though he was, the massiveness of his head and build and the breadth of his shoulders all bespoke a man far above the ordinary proportions. Seen through the veil of mist, horse and man appeared gigantic. As for the other member of the party riding by his side, he was little more than a youth, and might have been a groom or under stable hand.

I reined my horse to one side of the gateway, at the same time pressing my hat upon my brow, for I was not desirous that my lady should see her handiwork. Yet even then, so great is the force of habit, that when she had arrived opposite me my hand went instinctively to the brim, but recollecting myself in time, I bowed low in my saddle instead.

But she did not look at me.

With head erect, she passed me by, her servants at her heels, and set off down the road at a brisk canter.

I fell into place about a dozen yards behind, and I now had leisure to scan them more closely.

I saw that the three men were fully armed, not only with a brace of pistols in their holsters, but also that each one carried a serviceable looking rapier at his side.

I noticed, too, that my lady sat her steed with the grace and ease of a born horsewoman. From time to time she conversed shortly with the steward at her side, but she never turned her head, and I suppose that she had given her orders to the men behind her, for the whole party rode without taking any notice as to whether I followed or not. We had ridden thus for a distance of some five miles, when my lady turned sharply to the left along a narrow track running between the torrs. For a moment I drew rein at the entrance, and I confess I hesitated. The way was but wide enough to admit of riding in single file, and I would have wished to have had Cornet Graham and the troopers at my heels. But in a moment I pulled myself together. After all, what had I to fear, or what benefit would it be to M. de Launay should they see fit to attack me? Tush! that I, the best sword in the low countries, should be afraid of three assailants, even though one proved to be a giant.

I loosened my sword in its sheath, saw that my pistols were to my hand, and spurred after the party in front. They should not find me unprepared if it came to blows.

On either side of the track rose the bare hillside, shutting out the view of what lay beyond. A more desolate path, extending as it did for more than a mile, could hardly be imagined. But my lady held on her way without faltering, and presently the track came out upon the road again, and I saw that we had but taken a short cut, and so saved ourselves several miles.

Of the rest of our journey to Exeter one incident only stands out in my memory. It was at noon, and the mist had long since vanished from the face of the country, giving place to a sky of cloudless blue and the shimmering heat of the midday sun. We had reached a little village, the name of which I have long since forgotten, and halted at the quaint, old-fashioned inn, above the doorway of which ran an inscription informing the world that it was built by one Robert Havell in the year 1542, “Who mayde a journie to London.” Doubtless no mean undertaking in those days.