The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century

  CHAPTER IX

  SECRET SERVICE

  Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy was excessively perturbed. Matters at theCourt were taking a curious turn. That something of unusual moment hadhappened within the last few days he was thoroughly convinced, and stillhaving it in his mind that he was especially qualified for the lucrativeappointments in my Lord Protector's secret service--he thought this anexcellent opportunity for perfecting himself in the art ofinvestigation, shrewdly conducted, which he understood to be mostessential for the due fulfillment of such appointments.

  Thus we see him some few days later on a late afternoon, with back bentnearly double, eyes fixed steadily on the ground and his face a perfectmirror of thoughtful concentration within, slowly walking along the tinyfootpath which wound in and out the groups of majestic elms in the park.

  Musing and meditating, at times uttering strange and enigmaticalexclamations, he reached the confines of the private grounds, the spotwhere the surrounding wall gave place to a low iron gate, where thedisused pavilion stood out gray and forlorn-looking in the midst of thesoft green of the trees, and where through the woods beyond the gate,could just be perceived the tiny light which issued from theblacksmith's cottage, the most outlying one in the village of Acol.

  Master Hymn-of-Praise leaned thoughtfully against the ivy-covered wall.His eyes, roaming, searching, restless, pried all around him.

  "Footprints!" he mused, "footprints which of a surety must mean thathuman foot hath lately trod this moss. Footprints moreover, which leadup the steps to the door of that pavilion, wherein to my certainknowledge, no one hath had access of late."

  Something, of course, was going on at Acol Court, that strange andinexplicable something which he had tried to convey by covert suggestionto Mistress Charity's female--therefore inferior--brain.

  Sir Marmaduke's temper was more sour and ill even than of yore, andthere was still an unpleasant sensation in the lumbar regions of MasterBusy's spine, whenever he sat down, which recalled a somewhat vigorousoutburst of his master's ill-humor.

  Mistress de Chavasse went about the house like a country wenchfrightened by a ghost, and Mistress Charity averred that she seldom wentto bed now before midnight. Certain it is that Master Busy himself hadmet the lady wandering about the house candle in hand at an hour whenall respectable folk should be abed, and when she almost fell up againstHymn-of-Praise in the dark she gave a frightened scream as if she hadsuddenly come face to face with the devil.

  Then there was her young ladyship.

  She was neither ill-tempered nor yet under the ban of fear, but MasterBusy vowed unto himself that she was suffering from ill-concealedmelancholy, from some hidden secret or wild romance. She seldom laughed,she had spoken with discourtesy and impatience to Squire Pyncheon, whorode over the other day on purpose to bring her a bunch of sweetmarjoram which grew in great profusion in his mother's garden: shemarkedly avoided the company of her guardian, and wandered about thepark alone, at all hours of the day--a proceeding which in a young ladyof her rank was quite unseemly.

  All these facts neatly docketed in Master Busy's orderly brain,disturbed him not a little. He had not yet made up his mind as to thenature of the mystery which was surrounding the Court and its inmates,but vaguely he thought of abductions and elopements, which the presenceof the richest heiress in the South of England in the house of thepoorest squire in the whole country, more than foreshadowed.

  This lonely, somewhat eerie corner of the park appeared to be the centeraround which all the mysterious happenings revolved, and MasterHymn-of-Praise had found his way hither on this fine July afternoon,because he had distinct hopes of finding out something definite, certainfacts which he then could place before Squire Boatfield who wasmajor-general of the district, and who would then, doubtless, commendhim for his ability and shrewdness in forestalling what might prove tobe a terrible crime.

  The days were getting shorter now; it was little more than eighto'clock and already the shades of evening were drawing closely in: thelast rays of the setting sun had long disappeared in a glowing haze ofgold, and the fantastic branches of the old elms, intertwined with theparasitic ivy looked grim and threatening, silhouetted against the luridafter glow. Master Busy liked neither the solitude, nor yet the silenceof the woods; he had just caught sight of a bat circling over thedilapidated roof of the pavilion, and he hated bats. Though he belongedto a community which denied the angels and ignored the saints, he had afirm belief in the existence of a tangible devil, and somehow he couldnot dissociate his ideas of hell and of evil spirits from those whichrelated to the mysterious flutterings of bats.

  Moreover he thought that his duties in connection with the science ofsecret investigation, had been sufficiently fulfilled for the day, andhe prepared to wend his way back to the house, when the sound of voices,once more aroused his somnolent attention.

  "Someone," he murmured within himself, "the heiress and the abductormayhap."

  This might prove the opportunity of his life, the chance which wouldplace him within the immediate notice of the major-general, perhaps ofHis Highness the Protector himself. He felt that to vacate his post ofobservation at this moment would be unworthy the moral discipline whichan incipient servant of the Commonwealth should impose upon himself.

  Striving to smother a sense of terror, or to disguise it even tohimself under the mask of officiousness, he looked about for ahiding-place--a post of observation as he called it.

  A tree with invitingly forked branches seemed to be peculiarly adaptedto his needs. Hymn-of-Praise was neither very young nor very agile, butdreams of coming notoriety lent nimbleness to his limbs.

  By the time that the voices drew nearer, the sober butler of Acol Courtwas installed astride an elm bough, hidden by the dense foliage and bythe leaf-laden strands of ivy, enfolded by the fast gathering shadows ofevening, supremely uncomfortable physically, none too secure on hisperch, yet proud and satisfied in the consciousness of fulfilled duty.

  The next moment he caught sight of Mistress Charity--Mistress Charity soplease you, who had plighted her troth to him, walking arm in arm withMaster Courage Toogood, as impudent, insolent and debauched a youngjackanapes as ever defaced the forests of Thanet.

  "Mistress, fair mistress," he was sighing, and murmuring in her ear,"the most beautiful and gracious thing on God's earth, when I hold youpressed thus against my beating heart ..."

  Apparently his feelings were too deep to be expressed in the words ofhis own vocabulary, for he paused a while, sighed audibly, and thenasked anxiously:

  "You do hear my heart beating, mistress, do you not?"

  She blushed, for she was naught but a female baggage, and though MasterBusy's impassioned protestations of less than half an hour ago, must bestill ringing in her ears, she declared emphatically that she could hearthe throbbing of that young vermin's heart.

  Master Busy up aloft was quite sure that what she heard was a few sheepand cattle of Sir Marmaduke's who were out to grass in a field close by,and had been scared into a canter.

  What went on for the next moment or two the saintly man on the elm treebranch could not rightly perceive, but the next words from MistressCharity's lips sent a thrill of indignation through his heart.

  "Oh! Master Courage," she said with a little cry, "you must not squeezeme so! I vow you have taken the breath out of my body! The Lord loveyou, child! think you I can stay here all this while and listen to yournonsense?"

  "Just one minute longer, fair mistress," entreated the young reprobate,"the moon is not yet up, the birds have gone to their nests for sleep,will ye not tarry a while here with me? That old fool Busy will neverknow!"

  It is a fact that at this juncture the saintly man well-nigh fell offhis perch, and when Master Courage, amidst many coy shrieks from thefickle female, managed to drag her down beside him, upon the carpet ofmoss immediately beneath the very tree whereon Hymn-of-Praise washolding watch, the unfortunate man had need of all his strength of mindand of purpose not to jump do
wn with both feet upon the lying face ofthat young limb of Satan.

  But he felt that the discovery of his somewhat undignified position bythese two evil-doers would not at this moment be quite opportune, so heendeavored to maintain his equilibrium at the cost of supremediscomfort, and the loud cracking of the branch on which he was perched.

  Mistress Charity gave a cry of terror.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing, nothing, mistress, I swear," rejoined Courage reassuringly,"there are always noises in old elm trees, the ivy hangs heavy and ..."

  "I have heard it said of late that the pavilion is haunted," shemurmured under her breath.

  "No! not haunted, mistress! I vow 'tis but the crackling of loosebranches, and there is that which I would whisper in your ear ..."

  But before Master Courage had the time to indulge in this, the desire ofhis heart, something fell upon the top of his lean head which certainlynever grew on the elm tree overhead. Having struck his lanky hair theobject fell straight into his lap.

  It was a button. An ordinary, brown, innocent enough looking button. Butstill a button. Master Courage took it in his hand and examined itcarefully, turning it over once or twice. The little thing certainlywore a familiar air. Master Courage of a truth had seen such an onebefore.

  "That thing never grew up there, master," said Mistress Charity in anagitated whisper.

  "No!" he rejoined emphatically, "nor yet doth a button form part of thehabiliments of a ghost."

  But not a sound came from above: and though Courage and Charity peeredupwards with ever-increasing anxiety, the fast gathering darknesseffectually hid the mystery which lurked within that elm.

  "I vow that there's something up there, mistress," said the youth withsudden determination.

  "Could it be bats, master?" she queried with a shudder.

  "Nay! but bats do not wear buttons," he replied sententiously. "Yet of asurety, I mean to make an investigation of the affair as that old foolHymn-of-Praise would say."

  Whereupon, heedless of Mistress Charity's ever-growing agitation, he rantowards the boundary wall of the park, and vaulted the low gate with anagile jump even as she uttered a pathetic appeal to him not to leave heralone in the dark.

  Fear had rooted the girl to the spot. She dared not move away, fearfullest her running might entice that mysterious owner of the brown buttonto hurry in her track. Yet she would have loved to follow MasterCourage, and to put at least a gate and wall between herself and thoseterrible elms.

  She was just contemplating a comprehensive and vigorous attack ofhysterics when she heard Master Courage's voice from the other side ofthe gate.

  "Hist! Hist, mistress! Quick!"

  She gathered up what shreds of valor she possessed and ran blindly inthe direction whence came the welcome voice.

  "I pray you take this," said the youth, who was holding a wooden bucketout over the gate, "whilst I climb back to you."

  "But what is it, master?" she asked, as--obeying him mechanically--shetook the bucket from him. It was heavy, for it was filled almost to thebrim with a liquid which seemed very evil-smelling.

  The next moment Master Courage was standing beside her. He took thebucket from her and then walked as rapidly as he could with it backtowards the elm tree.

  "It will help me to dislodge the bats, mistress," he said enigmatically,speaking over his shoulder as he walked.

  She followed him--excited but timorous--until together they once morereached the spot, where Master Courage's amorous declarations had beenso rudely interrupted. He put the bucket down beside him, and rubbed hishands together whilst uttering certain sounds which betrayed his glee.

  Then only did she notice that he was carrying under one arm a longcurious-looking instrument--round and made of tin, with a handle at oneend.

  She looked curiously into the bucket and at the instrument.

  "'Tis the tar-water used for syringing the cattle," she whispered, "yemust not touch it, master. Where did you find it?"

  "Just by the wall," he rejoined. "I knew it was kept there. They washthe sheep with it to destroy the vermin in them. This is the squirt forit," he added calmly, placing the end of the instrument in the liquid,"and I will mayhap destroy the vermin which is lodged in that elm tree."

  A cry of terror issuing from above froze the very blood in MistressCharity's veins.

  "Stop! stop! you young limb of Satan!" came from Master Busy's nearlychoking throat.

  "It's evildoers or evil spirits, master," cried Mistress Charity in anagony of fear.

  "Whatever it be, mistress, this should destroy it!" said Master Couragephilosophically, as turning the syringe upwards he squirted the whole ofits contents straight into the fork of the ivy-covered branches.

  There was a cry of rage, followed by a cry of terror, then MasterHymn-of-Praise Busy with a terrific clatter of breaking boughs, fell ina heap upon the soft carpet of moss.

  Master Courage be it said to the eternal shame of venturesome youth,took incontinently to his heels, leaving Mistress Charity to bear thebrunt of the irate saintly man's wrath.

  Master Busy, we must admit had but little saintliness left in him now.Let us assume that--as he explained afterwards--he was not immediatelyaware of Mistress Charity's presence, and that his own sense ofpropriety and of decorum had been drowned in a cataract of tar water.Certain it is that a volley of oaths, which would have surprised SirMarmaduke himself, escaped his lips.

  Had he not every excuse? He was dripping from head to foot, spluttering,blinded, choked and bruised.

  He shook himself like a wet spaniel. Then hearing the sound of asmothered exclamation which did not seem altogether unlike a giggle, heturned round savagely and perceived the dim outline of MistressCharity's dainty figure.

  "The Lord love thee, Master Hymn-of-Praise," she began, somewhatnervously, "but you have made yourself look a sight."

  "And by G--d I'll make that young jackanapes look a sight ere I take myhand off him," he retorted savagely.

  "But what were you ... hem! what wert thou doing up in the elm tree,friend Hymn-of-Praise?" she asked demurely.

  "Thee me no thou!" he said with enigmatic pompousness, followed by adistinctly vicious snarl, "Master Busy will be my name in future for asaucy wench like thee."

  He turned towards the house. Mistress Charity following meekly--somewhatsubdued, for Master Busy was her affianced husband, and she had no mindto mar her future, through any of young Courage's dare-devil escapades.

  "Thou wouldst wish to know what I was doing up in that forked tree?" heasked her with calm dignity after a while, when the hedges of the flowergarden came in sight. "I was making a home for thee, according to thecommands of the Lord."

  "Not in the elm trees of a surety, Master Busy?"

  "I was making a home for thee," he repeated without heeding her flippantobservation, "by rendering myself illustrious. I told thee, wench, did Inot? that something was happening within the precincts of Acol Court,and that it is my duty to lie in wait and to watch. The heiress is aboutto be abducted, and it is my task to frustrate the evil designs of themysterious criminal."

  She looked at him in speechless amazement. He certainly looked strangelyweird in the semi-darkness with his lanky hair plastered against hischeeks, his collar half torn from round his neck, the dripping, oilysubstance flowing in rivulets from his garments down upon the ground.

  The girl had no longer any desire to laugh, and when Master Busy strodemajestically across the rustic bridge, then over the garden paths to thekitchen quarter of the house, she followed him without a word, awed byhis extraordinary utterances, vaguely feeling that in his drippinggarments he somehow reminded her of Jonah and the whale.