The Splendid Spur/Chapter 5

of pursuit, and full of delight in the mare's easy motion, I must have travelled a good six miles before the moon rose. In the frosty sky her rays sparkled cheerfully, and by them I saw on the holsters the silver demi-bear that I knew to be the crest of the Killigrews, having the fellow to it engraved on my sword-hilt. So now I was certain 'twas Molly that I bestrode: and took occasion of the light to explore the holsters and saddle flap.

Poor Anthony's pistols were gone—filched, no doubt, by the Captain: but you may guess my satisfaction, when on thrusting my hand deeper, I touched a heap of coins, and found them to be gold.

'Twas certainly a rare bargain I had driven with Captain Settle. For the five or six gold pieces I scatter'd on the road, I had won close on thirty guineas, as I counted in the moonlight; not to speak of this incomparable Molly. And I began to whistle gleefully, and taste the joke over again and laugh to myself, as we cantered along with the north wind at our backs.

All the same, I had no relish for riding thus till morning. For the night was chill enough to search my very bones after the heat of the late gallop: and, moreover, I knew nothing of the road, which at this hour was quite deserted. So that, coming at length to a tall hill with a black ridge of pine wood standing up against the moon like a fish's fin, I was glad enough to note below it, and at some distance from the trees, a window brightly lit; and pushed forward in hope of entertainment.

The building was an inn, though a sorry one. Nor, save for the lighted window, did it wear any grace of hospitality, but thrust out a bare shoulder upon the road, and a sign that creaked overhead and look'd for all the world like a gallows. Round this shoulder of the house, and into the main yard (that turn'd churlishly toward the hillside), the wind howled like a beast in pain. I climb'd off Molly, and pressing my hat down on my head, struck a loud rat-tat on the door.

Curiously, it opened at once; and I saw a couple of men in the lighted passage.

“Heard the mare's heels on the road, Cap. Hillo! What in the fiend's name is this?”

Said I: “If you are he that keeps this house, I want two things of you—first, a civil tongue, and next a bed.”

“Ye'll get neither, then.”

“Your sign says that you keep an inn.”

“Aye—the 'Three Cups': but we're full.”

“Your manner of speech proves that to be a lie.”

I liked the fellow's voice so little that 'tis odds I would have re-mounted Molly and ridden away; but at this instant there floated down the stairs and out through the drink-smelling passage a sound that made me jump. 'Twas a girl's voice singing—

There was no doubt upon it. The voice belonged to the young gentlewoman I had met at Hungerford. I turned sharply toward the landlord, and was met by another surprise. The second man, that till now had stood well back in the shadow, was peering forward, and devouring Molly with his gaze. 'Twas hard to read his features, but then and there I would have wagered my life he was no other than Luke Settle's comrade, Black Dick.

My mind was made up. “I'll not ride a step further, to-night,” said I.

“Then bide there and freeze,” answer'd the landlord.

He was for slamming the door in my face, when the other caught him by the arm and, pulling him a little back, whisper'd a word or two. I guess'd what this meant, but resolved not to draw back; and presently the landlord's voice began again, betwixt surly and polite—

“Have ye too high a stomach to lie on straw?”

“Oho!” thought I to myself, “then I am to be kept for the mare's sake, but not admitted to the house:” and said aloud that I could put up with a straw bed.

“Because there's the stable loft at your service. As ye hear” (and in fact the singing still went on, only now I heard a man's voice joining in the catch) “our house is full of company. But straw is clean bedding, and the mare I'll help to put in stall.”

“Agreed,” I said, “on one condition—that you send out a maid to me with a cup of mulled sack: for this cold eats me alive.”

To this he consented: and stepping back into a side room with the other fellow, returned in a minute alone, and carrying a lantern which, in spite of the moon, was needed to guide a stranger across that ruinous yard. The flare, as we pick'd our way along, fell for a moment on an open cart-shed and, within, on the gilt panels of a coach that I recognis'd. In the stable, that stood at the far end of the court, I was surprised to find half a dozen horses standing, ready saddled, and munching their fill of oats. They were ungroom'd, and one or two in a lather of sweat that on such a night was hard to account for. But I asked no questions, and my companion vouchsafed no talk, though twice I caught him regarding me curiously as I unbridled the mare in the only vacant stall. Not a word pass'd as he took the lantern off the peg again, and led the way up a ramshackle ladder to the loft above. He was a fat, lumbering fellow, and made the old timbers creak. At the top he set down the light, and pointed to a heap of straw in the corner.

“Yon's your bed,” he growled; and before I could answer, was picking his way down the ladder again.

I look'd about, and shiver'd. The eaves of my bedchamber were scarce on speaking terms with the walls, and through a score of crannies at least the wind poured and whistled, so that after shifting my truss of straw a dozen times I found myself still the centre of a whirl of draught. The candle-flame, too, was puffed this way and that inside the horn sheath. I was losing patience when I heard footsteps below; the ladder creak'd, and the red hair and broad shoulders of a chambermaid rose into view. She carried a steaming mug in her hand, and mutter'd all the while in no very choice talk.

The wench had a kind face, tho'; and a pair of eyes that did her more credit than her tongue.

“And what's to be my reward for this, I want to know?” she panted out, resting her left palm on her hip.

“Why, a groat or two,” said I, “when it comes to the reckoning.”

“Lud!” she cried, “what a dull young man!”

“Dull?”

“Aye—to make me ask for a kiss in so many words:” and with the back of her left hand she wiped her mouth for it frankly, while she held out the mug in her right.

“Oh!” I said, “I beg your pardon, but my wits are frozen up, I think. There's two, for interest: and another if you tell me whom your master entertains to-night, that I must be content with this crib.”

She took the kisses with composure and said—

“Well—to begin, there's the gentlefolk that came this afternoon with their own carriage and heathenish French servant: a cranky old grandee and a daughter with more airs than a peacock: Sir Something-or-other Killigew—Lord bless the boy!”

For I had dropp'd the mug and split the hot sack all about the straw, where it trickled away with a fragrance reproachfully delicious.

“Now I beg your pardon a hundred times: but the chill is in my bones worse than the ague;” and huddling my shoulders up, I counterfeited a shivering fit with a truthfulness that surpris'd myself.

“Poor lad!”

“—And 'tis first hot and then cold all down my spine.”

“There, now!”

“-And goose flesh and flushes all over my body.”

“Dear heart-and to pass the night in this grave of a place!”

“—And by morning I shall be in a high fever: and oh! I feel I shall die of it!”

“Don't—don't!” The honest girl's eyes were full of tears. “I wonder, now—” she began: and I waited, eager for her next words. “Sure, master's at cards in the parlour, and 'll be drunk by midnight. Shalt pass the night by the kitchen fire, if only thou make no noise.”

“But your mistress—what will she say?”

“Is in heaven these two years: and out of master's speaking-distance forever. So blow out the light and follow me gently.”

Still feigning to shiver, I follow'd her down the ladder, and through the stable into the open. The wind by this time had brought up some heavy clouds, and mass'd them about the moon: but 'twas freezing hard, nevertheless. The girl took me by the hand to guide me: for, save from the one bright window in the upper floor, there was no light at all in the yard. Clearly, she was in dread of her master's anger, for we stole across like ghosts, and once or twice she whisper'd a warning when my toe kick'd against a loose cobble. But just as I seem'd to be walking into a stone wall, she put out her hand, I heard the click of a latch, and stood in a dark, narrow passage.

The passage led to a second door that open'd on a wide, stone-pav'd kitchen, lit by a cheerful fire, whereon a kettle hissed and bubbled as the vapour lifted the cover. Close by the chimney corner was a sort of trap, or buttery hatch, for pushing the hot dishes conveniently into the parlour on the other side of the wall. Besides this, for furniture, the room held a broad deal table, an oak dresser, a linen-press, a rack with hams and strings of onions depending from it, a settle and a chair or two, with (for decoration) a dozen or so of ballad-sheets stuck among the dish covers along the wall.

“Sit,” whisper'd the girl, “and make no noise, while I brew a rack-punch for the men-folk in the parlour.” She jerked her thumb toward the buttery-hatch, where I had already caught the murmur of voices.

I took up a chair softly, and set it down between the hatch and the fireplace, so that while warming my knees I could catch any word spoken more than ordinary loud on the other side of the wall. The chambermaid stirr'd the fire briskly, and moved about singing as she fetch'd down bottles and glasses from the dresser—

She was pausing, bottle in hand, to take the high note: but hush'd suddenly at the sound of the voices singing in the room upstairs—

“That's the foreigners,” said the chambermaid, and went on with her ditty—

A volley of oaths sounded through the buttery hatch.

“—And that's the true-born Englishmen, as you may tell by their speech. 'Tis pretty company the master keeps, these days.”

She was continuing her song, when I held up a finger for silence. In fact, through the hatch my ear had caught a sentence that set me listening for more with a still heart.

“Dn the Captain,” the landlord's gruff voice was saying; “I warn'd 'n agen this fancy business when sober, cool-handed work was toward.”

“Settle's way from his cradle,” growl'd another; “and times enough I've told 'n: 'Cap'n,' says I, 'there's no sense o' proportions about ye.' A master mind, sirs, but 'a 'll be hang'd for a hen-roost, so sure as my name's Bill Widdicomb.”

“Ugly words-what a creeping influence has that same mention o' hanging!” piped a thinner voice.

“Hold thy complaints, Old Mortification,” put in a speaker that I recogniz'd for Black Dick; “sure the pretty maid upstairs is tender game. Hark how they sing!”

And indeed the threaten'd folk upstairs were singing their catch very choicely, with a girl's clear voice to lead them—

“Heathen language, to be sure,” said the thin voice again, as the chorus ceased: “thinks I to mysel' 'they be but Papisters,' an' my doubting mind is mightily reconcil'd to manslaughter.”

“I don't like beginning 'ithout the Cap'n,” observed Black Dick: “though I doubt something has miscarried. Else, how did that young spark ride in upon the mare?”

“An' that's what thy question should ha' been, Dick, with a pistol to his skull.”

“He'll keep till the morrow.”

“We'll give Settle half-an-hour more,” said the landlord: “Mary!” he push'd open the hatch, so that I had barely time to duck my head out of view, “fetch in the punch, girl. How did'st leave the young man i' the loft?'

“Asleep, or nearly,” answer'd Mary—

“—Anon, anon, master: wait only till I get the kettle on the boil.”

The hatch was slipp'd to again. I stood up and made a step toward the girl.

“How many are they?” I ask'd, jerking a finger in the direction of the parlour.

“A dozen all but one.”

“Where is the foreign guests' room?”

“Left hand, on the first landing.”

“The staircase?”

“Just outside the door.”

“Then sing—go on singing for your life.”

“But—”

“Sing!”

“Dear heart, they'll murder thee! Oh! for pity's sake, let go my wrist—

I stole to the door and peep'd out. A lantern hung in the passage, and showed the staircase directly in front of me. I stay'd for a moment to pull off my boots, and, holding them in my left hand, crept up the stairs. In the kitchen, the girl was singing and clattering the glasses together. Behind the door, at the head of the stairs, I heard voices talking. I slipp'd on my boots again and tapp'd on the panel.

“Come in!”

Let me try to describe that on which my eyes rested as I push'd the door wide. 'Twas a long room, wainscoted half up the wall in some dark wood, and in daytime lit by one window only, which now was hung with red curtains. By the fireplace, where a brisk wood fire was crackling, lean'd the young gentlewoman I had met at Hungerford, who, as she now turn'd her eyes upon me, ceas'd fingering the guitar or mandoline that she held against her waist, and raised her pretty head not without curiosity.

But 'twas on the table in the centre of the chamber that my gaze settled; and on two men beside it, of whom I must speak more particularly.

The elder, who sat in a high-back'd chair, was a little, frail, deform'd gentleman of about fifty, dress'd very richly in dark velvet and furs, and wore on his head a velvet skullcap, round which his white hair stuck up like a ferret's. But the oddest thing about him was a complexion that any maid of sixteen would give her ears for—of a pink and white so transparent that it seem'd a soft light must be glowing beneath his skin. On either cheek-bone this delicate colouring centred in a deeper flush. This is as much as I need say about his appearance, except that his eyes were very bright and sharp, and his chin stuck out like a vicious mule's.

The table before him was cover'd with bottles and flasks, in the middle of which stood a silver lamp burning, and over it a silver saucepan that sent up a rare fragrance as the liquid within it simmer'd and bubbled. So eager was the old gentleman in watching the progress of his mixture, that he merely glanc'd up at my entrance, and then, holding up a hand for silence, turn'd his eyes on the saucepan again.

The second man was the broad-shouldered lackey I had seen riding behind the coach: and now stood over the saucepan with a twisted flask in his hand, from which he pour'd a red syrup very gingerly, drop by drop, with the tail of his eye turn'd on his master's face, that he might know when to cease.

Now it may be that my entrance upset this experiment in strong drinks. At any rate, I had scarce come to a stand about three paces inside the door, when the little old gentleman bounces up in a fury, kicks over his chair, hurls the nearest bottles to right and left, and sends the silver saucepan spinning across the table to my very feet, where it scalded me clean through the boot, and made me hop for pain.

“Spoil'd—spoil'd!” he scream'd: “drench'd in filthy liquor, when it should have breath'd but a taste!”

And, to my amazement, he sprang on the strapping servant like a wild-cat, and began to beat, cuff, and belabour him with all the strength of his puny limbs.

'Twas like a scene out of Bedlam. Yet all the while the girl lean'd quietly against the mantelshelf, and softly touched the strings of her instrument; while the servant took the rain of blows and slaps as though 'twere a summer shower, grinning all over his face, and making no resistance at all.

Then, as I stood dumb with perplexity, the old gentleman let go his hold of the fellow's hair, and, dropping on the floor, began to roll about in a fit of coughing, the like of which no man can imagine. 'Twas hideous. He bark'd, and writhed, and bark'd again, till the disorder seem'd to search and rack every innermost inch of his small frame. And in the intervals of coughing his exclamations were terrible to listen to.

“He's dying!” I cried; and ran forward to help.

The servant pick'd up the chair, and together we set him in it. By degrees the violence of the cough abated, and he lay back, livid in the face, with his eyes closed, and his hands clutching the knobs of the chair. I turn'd to the girl. She had neither spoken nor stirr'd, but now came forward, and calmly ask'd my business.

“I think,” said I, “that your name is Killigrew?”

“I am Delia Killigrew, and this is my father, Sir Deakin.”

“Now on his way to visit his estates in Cornwall?”

She nodded.

“Then I have to warn you that your lives are in danger.” And, gently as possible, I told her what I had seen and heard downstairs. In the middle of my tale, the servant stepp'd to the door, and return'd quietly. There was no lock on the inside. After a minute he went across, and drew the red curtains. The window had a grating within, of iron bars as thick as a man's thumb, strongly clamp'd in the stonework, and not four inches apart. Clearly, he was a man of few words; for, returning, he merely pull'd out his sword, and waited for the end of my tale.

The girl, also, did not interrupt me, but listen'd in silence. As I ceas'd, she said—

“Is this all you know?”

“No,” answer'd I, “it is not. But the rest I promise to tell you if we escape from this place alive. Will this content you?”

She turn'd to the servant, who nodded. Whereupon she held out her hand very cordially.

“Sir, listen: we are travellers bound for Cornwall, as you know, and have some small possessions, that will poorly reward the greed of these violent men. Nevertheless, we should be hurrying on our journey did we not await my brother Anthony, who was to have ridden from Oxford to join us here, but has been delayed, doubtless on the King's business—”

She broke off, as I started: for below I heard the main door open, and Captain Settle's voice in the passage. The arch villain had return'd.

“Mistress Delia,” I said hurriedly, “the twelfth man has enter'd the house, and unless we consider our plans at once, all's up with us.”

“Tush!” said the old gentleman in the chair, who (it seems) had heard all, and now sat up brisk as ever. “I, for my part shall mix another glass, and leave it all to Jacques. Come, sit by me, sir, and you shall see some pretty play. Why, Jacques is the neatest rogue with a small sword in all France!”

“Sir,” I put in, “they are a round dozen in all, and your life at present is not worth a penny's purchase.”

“That's a lie! 'Tis worth this bowl before me, that, with or without you, I mean to empty. What a fool thing is youth! Sir, you must be a dying man like myself to taste life properly.” And, as I am a truthful man, he struck up quavering merrily—

“—Come and sit, sir, nor spoil sport. You are too raw, I'll wager, to be of any help; and boggling I detest.”

“Indeed, sir,” I broke in, now thoroughly anger'd, “I can use the small-sword as well as another.”

“Tush! Try him, Jacques.”

Jacques, still wearing a stolid face, brought his weapon to the guard. Stung to the quick, I wheel'd round, and made a lunge or two, that he put aside as easily as though I were a babe. And then—I know not how it happened, but my sword slipp'd like ice out of my grasp, and went flying across the room. Jacques, sedately as on a matter of business, stepp'd to pick it up, while the old gentleman chuckled.

I was hot and asham'd, and a score of bitter words sprang to my tongue-tip, when the Frenchman, as he rose from stooping, caught my eye, and beckon'd me across to him.

He was white as death, and pointed to the hilt of my sword and the demi-bear engrav'd thereon.

“He is dead,” I whisper'd: “hush!—turn your face aside—killed by those same dogs that are now below.”

I heard a sob in the true fellow's throat. But on the instant it was drown'd by the sound of a door opening and the tramp of feet on the stairs.