The Highwayman

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and PGDistributed Proofreaders

  THE HIGHWAYMAN

  BY

  H. C. BAILEY

  CONTENTS

  I. THE COMPLETE HERO

  II. THE HOUSE OF WAVERTON

  III. A MAN OF MANY WORLDS

  IV. A GENTLEMAN'S PURSE

  V. THE WORLD'S A MIRACLE

  VI. HARRY IS NOT GRATEFUL

  VII. GENEROSITY OF A FATHER

  VIII. MISS LAMBOURNE LOOKS SIDEWAYS

  IX. ANGER OF AN UNCLE

  X. YOUNG BLOOD

  XI. ABSENCE OF MR. WAVERTON

  XII. IN HASTE

  XIII. DISTRESS OF A MOTHER

  XIV. SPECTATORS OF PARADISE

  XV. MRS. BOYCE

  XVI. THE AFFAIR OF SIR GEORGE

  XVII. RETURN OF MR. WAVERTON

  XVIII. HARRY IS DISMISSED

  XIX. ALISON FINDS FRIENDS

  XX. RETURN OF CAPTAIN McBEAN

  XXI. CONSOLATIONS BY A FATHER

  XXII. TWO'S COMPANY

  XXIII. THE HOUSE IN KENSINGTON

  XXIV. QUEEN ANNE IS DEAD

  XXV. SAUVE QUI PEUT

  XXVI. REVELATIONS

  XXVII. VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD

  XXVIII. IN THE TAP

  XXIX. ALISON KNEELS

  XXX. EMOTIONS BY MR. WAVERTON

  XXXI. CAPTAIN McBEAN TAKES HORSE

  XXXII. PERPLEXITIES OF CAPTAIN McBEAN

  XXXIII. REMORSE OF COLONEL BOYCE

  XXXIV. HARRY WAKES UP

  CHAPTER I

  THE COMPLETE HERO

  Harry Boyce addressed Queen Anne in glittering verse. She was notpresent. She had, however, no cause to regret that, for he was trampingthe Great North Road at four miles by the hour--a pace far beyond thecapacity of Her Majesty's legs; and his verses were Latin--a language notwithin the capacity of Her Majesty's mind. Her absence gave him no grief.In all his twenty-four years he could not remember being grieved byanyone's absence. His general content was never diminished at findinghimself alone. He chose the Queen as the subject of his verses merelybecause he did not admire her. She appeared to him then, as to latergenerations, a woman ineffectual and without interest; a dull womanphysically, mentally, and perhaps morally; just the woman upon whom itwould be hardest to make an encomium of any splendour. So he was heartilyingenious over his alcaics, and relished them.

  From this you may divine much that you have to know about the soul ofHarry Boyce. It was more given to mockery than enthusiasms, apter tocriticisms than devotion, not very gentle nor very kind, and so quitesatisfied with itself and by itself. To be sure, it was yet onlytwenty-four.

  You discover also other things less fundamental. He was something of ascholar, as scholarship was reckoned in those placid days. He had evensome Greek--more than Mr. Pope and quite as much as Mr. Addison. HisLatin verses would have brought him a fellowship at Merton if he hadbeen willing to take Holy Orders, "I may take them indeed; but howbelieve they have been given me?" quoth he to the Warden with a tilt ofone eyebrow. Whereat the Warden, aghast, wrote him off as a youthunreasonable, impracticable, and impish. Many others had the sameopinion of Harry Boyce before the world was done with him. Few of themsaw in his antics the uncertain spasms of too tender a conscience. Butyou must judge.

  Of course he was poor. He could only boast a bob wig, a base thing,which, for all the show it made, might have been a man's own hair. Hewore no sword. His hat lacked feather and lace. His coat and breecheswere but black drugget, shiny at each corner of him and rusty everywhere.His stockings were worsted, and darned even on his excellent calves. Hisshoes had strings where buckles should have been, and mere blackheels--and low heels at that. As you know, he could walk at a round pacewith them--a preposterous, vulgar thing. There was nothing in him to givethis poverty a romantical air. To be sure, he had admirable legs, but therest was neither good nor bad. He was of the middle size and a wholesomecomplexion. You would look at him long and see nothing rare enough to beworth looking at. If you looked longer yet you might begin to besurprised: his so ordinary face was extraordinary in its lack ofexpression.

  The man who owned it must be either very dull of heart and mind, orself-contained and of self-control beyond the common. But whatever theheart might be, no one ever took the eyes for the eyes of a fool. Theywere keen, alert, perpetually on guard. There is a letter extant--it wasindeed a dear friend who wrote it--which mocks at Harry for his "curststand-and-deliver stare." But it is a queer thing that most men had toknow Harry Boyce a long time before they remarked that his eyes were notquite of the same colour. The common English grey-green-blue was in bothof them, but one had a bluer glint than the other. The oddity, when itwas discovered, seemed to make the challenge of the eyes more defiant andmore baffling, as though they gleamed from the shadow of a mask.

  Not that anyone cared yet whether he wore a mask or his soul in thatplacid, ordinary face. Who should care a pinch of snuff for "a scholarjust from his college broke loose" with a penny farthing in his pocket,who had to pioneer young gentlemen through their Horace and their Tullyfor his bed and board? When you meet him, Harry Boyce was happy in havingcaught for his pupil a young fellow who had not merely money but brains,and so sublime a condescension that Harry was not sent away from tablewith the parson when the puddings came. Mr. Geoffrey Waverton was pleasedto have a value for him, and defended him from his natural duty of beinggentleman usher to Lady Waverton. So, Mr. Waverton having taken horse,Harry was free to go walking.

  It was late in a wet autumn, and all the clay of Middlesex slippery asbutter and, withal, affectionate as warm glue. Harry kept to the highway.Though its miles of mud and water were, on the surface, even worse thanthe too green meadows or the gleaming brown furrows of plough land, acareful man could count upon its letting him go no further than kneedeep. When he came to Whetstone, Harry's feet were brown, shapeless,weighty masses, but he had not lost either shoe, and he was still inhopes of reaching Barnet and a pint of small beer before it was time tostruggle back. At the worst a dry throat and wet legs were a cheap pricefor escaping the voice of Lady Waverton, who, in the afternoons, read theromances of Mlle. de Scudery aloud.

  He could see the tufts of smoke above Barnet and its church on thehill-top. He was winding down to the bottom of the valley from which thathill rises, when eloquence arrested him. He may at other times have heardprofanity as copious, but never profanity so vehement or at such speed.The orator was a woman.

  Harry stood to listen with critical admiration. Madame mixed the ugly andthe pleasant rarely; she made a charming grotesque. Her mind was very farfrom nice and provided her with amazing images; but she had a pretty,womanly voice, and hard though she drove it, it would not break to oneugly note. Disgusting epithets, mean threats, poured out in mellowmusic. Harry splashed on round the corner. He was eager to see her.

  In the morass at the cross-lanes by the green, a coach was stuck--a coachof splendour. It was a huge thing as big as a room, half glass, half goldand garter blue, and it swayed luxuriously on its great springs. Sixhorses heaved at it in vain with great splashing and squelching, and awhole company of servants, some mounted, some afoot, struggled with them.

  The profane woman had half her body and two gesticulating arms out of thecoach window. She was plainly neither a drab nor in liquor. Harry haltedout of range of the splashes to examine and enjoy her. She had beencomely, and still could hold a man's eye with her curves of neck andbosom. The piquant features must have been adorable before they sharpenedand her cheeks faded and the lines came. Her abundant hair
must once havebeen gold, and was not yet altogether grey.

  "You filthy slug," said she. "Samuel! Stand to it, I say. Damme, I'llhave a whip about that loose belly of yours! Now pull, you swine, pull.Odso, flog the black horse. You, devil broil your bones, lay on to him.What now? Od rot you, Antony, you'll see no money this month, you--" Shebecame unprintable. As she took breath again, she saw Harry Boyce calmlycontemplative. "You dog, who bade you stand and gape? Go, give a handthere, I say."

  Harry touched his hat. "By your leave, ma'am, I am too busy admiringyou."

  "William, put that rogue into the ditch," said she.

  All this while a man in the coach had been writing, calmly intent uponhis tablets as though there was not a sound or a rage within a mile. Henow stood up, and, while his lady was still execrating through one doorof the coach, he opened the other and came out. Two of the servants,obedient to the lady's oaths, were approaching Harry, who waited themwith calm and a swinging stick. The man waved his hand at them and theyturned tail. But he had no further interest in Harry. He stood to watchthe struggles of his horses and his men. He was of some height, and,though past middle age, bore himself with singular grace and vigour. Hehad still a rarely handsome face--too handsome, by far, for Harry'staste. The features were of an impossible, absurd perfection. There wassomething superhuman or fatuous, at least something vastly irritating, inhis assured calm, his air of blandly confident supremacy.

  He walked on to the leaders and, with a gesture and a word, set the wholeteam pulling at an angle. Meanwhile the lady had earnestly continued herabusive orders, but none of the servants now professed to heed her.Dragging the horses on, or labouring hand and shoulder at the wheels,they were now effective, and they watched the man's eye as though it werean inspiration. Wondering why he did, Harry, too, put his weight on awheel. The horses found a footing in the mire, the coach was dragged onto the higher, firmer ground beyond.

  My lady subsided. The man came back to the coach and touched his hat toHarry. "I'm obliged for your help, sir," he said, and climbed in. Theydrove away towards London.

  As the servants swung to their saddles, "Who's your obscene lady?"said Harry.

  "What, don't you know him, bumpkin?"

  "She will never be him. Her shape is all provocative she."

  This humble wit was not remarked. His ignorance occupied them, "Oh Lud,not to know the Old Corporal!"

  One of Harry's eyebrows went up. "That the Old Corporal? Faith, I amsorry for him."

  He received a handful of mud in his face. With a cry of "Rot yourimpudence," they splashed off.

  While he wiped the mud out of his eyes, Harry felt a very comfortableself-satisfaction. It was agreeable to pity His Grace of Marlborough. Forthe Duke of Marlborough was still the greatest man in Europe, thegreatest man in the world--credibly the greatest man that ever lived. Apleasant fool, to marry such a wife and to keep her.

  Harry Boyce at no time in his life had much admiration for humaneminence. In this, his hungry youth, he was set upon despising rank andpower, great fame and pure virtue, as no more than the luck of fools. Hewould always atone by finding sympathy and excuses for any rogue'sroguery. Highly fortified in this faith by the exhibition ofMarlborough's matrimonial happiness, he trudged back.

  The delay over the coach had left him no time for small ale at Barnet.Mr. Waverton, though amiably pleased to deliver Harry from attendance onhis mother, required constant attendance on himself. He would be, in hissuperb way, disagreeable if Harry were not in waiting when he was wantedto take a hand at ombre. Harry liked Mr. Waverton well enough, as well ashe liked anybody, but found him in the part of offended majestyintolerable. So there was some hard walking back to Whetstone. On the wayhis temper was not sweetened by two horsemen at the gallop who gave him ashower-bath of mud.

  As he came through the village, behold another coach labouring up to thehigh road from Totteridge lane. This had but four horses, no array ofoutriders, no gilt splendours. It was a sober, old-fashioned thing, andit rumbled on at a sober gait. "Some city ma'am," Harry sneered at it,"much the same shape as her horses."

  But half an hour after he saw it again. Where the road was dark through athicket it had come to a stand. "Oh Lud," said Harry, "here's more fairmadames in the mud. They may sit on it till they hatch it for me." But hewondered a little. It was indeed nothing very strange in such an autumnto find a coach stuck upon the highway. But two for one afternoon, two sonear was a generous provision. And hereabouts, where the road ran leveland high, was a strange place for a coach to choose to stick. "Madameseems to be a gross girl," quoth Harry.

  And then he saw what made him step out. There were two men on horsebackby the halted coach--two men with black upon their faces which must bemasks, and that in their hands which must be pistols.

  "Egad, the road's joyful to-night," said Harry. "And two and one makethree," and he began to run, and arrived.

  Of the two highwaymen one was dismounted. The other, holding his friend'shorse, held also a pistol at the coachman's head, muttering lurid threatsof what he would do if the coachman drove on. The dismounted man was halfinside the coach where two women shrank from him, and thence hisblusterous voice proceeded, "Now, my blowens, hand over, or I'll rummageyou. A skinny purse? Come, now, you've more than that. What's under yourlegs, fatty? Stand up, I say. Ay, hand out the jewel-box. Now, my tackle,what ha' you got aboard? What's under that pretty tucker?" He threw thejewel-case out into the mud and, leaning across one woman, reached with afat, foul hand to the younger bosom beyond.

  He was prevented by a whistle and a cry, "Behind you, Ben." His companionannounced the arrival of Harry.

  Ben came out of the coach with an oath and thrust his pistol into Harry'sface. "Good e'en to you, bully. Now cut and run or I'll drill you. Via,my poppet."

  Harry looked along the pistol and stood fast. The highwayman was nobigger than he, and bloated. "I am studying arithmetic, Benjamin," saidhe.

  "Burn your eyes, be off with you; run while you may."

  Harry laughed and swung his stick at the mud. "But, I wonder, is itaddition or subtraction? Is it two and one makes three, or--"

  "Kick the bumpkin into the ditch, Ben," the man on horseback advised.

  "Off with you," Benjamin thrust him back, and in the act the pistolwavered. Harry slashed with his stick at the pistol hand. A yell, anoath, and the shot came together--a shot which went into the mud and sentit spattering about them. Harry sprang away from Benjamin's rush andbrought his stick down on the hindquarters of the horses. They plungedforward, and the man in the saddle, wrestling with them, let off anotheraimless shot. Harry dodged round them and lashed them again, and theybolted down the road. He returned to fling himself upon Benjamin, who wasramming another charge into his pistol. "It seems to be subtraction,Benjamin," said he, embracing the man fervently. "One from two leavesone," and they swayed together, and he found Benjamin's body soft.

  Benjamin, panting, cursed him. "Od rot you, why must you meddle, bully?What's your will, burn you? Ha' done now, and--" Benjamin went down onhis back in the mud with Harry on top of him. "Ugh! What's the game,bully?"

  "I think you call it the high toby," said Harry delicately and began tosing to the tune of a catch:

  "Oh, three merry men, three merry men, three highwaymen were we.You in a quag and he on a nag and I on top of the three."

  "Lord love you, are you on the road?" Benjamin cried. "Why, rot you,did you want a share then? You should ha' said so, bully. Come on now, mydear, let's up. We do be gentlemen and share fair enough."

  "I warrant you I am having my share," Harry laughed; "and I like it verywell. But oh, Benjamin, there would have been nought to share if I hadnot come up. No fun at all, Benjamin." He wrenched the pistol away. "'TisI have made the business joyous. You are a dull fellow by yourself."

  "Rot you," said Benjamin frankly. "When Ned comes back he'll shoot youlike vermin."

  On which they both heard horses, and both, according to theirabilities--Benjamin in the m
ud, and Harry keeping a sure hold ofhim--wriggled to look for them.

  Harry laughed. It was certainly not a returning Ned. These horses camefrom the other way, and there were four of them and each had a rider. "Ifear your Ned will come too late, Benjamin--if, by the grace of God, hecomes at all." So said Harry, chuckling, and to his amazement Benjaminalso laughed. Why should Benjamin find consolation in the coming of this_posse_? It was not credible that they could be allies of his. Highwaymendid not work in gangs of half a dozen.

  The four horsemen, urged by the shots or by what they saw, came at agallop and reined up almost on top of Harry and Benjamin. One of them, alittle man with a lean, brown face, called out, "By your leave, sir!What's this?"

  "It's a rude fellow, sir," Harry said. "I fear a lewd fellow. By trade ahighwayman. The highway, indeed, is his life's love, his adored mistress.Observe how he cleaves to it." He compressed Benjamin, who squelched,into the mud, and rose, standing on Benjamin's chest and stomach.

  Benjamin groaned, and the eyes behind his mask rolled towards the littleman.

  "Filthy dog," that little man said with sincere disgust. "Can I serveyou, sir?" he touched his hat to the women in the coach.

  "Why, Benjamin has a friend, one Ned. Ned hath a pistol or so and twohorses which have bolted with him. But he may yet persuade them to bringback his pistols and him. Now, if you would be so good, it would beconvenient in you to ride on and destroy Ned."

  "It's a pleasure, sir," the little man showed his teeth. "And the fatrogue there, can I help you with him? Shall we take him on to theconstables?"

  "Oh, I thank you, but my Benjamin is docile. I'll e'en tie him up withhis garters, and all will be well."

  The little man scowled at Benjamin. "I shall hope to be at his hanging,"he said incisively. "Sir, your most obedient! Ladies!" he bobbed at themand rode off, his three companions close about him in eager talk.

  As they went, Benjamin let out a cry of anguish: "Captain!"

  The little man and his company used their spurs.

  Harry looked at their hurry and then down at Benjamin.

  "Now why did you call him that, my Benjamin?" said he. "Indeed, why didyou call on him at all?"

  From behind the mask Benjamin's prominent eyes stared sullenly. Hesaid nothing.

  Harry shook his head. "I feel that I do not know you, Benjamin. I mustsee more of you," With which he fell upon the man again and twitchedoff the mask. The wig came with it. Benjamin was revealed the owner ofa big, bald, shiny head with a face which was puffed and purple. "Youwere right, Benjamin," said Harry sadly, "You were kind. To wear a maskwas charity, nay, decency--what breeches are to other men. That obeseand flaccid nose--pah, let us talk of something else." He lay uponBenjamin and tugged at his sword-belt. Benjamin writhed and groaned.His sword was caught underneath him, the hilt deep in the small of hisback. Harry hauled the sword-belt off at last and gripped at Benjamin'swrists. He began to struggle again. "Do not be troublesome or I'll tapthe beer on your brain. So." He hauled the belt taut about the fightingarms and made all fast. Then he sat himself on Benjamin's legs, whichthus ceased to be turbulent, and, taking off the garters, therewithtied the ankles together.

  Sighing satisfaction, Harry picked up the pistol and sword, spoils ofvictory, and rose at his leisure. He contemplated the hapless highwaymanwith benign interest for a moment, and turned to the coach. "You arestill there, ladies? Benjamin is flattered and so am I. But the play isover. He will not be amusing for some time, and at any moment he may beprofane. I see him bursting with it. Pray drive on and remove your chasteears." He restored to them the jewel-case.

  "Put him up on the box, sir," the younger woman cried.

  "I beg your pardon, madame?"

  "We will take him to the constables at Finchley."

  "But why? He is beautiful there, my Benjamin, and I doubt he was neverbeautiful before. And I have planted him so firmly. I think if we leavehim there he may grow and blossom. Do not dig him up again yet. ImagineBenjamin in flower! A thing to dream of."

  "You are pleased to be witty, sir. Come, we have lost time enough. Putthe rogue up, and do you mount with us."

  Harry became aware that this young woman had a brow of pride. It wasample and broad and, after the Greek manner, it rose almost in a linewith her admirable nose. A noble head, to be sure, but alarming to a merehuman man. So Harry thought, and he touched his hat and said: "Madame,your most humble. Pray what do you want with my Benjamin? Your gentleheart would never have him hanged."

  Her eyes made Harry feel that he was impudent, which, unhappily, amusedhim. "I desire the fellow should be given up to the law, sir," she saidcoldly. "Have you anything against it?"

  "Oh, ma'am, a thousand things, with which I'll not weary you. For I seethat you would not understand. You are very young (as I hope). Perhapsyou may soon grow older (which I pray for you). Let this suffice then.My Benjamin may deserve a hanging. Who knows? We are not God, ma'am,neither you nor I. Therefore I have no mind to be a hangman. Andyou--why, you are young enough to wait another occasion. And so I giveyou good-night. Home, coachman, home."

  The young woman stared at him as though he were grovelling stupidity, andthen lay back on her cushions with a "You will drive on, Samuel."

  Harry made his bow, and then, as the coach began to move, there was acry: "Alison! Alison! It is not right!" The older woman leaned forward,and for the first time he remarked a gentle, motherly face, much linedand worn. "Sure, sir, you will ride with us," she said, and he liked thevoice. "We may carry you home."

  Harry smiled at her. "Nay, ma'am. I am too dirty for such fine company."

  "Drive on," said Mistress Alison. And the coach rolled away.

  Harry looked down at the wretched Benjamin, whose eyes answered withapprehension and anxiety. "What's the game?" said Benjamin hoarsely. "Isay, master--what d'ye want with me?"

  Harry did not answer. He was finding that motherly face, that pleasantvoice, curiously vivid still. This annoyed him, and he forced himselfback with a jerk to the oddity of events. "A queer business, myBenjamin," he said. "Who was your captain, I wonder?"

  Benjamin scowled. "I know nought o' no captain."

  "Ah, I thought you did. But I fear you have annoyed the captain,Benjamin. Now what had you done--or what had you not done?"

  "It's not fair, master," Benjamin whined. "You do be making game of me,and me beat."

  "I am rebuked, Benjamin. Good-night."

  "Oons, ye won't leave me so?" Benjamin howled. "I ha' done you no harm,master. Come now, play fair. What d'ye want of me?"

  "Nothing, Benjamin, nothing. I like you very well. You are a beautifulmystery. Pleasant dreams."

  The hapless Benjamin howled after him long and loud. Thereby Harry, whohad a musical ear, was spurred to his best pace. "It's a vile voice," hereflected; "like Lady Waverton's. The marmoreal Alison was right. Hewould be better hanged. But so also would Lady Waverton. She willacridly want to know why I am late. Well! It will be a melancholysatisfaction not to tell her. That will also annoy Geoffrey, who'llmagnificently indicate that I owe him an apology. The poor Geoffrey! Heis so fond of himself!"

  His evening was as pleasant as he had anticipated. He won two shillingsfrom Lady Waverton at ombre, which made her angry; and lost them toGeoffrey, which made him melancholy. For Mr. Waverton loved (in smallthings) to be a martyr.