The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A Romance

  CHAPTER IV.

  SIR JULIAN HARNWOOD.

  Mr. Vincott knocked at the great door within the arch, and we werepresently admitted and handed over to the guidance of a gaoler.

  The fellow led us across a courtyard and into a long room clouded andheavy with the smoke of tobacco.

  "Keep the hood close!" whispered my companion a second time.

  I muffled my face and bent my head towards the ground. For a noisyclamour of drunken songs and coarse merriment, and, mingled with that,a ceaseless rattle of drinking-cans, rose about me on all sides. Itseemed that the Bridewell kept open house that night.

  We traversed the room, picking out a path among the captives, for eventhe floor was littered with men in all imaginable attitudes, someplaying cards, some asleep, and most of them drunk. My presence servedto redouble the uproar, and each moment I feared that my disguisewould be detected. I felt that every eye in the room was centred uponmy hood. One fellow, indeed, that sat talking to himself upon a bench,got unsteadily to his feet and reeled towards us. But or ever he camenear, the gaoler cut him across the shoulders with his stick and senthim back howling and cursing.

  "Back to your kennel!" he shouted. "'Tis an uncommon wench that wouldvisit the lousy likes o' you."

  At the far end of the room he unlocked a door which opened on to anarrow flight of stairs. On the landing above he halted before asecond door of a more solid make, the panels being strengthened bycross-beams, and secured with iron bars and a massive lock. The gaolerunfastened it and threw it open.

  "You have half an hour, mistress," he said, civilly enough. A startledcry of pain broke from the inside, I heard a sharp clink of fetters,and Julian confronted me through the doorway, his eyes ablaze withpassion, and every limb strained and quivering.

  "What more? What more, madam?" he asked, in a hoarse, trembling voice."Are you not satisfied?"

  He stopped suddenly with a gasping intake of the breath, and let hishead roll forward on his breast like a fainting man. Vincott pushed megently within the room, and I heard the door clang behind me. For amoment I could not speak. The tears rose in my throat and drowned thewords. Julian was the first to recover his composure.

  "I crave your pardon," he said, and his voice sounded in my ears witha sad familiarity like the echo of our boyhood. "I mistook you foranother." And he sat down on a bench and covered his face with hishands.

  "Julian!" I said, finding at length my voice, and I held out my handsto him. He uncovered his face and stared at me in sheer incredulity.Then with a cry of joy he sprang forwards, stumbling pitifully fromthe hindrance of his fetters.

  "Morrice at last!" He lifted his hands and clapped them down intomine, and the quick movement jerked the chain between his handlocks sothat it fell cold across my wrists. So we stood silent, memoryspeeding to and fro between our eyes and telling the same wistful talewithin the heart of each of us. But in that brumous cell, lit only bya smoky lamp which served rather to deepen the shadows of the spacewhich it left obscure than to illumine the circle immediately aboutit, such thoughts could not beguile one long; and a strange,unaccountable fear began to creep up in my mind like a mist. It seemedto me that the chain pressed ever tighter and tighter about my wrists,and grew cold like a ring of ice. The chill of it slipped into themarrow of my bones. I came almost to believe that I myself wasmanacled, and with that I felt once again that premonition of evildrawing near, which had numbed my spirit in the grey dawn at London.Now, however, the warning came to me with a clearer and moreparticular message. I had a penetrating conviction that this cellprefigured some scene in the years to come wherein I should fill theplace of Julian; and, seeing him, I saw a dim image of myself as whena man looks into a clouded mirror. So thoroughly, indeed, did thefancy master me that I too became, as it were, the shadow and reflexof another, a mere counter and symbol representing one as yet unknownto me.

  "I thought you would never come," said my friend, and I woke out of mytrance.

  "I started at once from Leyden," I replied; but Julian cut short myexplanation.

  "I am sure of it. I never doubted you. We have but half an hour, and Ihave much to tell."

  He turned away and flung himself down on the bench, which was broadand had a rail at the back, such as you may see outside a villagealehouse.

  "Vincott has told you the history of my arrest?"

  "Yes!" said I. The lamp stood upon a stool beside the bench, and Ilifted it up and placed it on a rough bracket which was fixed to thewall above. The light fell full upon his face, which had grownextraordinary thin, with the skin very bloodless and tight about hisjaws, so that the bones looked to have sharpened. Only around his eyeswas there any colour, and that of a heavy purple. I sat down upon thestool, and Julian gave something like a sigh of content.

  "I am glad you have come, Morrice," he said. "It has tired me so,waiting for you."

  He closed his eyes wearily, and appeared to be falling asleep. Itouched him on the shoulder, and he sprang to his feet like one dazed,brushing against the bracket and making the flame of the lamp spirt upwith a sudden flare. Once or twice he walked to and fro in the room,as though ordering his speech.

  "Here is the kernel of the matter," said he at last, coming back tothe bench. "I was arrested to serve no ends of justice, but the vilesttreachery and cowardice that man ever heard of. The tale, in truth,seems well-nigh inconceivable. Even I, who have sounding evidence ofits truth," and he kicked one of his feet, so that the links of thefetters rattled on the floor, "even I find it hard to believe that'tis more than a monstrous fable. The man called himself my friend."

  "It was Count Lukstein, then?"

  "How did you find out that? Vincott could not have told you."

  "He did not tell me, but yet he gave me to know it."

  "Yes, it was Count Lukstein. He laid the information to spare himselfa duel and to get rid of--well, of an obstacle. I meant to kill him. Ishould have killed him, and he knew it. The duel was arranged secretlyon the afternoon of Saturday, the ninth; the spot chosen--a dip in thehill, solitary and unfrequented even at midday, for the descent issteep--and the time six o'clock on the Sunday morning. And yetthere I was taken, on the very ground, at six o'clock on a Sundaymorning--raining, too!"

  "There seems little doubt."

  "There is no doubt. 'Twas his life or mine. The dispute was the merepretext and occasion of the duel."

  "So I understood."

  I was beginning to understand, besides, that the facts which Mr.Vincott had intended to impart to me were somewhat more numerous thanhe thought fit to admit.

  "The cause--but I can't speak of that. In any case, 'twas his life ormine, and he knew it, so deemed it prudent to take mine, since he hadthe power, without risking his own."

  "But," I objected, "could you trust your seconds? They knew the time,the place----"

  "But they did not know I was sheltering Monmouth's fugitives. Luksteinknew it."

  "You told him?"

  "No!"

  He stopped abruptly, and his eyes fell from my face to the ground. Andthen he said, in a very sad and quiet voice:

  "But I have none the less sure proof he knew."

  He sat silent with bowed head, labouring his breath, and his handslying clasped together upon his knees. I noticed that the tips of hisfingers were pressed tight into the backs of his palms, so that theflesh about them looked dead.

  I leaned forward and took him gently by the arm.

  "You must deliver me that proof, Julian," said I. For I began to havea pretty sure inkling of the service he had it in his mind to requireof me.

  He shifted his eyes to my face and then back again to the floor.

  "I know, I know," he replied unsteadily. "I disclosed my secret to butone person in the world." And as I held my peace wondering, he flashedon me a tortured face. "Don't force me to give the name!" he cried."Think! Think, Morrice! Who should I have told? Who should I havetold?"

  The words
seemed wrung from his soul. I understood what that firstoutburst meant when the gaoler had bidden me enter, and my gorge roseagainst this woman who could make such foul sport of her lover'strust. He read my thought in my face, and though he might upbraid hismistress himself, he would not suffer me to do the same.

  "You must not blame her," he said earnestly, laying a hand upon myknee. "Blame me! Blame us who wantoned the days away at Whitehall, andcloyed the very air with our flatteries. You chose the right part,Morrice, a man's part--work. As for us," he resumed his restless walkabout the chamber, beating one clenched fist into the palm of theother, "as for us, a new fashion, a new dance, were our studies,cajoling women our work. The divine laws were sneered at, trampleddown. They were meet for the ragged who had nought but hope in thenext world to comfort them for their humiliation in this. But we--wewho had silk to wear and money to spend, we needed a different creed.Sin was our God, and we worshipped and honoured it openly. When Ithink of it I, a Catholic, can find it in my heart to wish thatMonmouth's cause had won. No, Morrice, you must not blame her. Thefault is ours, and I am rightly punished for my share in it. Constancywas a burgess virtue, fit for a tradesman. We despised it inourselves; what right had we to expect it in the women we surrounded?"

  He checked his vehement flow abruptly, and came and stood over me.

  "And yet, Morrice," he said, with a smile that was infinitely tenderand sad, "and yet I loved her, with a sweet purity in the love, and ahumble thankfulness for the knowledge of it, loved her as any countrybumpkin might love the girl who rakes a furrow at his side."

  "And in return," I said bitterly, "she betrayed you to CountLukstein?"

  He nodded "yes," and sat down again on his bench.

  "Why?"

  "Long before the duel. She had no suspicion of the consequences of herwords," he said hastily. "She had no hand in this plot."

  "Why?" I repeated.

  He looked at me, imploring mercy.

  "I understand," said I.

  "Ah, no!" he said quickly; "your suspicions outstrip the truth. Ithink so," and again with a curiously pleading voice, "I think so. Theman purred more softly than the rest, and so she----"

  He broke off in the middle of the sentence and began anew.

  "I must lay the whole truth bare, I see that. Only the shame of itcuts into me like a knife."

  He paused, and great beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead.

  "I have told you that my dispute with Lukstein was no more than thepretext of our quarrel. She was the cause. How long their acquaintancehad lasted I know not, or to what length of intimacy it had gone.Lukstein was as secret as a cat, and he taught her his duplicity.'Twas I, myself, presented him to her formally when he came first tothe Hotwell, but I think now the pair had met before in London. 'Tweretoo long to describe how my fears were aroused--an exchange of glancesnoted here, a letter in his hand dropped from a sachet there, acertain guarded hesitation she evinced when Lukstein and I were bothwith her, a word carelessly dropped showing knowledge of hismovements; all trifles in themselves, but summed together a veryweighty argument. So on the morning of the ninth, worn out withdisquiet, I resolved to bring the matter to an issue, and I rode overto St. Vincent's rock. Lukstein was seated at an escritoire as Ientered the room. I saw his face blanch and his hand fly to an opendrawer, close, and lock it. He rose to greet me, and drew me to thewindow, which pleased me the more for that a bell stood upon theescritoire. I got between him and the bell and taxed him with histreachery. He denied it, larding me with friendly protestations. Ibacked to the escritoire and repeated the charge. He laughed at me formy unmanly lack of faith. With a sudden wrench I tore open the lockeddrawer. He bounded towards the bell; my sword was at his breast, andwe stood watching one another while I rummaged with my left hand inthe drawer.

  "'You shall pay for this,' says he, very softly.

  "'One of us will pay,' says I.

  "'Yes, you! You!' and he smiled, with his lips drawn back so that Isaw the gums of his teeth on both jaws. If only I had known what hemeant! I had him there at my sword's point. I had but to lean forwardon my arm!

  "'Get back to the window!' I ordered, and he obeyed me with anaffected jauntiness. Out of the drawer I drew a small gold box of anoval shape. I had given it but a fortnight agone to--to----you willunderstand; and it contained my miniature. The box fastened with a lock,and I forgot to ask him for the key. He has it still. There were lettersbesides in the drawer, and I made him burn them before my eyes. Then Itook my leave, and sent my seconds."

  "Are you sure the box was the same?" I asked, when he had done. Heslipped his hand into his pocket, and brought it out and placed it inmy hand. His coat of arms was emblazoned on the cover.

  "Keep it!" he said. I tried the lid, but the box was locked.

  "Until I recover the key," I answered, and we clasped hands.

  "Thank you!" he said simply. "Thank you!"

  The smell of the Cumberland gorse was in my nostrils, my friend laybefore me traitorously fettered, and this poor, belated adjustment ofhis wrong seemed the very right and fitting function of the love Ibore for him. There was, however, still one point on which I stillfelt need to be assured.

  For I knew the timidity of my nature, and I was minded to leave nofissure in this wall of evidence through which after-doubts might leakto sap my resolution.

  "And the proof?" I asked. "The proof that she informed CountLukstein."

  "She confessed that to me herself. She came to me here on the eveningof the day that I was taken."

  I placed the gold box in the fob of my waistcoat, and as I did so Ifelt a book. I drew it out, wondering what it might be. 'Twas thesmall copy of Horace which I had thrust there unwittingly when Iwaited for the doctor's report at Leyden. I held it in my hands andturned over the pages idly.

  "Count Lukstein has left Bristol," I said.

  "Ay; he got little good out of his treachery beyond the saving ofhis carcase. But he left his servant here--Otto Krax. That is why Ibade you come disguised. He knew I could not make the matter publicfor--for her sake. But I suppose that he feared I might reveal it tosome friend if the trial went against me, entrust to him the just workI am forced to leave undone. Perchance he had some hint of Swasfield'sdeparture; I know not. This only I know: Krax has been at Vincott'sheels, keeping close watch on all who passed in with him to me; andshould he find out that you had come from Holland in this great haste,it might prove an ill day's work for you, and, in any case, Luksteinwould be forewarned."

  "He lives in the Tyrol?"

  "At Schloss Lukstein, six miles to the east of Glurns, in the valleyof the Adige. But, Morrice, he is master there. The spot is remote,there's no one to gainsay him. You must needs be careful. He hath nolove for honest dealing, and you had best take him privately."

  He spoke with so sombre a warning in his tone that the shadowsappeared to darken about the room.

  "He is cunning," Julian went on; "you must match him in cunning. Nay,over-match him, for he has power as well."

  "You have visited this castle?"

  "Yes. 'Tis built in two wings which run from east to west, and northto south, and form a right angle at the north-east corner. At theextreme end of the latter wing there is a tower; a window opens on tothe terrace from a small room in this tower. There are but two doorsin the room; that on the left gives on to a passage which leads to themain hall. The servants sleep on the far side of the hall. The otherdoor opens on to a narrow stairway which mounts to the Count'sbedroom. 'Tis his habit of a night to sit in this small room."

  "I understand. And the entrance to this terrace?"

  "That is the danger, for the place is built upon a rock sheer andprecipitous. However, there is one spot where the ascent may becontrived. I discovered the way by chance. The climb is hazardous, yetnot more so than some that we attacked out of mere sport on Scafellcrags. Ah, me! Morrice, those were the best days of my life. I wonderwhether 'twill be the same with you!"

  Something like a shiver ra
n through me, but before I could answer himthe key grated in the lock and the door was flung open. I turned, andsaw in the shadow of the entrance the sombre figure of a priest. Hewas tall, and the cassock which robed him in black from head to footmade him show yet taller. In his hand he held a gleaming crucifix. Heraised it above his head as he crossed the threshold, and in thetwilight of the room it shone like a silver flame.

  Julian sprang from his bench; his shoulder caught the bracket, thelamp rocked once or twice, and then crashed to the ground. In thedarkness no one spoke; the rustle of our breathing was marked like theticking of a clock.

  After a while the gaoler fetched in a taper. Julian looked at me insome embarrassment The priest waited patiently by the door, and it wasimpossible for us to renew our discourse. In rising, however, I hadlet fall the Horace on to the floor, and the book lay open at my feet.Julian caught sight of it, and a plan occurred to him. He fumbled inhis pocket for a pencil, picked the volume up, and drew a rapid sketchupon the open page.

  "That will make all clear," he remarked.

  I took the book from him, and we clasped hands for the last time.

  "At this hour to-morrow?" he said, with a little catch in his voice. Iwas still holding his hand. I could feel the blood beating in hisfingers. At this hour to-morrow! It seemed incredible. "Morrice!" hecried, clinging to me, and his voice was the voice of a child cryingout in the black of the night. In a moment he recovered his calm, anddropped my hand. I made my reverence to the priest, and the doorclanged to between us.

  Vincott was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and we hurriedsilently to the gates. The porter came forward to let us out, but Inoticed that he fumbled with his keys which he carried upon an ironring. He tried first one and then another in the lock, as though heknew not which fitted it. His ignorance struck me as strange untilVincott pulled me by the sleeve.

  "Turn your back to the hutch," he whispered suddenly. Instinct made meface it instead, and I perceived, gazing curiously into my face, thevery man who had tracked Vincott in the afternoon: Otto Krax, as I nowknew him to be, Count Lukstein's servant. So startled was I by theunexpected sight of him that I let the volume of Horace fall from myfingers to the ground. On the instant he ran forward and picked it up.I snatched it from his hand before he could do more than glance at itscover, whereupon he made me a polite bow and returned to theembrasure. At last the porter succeeded in opening the door, and wegot us into the street. Vincott was for upbraiding me at first in thatI followed not his directions, but I cut him short roughly, and badehim hold his peace. For the world seemed very strange and empty, and Ihad no heart for talking. So we walked in silence back towards theinn.

  Of a sudden, however, Vincott stopped.

  "Listen!" he whispered.

  I strained my ears until they ached. Behind us, in the quiet of thenight, I could hear footsteps creeping and stealthy, not very faraway. Vincott drew me into an angle of the wall, and we waited thereholding our breaths. The footsteps slid nearer and nearer. Never sincehave I heard a sound which so filled me with terror. The hauntingsecrecy of their approach had something in it which chilled theblood--the sound of a man on the trail. He passed no more than sixfeet from where we stood. It was Otto Krax; and we remained until wecould hear him no more. Vincott wiped his forehead.

  "If he had stopped in front of us," I said, "I should have cried out."

  "And by the Lord," said he, "I should have done no less."

  A hundred yards further on, Vincott stopped again.

  "He has found out his mistake," he exclaimed in a low, quaveringvoice.

  We listened again; the footsteps were returning swiftly, but with thesame quiet stealth.

  "Quick!" said Vincott, "against the wall!"

  "No," said I, "he is tracking along the side of it. Let us face andpass him."

  We walked on at a good pace, and made no effort at concealment. Theman stopped as soon as we had gone by, turned, and came after us. Myheart raced in my breast. He quickened his pace and drew level.

  "Tis a strange time for women to run these streets." He spoke with aguttural accent, and his face leered over my shoulder. In a passion offear I swung my arm free from the cloak, and hit at the face with allmy strength. The dress I was wearing ripped at the shoulder as thoughyou had torn a sheet of brown paper. My blow by good fortune caughthim in the neck at the point where the jaw curves up into the cheek,and he fell heavily to the ground, his head striking full upon arounded cobble. I waited to see no more, but tucked up my skirts andran as though the fiend were at my heels, with Vincott panting behindme. We never halted until we had reached the alley which led to theback-door of the inn.

  I invited Vincott to come in with me and recruit his energies with asecond dose of Bristol milk.

  "No! no!" he returned. "'Tis late already, and you have to startbetimes in the morning."

  "There is the ceiling," I suggested.

  He laughed softly.

  "Mr. Buckler, I exaggerated its beauties," he said, "and I fear me ifI went in with you I should be forced to repeat my error. It is justthat which I wish to avoid."

  "There are other and indifferent topics," I replied, "on which wemight speak frankly." For a change had come over my spirit, and Idreaded to be left alone. Vincott shook his head.

  "We should not find our tongues would talk of them."

  However, he made no motion of departure, but stood scraping a toebetween the stones. Then I heard him chuckle to himself.

  "That was a good blow, my friend," he said; "a good, clean blow, paton the angle of the jaw. I would never have credited you with thestrength for it. The man has been a plaguy nuisance to me, and theblow was a very soothing compensation. Only conduct your undertakingwith the like energy throughout, and I do believe----" He pulledhimself up suddenly.

  "What do you believe?" I asked.

  "I believe," he replied sententiously, "that Lucy will need a newSunday gown;" and he turned on his heel and marched out of the alley.

  The next morning came a foreigner to the inn, and made inquiryconcerning a woman who had stayed there over-night. Lucy, faithful toher promise, stoutly declared that no woman had rested in the housefor so little as an hour, and, not content with that asseveration, shemust needs go on to enforce her point by assuring him that the inn hadgiven shelter to but one traveller, and that traveller a man. But thetraveller by this time was well upon his way to London, and so learntnothing of the inquiry until long afterwards.