Shrewsbury: A Romance

  CHAPTER XIX

  It was no small thing could enlighten that brain clouded by the fumesof drink and conceit; but the silence, perfect and clothing panic--asilence that had set in with his first word, and a panic that hadgrown with a whisper passed round the table--came home to him at last."What is it? What is the matter?" he cried, with a silly drunkenlaugh. And he turned to look.

  No one answered; but he saw the sight which I had already seen--hisfellows fallen from him, and huddled on the farther side of the table,as sheep huddle from the sheep-dog; some pale, cross-eyed, and withlips drawn back, seeking softly in their cloaks for weapons; othersstanding irresolute, or leaning against the wall, shaking andunnerved.

  Cooled, but not sobered by the sight, he turned to me again. "Won't hedrink the toast?" he maundered, in an uncertain voice. "Why--why not,I'd like to know. Eh? Why not?" he repeated; and staggered.

  At that someone in the crowd laughed hysterically; and this breakingthe spell, a second found his voice. "Gad! It is not the man!" thelatter cried with a rattling oath. "It is all right! I swear it is!Here you, speak, fool!" he went on to me. "What do you here?"

  "This for Mr. Wilkins," I answered, holding out my note.

  I meant no jest, but the words supplied the signal for such a roar oflaughter as well-nigh lifted the roof. The men were still betweendrunk and sober; and in the rebound of their relief staggered andclung to one another, and bent this way and that in a paroxysm ofconvulsive mirth. Vainly one or two, less heady than their fellows,essayed to stay a tumult that promised to rouse the watchmen; it wasnot until after a considerable interval--nor until the more drunkenhad laughed their fill, and I had asked myself a hundred times ifthese were men to be trusted with secrets and others' necks--that theman with the white handkerchief, who had just entered, gained silenceand a hearing. This done, however, he rated his fellows with theutmost anger and contempt; the two elderly gentlemen whom I havementioned, adding their quavering, passionate remonstrances to his.But as in this kind of association there can be little discipline, andthose are most forward who have least to lose, the hotheads onlylooked silly for a moment, and the next were calling for more liquor.

  "Not a bottle!" said he of the white handkerchief, "_Nom de dieu_, nota bottle!"

  "Come, Captain, we are not on service now," quoth one.

  "Aren't you?" said he, looking darkly at them.

  "No, not we!" cried the other recklessly, "and what is more, we willhave no 'Regiment du Roi' regulations here! Is not a gentleman to havea second bottle if he wants one?"

  "It is twelve o'clock," replied the Captain. "For the love of Heaven,man, wait till this business is over; and then drink until you burst,if you please! For me, I am going to bed."

  "But who is this--lord! I don't know what to call him!" the fellowretorted, turning to me with a half-drunken gesture. "This GentlemanDancing Master?"

  "A messenger from the old Fox: Mr.--Taylor, I think he calls himself?"and the officer turned to me.

  "Yes," said I.

  "Well, you may go. Tell the gentleman who sent you that Wilkins gothis note, and will bear the matter in mind."

  I said I would; and was going with that, and never more glad than tobe out of that company. But the fellow who had asked who I was, andwho, being thwarted of his drink, was out of temper, called rudely toknow where I got my wig, and who rigged me out like a lord; swearingthat Ferguson's service must be a d----d deal better than the one hewas in, and the pay higher than a poor trooper's.

  This gave the cue to the man who had before forced the drink on me;who, still having the cup in his hand, thrust himself in my way, andforcing the liquor on me so violently that he spilled some over mycoat, vowed that though all the Scotch colonels in the world barredthe way, I should drink his toast, or he would skewer me.

  "To Saturday's work! A straight eye and a firm hand!" he cried. "Drinkman, drink! For a hunting we will go, and a hunting we will go! And ifwe don't flush the game at Turnham Green, call me a bungler!"

  I heard one of the elder men protest, with something between a curseand a groan, that the fool would proclaim it at Charing Cross next;but, thinking only to be gone (and the man being so drunk that it wasevident resistance would but render him more obstinate, and imperil myskin), I took the cup and drank, and gave it back to him. By that timetwo or three of the more prudent--if any in that company could becalled prudent--had risen and joined us; who when he would have givenanother toast, forced him away, scolding him soundly for a leakychatterer, and a fool who would ruin all with the drink.

  Freed from his importunities, I waited for no second permission; butgot me out and down the stairs. At the foot of which the landlord'sscared face and the waiting, watching eyes of the drawers andservants, who still lingered there, listening, put the last touch tothe picture of madness and recklessness I had witnessed above. Herewere informers and evidences ready to hand and more than enough, ifthe beggars in the street, and the orange girls, and night walkers whoprowled the market were not sufficient, to bring home to its authorsthe treason they bawled and shouted overhead.

  The thought that such rogues should endanger my neck, and good, honestmen's necks, made my blood run cold and hot at once; hot, when Ithought of their folly, cold, when I recalled Mr. Ashton executed in'90 for carrying treasonable letters, or Anderton, betrayed, and doneto death for printing the like. I could understand Ferguson's methods;they had reason in them, and if I hated them and loathed them, theywere not so very dangerous. For he had disguises and many names andlodgings, and lurked from one to another under cover of night; and ifhe sowed treason, he sowed it stealthily and in darkness, with all theadjuncts which prudence and tradition dictated; he boasted to thoseonly whom he had in his power, and used the like instruments. Butthe outbreak of noisy, rampant, reckless rebellion which I hadwitnessed--and which it seemed to me must be known to all Londonwithin twenty-four hours--filled me with panic. It so put me besidemyself, that when the girl who had employed me on that errand met mein the street, I cursed her and would have passed her; being unable tosay another word, lest I should weep. But she turned with me, andkeeping pace with me asked me continually what it was; and getting noanswer, by-and-by caught my arm, and forced me to stand in the passagebeyond Bedford House and close to the Strand. Here she repeated herquestion so fiercely--asking me besides if I were mad, and thelike--and showed herself such a termagant, that I had no option but toanswer her.

  "Mad?" I cried, passionately. "Aye, I am mad--to have anything to dowith such as you."

  "But what is it? What has happened?" she persisted, peering at me; andso barring the way that I could not pass.

  "Could you not hear?"

  "I could hear that they were drinking," she answered. "I knew that,and therefore I thought that you should go to them."

  "And run the risk?"

  "Well, you are a man," she answered coolly.

  At that I stood so taken aback--for she spoke it with meaning and asort of sting--that for a minute I did not answer her. Then, "Is not aman's life as much to him, as a woman's is to her?" I said withindignation.

  "A man's!" she replied. "Aye, but not a mouse's! I will tell you what,Mr. Taylor, or Mr. Price, or whatever your name is----"

  "Call me what you like!" I said. "Only let me go!"

  "Then I will call you Mr. Craven!" she retorted bitterly. "Or Mr.Daw in Peacock's feathers. And let you go. Go, go, you coward! Go, youcraven!"

  It was not the most gracious permission, and stung me; but I took itsullenly, and getting away from her went down the passage towards theStrand, leaving her there; not gladly, although to go had been all Ihad asked a moment before. No man, indeed, could have more firmlyresolved to wrench himself from the grasp of the gang whose tool thislittle spitfire was; nor to a man bred to peaceful pursuits (as I hadbeen) and flung into such an imbroglio as this--wherein to dance onnothing seemed to be the alternative whichever way I looked--was it amatter of so much consequence to be called cowar
d by a child, that Imust hesitate for that. Add to this, that the place and time, a dingypassage on a dark night with rain falling and a chill wind blowing,and none abroad but such as honest men would avoid, were notincentives to rashness or adventure.

  And yet--and yet when it came to going, _nullis vestigiis retrorsum_,as the Latins say, I proved to be either too much or too little of aman, these arguments notwithstanding; too little of a man to weighreason justly against pride, or too much of a man to hear withphilosophy a girl's taunt. When I had gone fifty yards, therefore, Ihalted; and then in a moment, went back. Not slowly, however, but in agust of irritation; so that for a very little I could have struck thegirl for the puling face and helplessness that gave her an advantageover me. I found her in the same place, and asked her roughly what shewanted.

  "A man," she said.

  "Well," I answered sullenly, "what is it?"

  "Have I found one? that is the question," she retorted keenly. And atthat again, I could have had it in my heart to strike her across herscornful face. "My uncle is at least a man."

  "He is a bad one, curse him!" I cried in a fury.

  She looked at me coolly. "That is better," she said. "If your deedswere of a piece with your words you would be no man's slave. His leastof all, Mr. Price!"

  "You talk finely," I said, my passion cooling, as I began to read acovert meaning in her tone and words, and that she would be atsomething. "It comes well from you, who do his errands day and night!"

  "Or find someone to do them," she answered with derision.

  "Well, after this you will have to find someone else," I cried,warming again.

  "Ah, if you would keep your word!" she cried in a different tone,clapping her hands softly, and peering at me. "If you would keep yourword."

  Seeing more clearly than ever that she would be at something, andwishing to know what it was, "Try me," I said. "What do you mean?"

  "It is plain," she answered, "what I mean. Carry no more messages! Besneak and spy no longer! Cease to put your head in a noose to serverogues' ends! Have done, man, with cringing and fawning, and tremblingat big words. Break off with these villains who hold you, put ahundred miles between you and them, and be yourself! Be a man!"

  "Why, do you mean your uncle?" I cried, vastly surprised.

  "Why not?" she said.

  "But--if you feel that way, why do his bidding yourself?" I answered,doubting all this might be a trap of that cunning devil's. "If I sneakand spy, who spies on me, miss?"

  "I do," she said, leaning against the wall of Bedford Garden, whereone of Heming's new lights, set up at the next corner, shone full onher face. "And I am weary of it."

  "But if you are weary of it----"

  "If I am weary of it, why don't I free myself instead of preaching toyou?" she answered. "First, because I am a woman, Mr. Wiseman."

  "I don't see what that has to do with it," I retorted.

  "Don't you?" she answered bitterly. "Then I will tell you. My unclefeeds me, clothes me, gives me a roof--and sometimes beats me. If Irun away as I bid you run away, where shall I find board and lodging,or anything but the beating? A man comes and goes; a woman, if she hasnot someone to answer for her, must to the Justice and then to theRound-house and be set to beating hemp; and her shoulders smarting toboot. Can I get service without a character?"

  "No," I said, "that is true."

  "Or travel without money?"

  "No."

  "Or alone--except to Whetstone Park?"

  "No."

  "Well, it is fine to be a man then," she answered, leaning her littleshawled head farther and farther back against the wall, and slowlymoving it to and fro, while she looked at me from under her eyelashes,"for he can do all. And take a woman with him."

  I started at that, and stared at her, and saw a little colour comeinto her pale face. But her eyes, far from falling under my gaze, metmy eyes with a bold, mischievous look; that gradually, and as shestill moved her head to and fro, melted into a smile.

  It was impossible to mistake her meaning, and I felt a thrill runthrough me, such as I had not known for ten years. "Oh," I said atlast, and awkwardly, "I see now."

  "You would have seen long ago if you had not been a fool," sheanswered. And then, as if to excuse herself she added--but this I didnot understand--"Not that fine feathers make fine birds--I am not sucha fool myself, as to think that. But----"

  "But what?" I said, my face warm.

  "I am a fool all the same."

  Her eyes falling with that, and her pale face growing to a deepercolour, I had no doubt of the main thing, though I could not followher precise drift. And I take it, there are few men who, upon such aninvitation, however veiled, would not respond. Accordingly I took astep towards the girl, and went, though clumsily, to put my arm roundher.

  But she pushed me off with a vigour that surprised me; and she mockedme with a face between mischief and triumph; a face that was more likea mutinous boy's than a girl's. "Oh, no," she said. "There is a gooddeal between this and that, Mr. Price."

  "How?" I said shamefacedly.

  "Do you go?" she asked sharply. "Is it settled? That first of all, ifyou please."

  As to the going--somewhere--I had made up my mind long ago; before Imet her, or went into the Seven Stars, or knew that a dozen mad toperswere roaring treason about the town, and bidding fair to hang us all.But being of a cautious temper, and seeing conditions which I had notcontemplated added to the bargain, and having besides a shrewd ideathat I could not afterwards withdraw, I hesitated. "It is dangerous!"I said.

  "I will tell you what is dangerous," she answered, wrathfully, showingher little white teeth as she flashed her eyes at me, "and that is tobe where we are. Do you know what they are doing there--in thathouse?" And she pointed towards the Market, whence we had come.

  "No," I said reluctantly, wishing she would say no more.

  "Killing the King," she answered in a low voice. "It is for Saturday,or Saturday week. He is to be stopped in his coach as he comes fromhunting--in the lane between Turnham Green and the river. You cancount their chances. They are merry plotters! And now--now," shecontinued, "do you know where you stand, Mr. Price, and whether it isdangerous?"

  "I know"--I said, trembling at that bloody design, which no whitsurprised me since everything I had heard corroborated it--"I knowwhat I have to do."

  "What?" she said.

  "Go straight to the Secretary's office," I said, "and tell him. Tellhim!"

  "You won't do it," she answered, "or, at least, I won't."

  "Why?" I asked, atremble with excitement.

  "Why?" she echoed, mocking me; and I noticed that not only were hereyes bright, but her lips red. "Why, firstly, Mr. Price, because Iwant to have done with plots and live honestly; and that is not to bedone on blood-money. And secondly, because it is dangerous--as youcall it. Do you want to be an evidence, set up for all to point at,and six months after to be decoyed to Wapping, dropped into a darkhold, and carried over to France?"

  "God forbid!" I said, aghast at this view of things.

  "Then have done with informing," she answered, with a little spurt ofheat. "Or let be, at any rate, until we are safe ourselves and snugin the country. Then if you choose, and you do nothing to hurt myuncle--for I will not have him touched--we may talk of it. But not formoney."

  Those words "safe and snug," telling of a prospect that at that momentseemed of all others the most desirable in the world, dwelt solovingly on my ear, that in place of hesitation I felt only eagernessand haste.

  "I will go!" I said.

  "You will?" she said.

  "Yes," I answered.

  "And----"

  "And what?" I said, wondering.

  She hesitated a moment, and then, "That is for you to say," shereplied, lowering her eyes.

  It is possible that I might not have understood her, even then, if Ihad not marked her face, and seen that her lips were quivering with asudden shyness, which words and manner in vain belied. She blushed,and t
rembled; and, lowering her eyes, drew forward the shawl thatcovered her head, the street-urchin gone out of her. And I, seeing andunderstanding, had other and new thoughts of her which remained withme. "If you mean that," I said, clumsily, "I will make you my wife--ifyou will let me."

  "Well, we'll see about it, when we get to Romford," she answered,looking nervously aside, and plucking at the fringe of the shawl. "Wehave to escape first. And now--listen," she continued, rapidly, and inher ordinary voice. "My uncle is removing to-morrow to anotherhiding-place, and I go first with some clothes and baggage. He willnot flit himself till it is dark. Do you put your trunk outside yourdoor, and I will take it and send it by the Chelmsford waggon. At noonmeet me at Clerkenwell Gate, and we will walk to Romford and hidethere until we know how things are going."

  "Why Romford?" I said.

  "Why anywhere?" she answered, impatiently.

  That was true enough; and seeing in what mood she was, and that out ofsheer contrariness she was inclined to be the more shrewish now,because she had melted to me a moment before, I refrained from askingfarther questions; listening instead to her minute directions, whichwere given with as much clearness and perspicuity as if she had dwelton this escape for a twelvemonth past. It was plain, indeed, that shehad not fetched and carried for the famous Ferguson for nothing; norwatched his methods to little purpose. Nor was this all: mingled withthis display of precocious skill there constantly appeared a touch ofmalice and mischief, more natural in a boy than a girl, and seldomfound even in boys, where the gutter has not served for a school. Andthrough this again, as through the folds of a shifting gauze, appearedthat which gradually and as I listened took more and more a hold onme--the woman.

  Yet I suppose that there never was a stranger love-making in theworld; if love-making that could be called wherein one at least of ushad in mind ten thoughts of fear and death for one of happiness orlove; and a pulse attuned rather to the dreary drip of the wet eavesabout us, and the monotonous yelp of a cur chained among the stalls,than to the flutter of desire.

  And yet, when, our plan agreed upon, and the details settled, weturned homewards and went together through the streets, I could notrefrain from glancing at my companion from time to time, in doubt andalmost incredulity. When the dream refused to melt, when I found herstill moving at my elbow, her small shawled head on a level with myshoulder--when, I say, I found her so, not love, but a sense ofcompanionship and a feeling of gratulation that I was no longer alone,stole for the first time into my mind and comforted me. I had gone somany years through these streets _solus et caelebs_, that I pricked myears and pinched myself in sheer astonishment at finding anotherbeside me and other feet keeping time with mine; nor knew whether tobe more confounded or relieved by the thought that of all persons'interests her interests marched with mine.