Sir Ludar

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  HOW THERE CAME VISITORS TO MASTER WALGRAVE'S HOUSE.

  So occupied was I with my new joy, that for a day or two what I hadheard from drunken Tom Price in Moorfields slipped me. Or, if I thoughtof it, it seemed all was well. For I gathered from his wild talk thatthe maiden--left no doubt by her harsh step-dame to fight her ownbattles--had fled from the Captain's persecutions with the help of Tom,to Canterbury, where (as I knew), was the convent school in which shehad been brought up. Here she was safe from his clutches, even if heknew where she was, which Tom took care he should not. And, to make allsurer, there was that English soldier--Ludar's prisoner, whom he hadcharged to protect her--hovering near, true to his trust and ready todefend her from all and every foe that should assail her.

  Therefore, I felt easy in my mind to leave her thus secure, and setmyself to win my mistress' and master's good-will for my match with thesweet Jeannette.

  'Twas no easy task. For my mistress said the child was over young; andmy master told me I had somewhat else to think of than such tomfoolery.Howbeit, when I told them that, say what they pleased, Jeannette wasmine, and that so soon as my time was up two years hence I should takeher to myself with leave or without, they thought better of it, andyielded somewhat.

  My mistress said, two years hence we should all be grown older, and ifwe were then of the same mind perchance she might be of another. Mymaster, too, counting to retain me in his service as a son-in-law, saidthere was time enough betwixt now and then. And thus it came to passJeannette and I were left to our hopes, and needed no sweeter comfort tomake the weeks fly.

  But, one day early in February, as I walked on my master's business nearCharing, I saw a sight which made me uneasy on another's behalf. Forthere, at the road corner as you go to Whitehall, I perceived a man whopulled out a purse and gave it to another; and when I looked closer, Isaw that he who gave was Captain Merriman, and he who received was myold fellow-apprentice, Peter Stoupe.

  Instantly, although I heard not a word, and there might have been ahundred other considerations, I took it into my head that this businessmeant mischief to Ludar. And, cudgelling my brains further, I called tomind how, that memorable night in Moorfields, while I talked with thedrunken sergeant, Peter had sneaked past us, and put my sweet littlemistress in a flutter.

  What if, instead of heeding us, he had been listening to what thesoldier said? He knew or guessed enough of the maiden's story--havingheard me tell it often--to put two and two together. What if he, aswell as I, had learned the soldier's secret; and, to despite me andprofit himself, had sold it to the one man from whom it was by all meansto be kept?

  I cursed my wickedness, who, lapped in my own happy fortune, had thusneglected my absent master's interest and let this knave get beforehandwith me. For, be Ludar alive or dead, I owed it to him to save themaiden from the Captain, even if it cost me my life.

  So, as I say, this vision of the passing of the purse woke me out of mydream, and warned me that there was danger in the wind.

  That afternoon, the same Providence which gave me the alarm put into myway a means of acting upon it.

  My master I found in a sore state of vexation because a certain book hewas printing, from which he expected some profit, was refused a licenceby the Stationers' Company. They liked it not, said the clerk, and hadsent it on to his Grace, who had other matters to think of, and was,besides, away in Canterbury on a visitation.

  At this my ears pricked.

  "By your leave, Master Walgrave," said I, "here is a matter thatpresses. If we get not his Grace's licence now, the occasion for thebook will be gone by. How if you let me go to Canterbury, to wait uponhim?"

  Master Walgrave shrugged his shoulders.

  "Have you forgot your last journey for me?" said he. "For if you have,I have not."

  "Oh," said I, rather sheepish, "I am older than that now. Besides, Iknow what I go for this time, and have not my business sewn up in mycloak's lining."

  "'Tis bad weather for so long a journey," said my mistress.

  "I heed not that," said I, like a hypocrite, "so I get my master hislicence."

  "Beside," said Jeannette, who knew what was afoot, "Humphrey likes totravel, and he pines, I know, to be freed a day or so from my apronstrings."

  I vowed she wronged me there; but between us all, my master yielded andsaid I should start next day to see his Grace.

  "Nay," said I, "I will start to-night. There is no time to lose."

  But they would not hear of that, and for fear of betraying myself, Iforbore to press it, and went betimes to bed, promising to be awaybefore daybreak on the morrow.

  Early as I was next morning, Jeannette was astir to bid me God-speed andgive me my breakfast.

  "Humphrey, _mon ami_," said she. "I should not grudge to see thee go onso good an errand. Yet, I shall be glad to see thee home."

  "Perhaps," said I, "it is all for nothing, and Ludar's maiden may besafe from harm. Yet, something tells me she needs my help."

  "You may tell that maiden," said Jeannette, "that I lend you to her; andif she need shelter, she shall have it here."

  I thanked her for that brave speech, and tore myself away. By dint ofhard walking--for I had no nag to carry me this time--I arrived latethat night at Rochester, where I was glad enough to turn into the firstinn I met, and sleep.

  I know not how it was. I dreamed all night that Ludar was calling to meto turn back, while the maiden was bidding me go forward; and betwixtthem I was torn in two, and lay kicking all night, listening to theclatter of hoofs that went past, and fancying that while I tarriedthere, his Grace of Canterbury was carrying off my sweet Jeannette, Iknow not whither. It must have been towards morning when at last Ishook off my nightmares and fell asleep. And thus it happened that,instead of being far on my road, at ten of the clock I still laysnoring, with all my day's work before me to reach Canterbury thatnight.

  As it fell out, I did not even do that. For close by Feversham I met aparcel of knaves who laid hold of me and rifled me of all I had, saveone noble that I had hid in my hat. And because I showed fight, and rantwo of them through, they wanted to hang me at the roadside and so endmy travelling days for ay. But as they must needs find a tall tree,which was not to be had at the roadside, they hauled me away to the woodto make an end of me there. And since I walked meekly with my head hungdown, they slackened their guard of me, so that presently I was able tomake a dash away from them, and hide myself in the forest.

  I escaped them, but it cost me a whole afternoon. For I lost myselfamong the trees; and daring not to show myself, must needs lie low whilethe hue and cry lasted, and afterwards find my road under shelter ofnight as best I could.

  You may guess if I chafed not under this delay; specially as the wayfrom there to Canterbury was too hard to be walked in the dark. Haltwhere I was, I must; but I did it, feeling that I might be too late, andthat each moment lost to me was a gain to that foul Captain.

  At early dawn I was afoot, and before mid-day stood in the city ofCanterbury. As in duty bound, I asked my way first of all to hisGrace's palace (which was hard by the great Church), where I longed tohave my master's business disposed of.

  Alack! his Grace was not to be seen, being away on a visitation; and hisGrace's secretary had other matters to attend to, and sent word to me toenquire again to-morrow about the same time. So I was forced to let thebusiness wait, much to my sorrow, and meanwhile seek to hear some newsof Ludar's maiden.

  I remembered what Tom Price in his drunken speech had said of thenunnery, hard by which was a certain tavern by name of the "Oriflame,"where I was like to hear of the English soldier, Jack Gedge. Thither,accordingly, I went, being told I should find it outside the walls onthe Dover road.

  'Twas a low, mean house, with little accommodation for man or beast,being, indeed, as much farmhouse as hostel, with naught but the flamingsign to tell me I might wade through the muck and litter to the door andthere call for refreshme
nt.

  The host was a civil, stupid fellow, who eyed me like one from whom hesuspected mischief, and seemed impatient till I had drained my pot andwas gone.

  But I had no thought of going, and bade him, since business kept me thatnight in Canterbury, get me a bed.

  He declared he had none to spare, and that I might get better quartersin the town. But I replied I wanted no better quarters than the"Oriflame," and if it came to a lack of beds, he and I could do with onebetwixt us.

  "Or," said I, "if, as I am told, my old friend and comrade Jack Gedge,once a soldier, lodgeth here, he and I will not quarrel over our shareof a crib."

  At that he looked uneasy and said Jack Gedge was not there. He wouldhave me believe at first he knew no man of the name; but I wormed it outof him that a month back a fellow had come and taken service with him asdrawer and labourer, calling himself plain Gedge. But only a week ago,as this same fellow was bringing in the pigs, a handful of men had setupon him, with a magistrate's warrant, and arrested him as a desertedsoldier, skulking to avoid her Majesty's service, and had carried himaway to Rochester gaol. I questioned him as to who his captors were,but he said he knew them not, but supposed them to be men in the companyof the Captain whose colours the fellow had abandoned.

  Knowing what I did, I guessed this was so, and that it had been part ofa plan against the maiden thus to get one of her protectors out of theway.

  "And have you had much company here of late," I asked, "that your houseis so full?"

  He looked queerly at me, for he knew as well as I there was no guest butmyself beneath the roof.

  "By your leave," said he, "I am ill prepared to make any guest welcome,and pray you do me the favour to seek entertainment elsewhere."

  "Nay," said I, "I like the place. And if you suspect me, let me tellyou I am a plain London printer's 'prentice, come to seek my Grace'slicence for a book, which I hope to receive to-morrow."

  "I hope you say true," said he, "for I have had trouble enough withguests here lately, not as honest as you. Why, sir," said he, fillingmy mug, "only yesterday there came here such a surly-faced varlet as younever saw, who whined and sang psalms as he drank my ale; and then whenthe time came to pay, told me to score it to one Captain Merriman, inwhose sendee he was, and who would come and pay it presently. I askyou, sir, how would you like that at your inn?"

  "Thank Heaven I have no inn; but tell me, landlord, this varlet, was hea long pale fellow, with straight hair, and eyes half shut; and was thisthe tune he whined?" And I hummed Peter's favourite tune.

  "The very man," said my landlord, rising to his feet with a start. "Youhave hit him to a point. And be you then this Captain Merriman that isto pay my score?"

  "Not so," said I, laughing, "and you may bid farewell to your money ifyou are to look for it to him. I know the villain, landlord, and if Isaw him here, I warrant you this sword of mine would not be lying thusin its sheath. But tell me. This surly-faced rogue, what did he do?What was his business?"

  "Indeed, I know not. Save to ogle all the women that came this way, notsparing the Popish nuns in yonder convent."

  And he pointed to a plain building close at hand, peeping from among thetrees, and walled all round with a high wall.

  "He asked so many questions of the place, and was so curious to see thesisters and their scholars walk abroad, that had I a daughter in keepingthere, I would be glad to get her safe back under my roof."

  "And did he see them?"

  "I warrant you, yes. For while he was questioning me the bell sounded,and they walked across to the Popish Chapel in the wood. And there wasmy gentleman, turned Papist all of a sudden, and must needs go andworship images too."

  "And where has he gone now?" I asked.

  "I know not, neither do I care, so I am rid of him. But come, guest, ifyou must stay, get you to bed; for we be early folk here."

  I slept not a wink that night, and before daylight was astir and out ofdoors. For I, too, was curious concerning this nunnery and its inmates;and was minded to turn Catholic too for occasion, and see if, amongstthe ladies, might appear the stately form of her whose fate had been sooddly woven with mine own.

  But ill fortune attended me. For early as I was, matins had been sungan hour ago; nor was there another service till noon, and that only forthe sisters. I must wait till evensong, to satisfy myself, and, withmuch misgiving at the delay, dragged myself back to the "Oriflame."

  Just as I turned off from the Dover road, there passed me in haste twomen habited as priests, travel-stained, as coming off a long journey,yet apparently familiar enough with the path which led to the friendlyshelter of the convent. I saw neither of their faces, for both werebent over the books they read; but I marked that one of them was talland lean, while the other, who walked with more of a swagger, wasshorter and better fed. I doubt if either of them saw me. But somehowI liked not the sight of them, or the path they took. It seemed to meto bode ill to the maiden; and I longed to have my business with hisGrace ended that I might return and be near the place where she was.

  For three mortal hours, that forenoon, was I kept kicking my heels inhis Grace's ante-chamber; and in the end was told curtly his Grace hadno leisure at present for such business, and that I must come again onthe morrow. I own I spake disrespectfully of his Grace when they gaveme this message, and was fain, on that account, to retreat from theprecincts more hastily than most suitors are wont to do. Here wasanother day wasted, and who was to say that the same put-off did notawait me to-morrow?

  It was late in the afternoon when I found myself again at the"Oriflame," and there I found mine host in a monstrous flutter, thinkingI, too, had given him the slip without paying my account. I made himhappy on that score with the moiety of my gold piece, and thereby boundhim to me for ever and a day. For he seemed a man whose wont it wasnever to get his due.

  I was solacing my impatience as I waited for vespers, by pacing to andfro in the wood which divided the road to Dover from the convent wall;when I was startled to come suddenly upon a horse, saddled and bridled,tied up in a covert. It had a pillion on its back; and seemed like thebeast on which a farmer and his wife might ride together to market. So,indeed, I thought it to be, when, looking about me, I perceived in thesaddle-bow a knife, the hilt of which I had seen before. It was, infact, a knife I had myself given to Peter, one day two years ago, when Ihad won a new one at Finsbury Fields, and when my fellow 'prentice and Iwere better friends than we became later on.

  The sight of this knife suddenly brought the blood to my head with amighty rush. For it showed that this horse waited here for Peter; andif for Peter, for what lady was the pillion provided? I had wit enough,without a moment's delay, to hide myself among the trees; assured thatwhatever mischief was in the air, it would come at length to thistrysting place. And so it fell out.

  I heard the chapel bell begin to toll ere long, and pictured in my mindthe sisters and their wards crossing devoutly from the convent garden tothe little chapel in the wood. No doubt the sleek Peter would be thereto eye them as they glided in; and when the service was done, perchance,he would seek to make his wicked swoop on that poor, unsuspecting lamb,and carry her off to his foul paymaster. In an hour--

  What was that? I suddenly heard close to me staggering footsteps and astifled groan, accompanied by the hard panting of a man who labouredwith a heavy load. That they were coming my way was evident by thecrackling of the underwood and the impatience of the horse. What a yeardid those two minutes seem as I waited there, sword in hand!

  Then there broke into the covert a man, dragging on his arm the faintingform of her whom, though I had not seen her for a long year, I knew in amoment to be Rose O'Neill, my master Ludar's maiden. But what amazed memost was the man who carried her. I had looked for Peter Stoupe to acertainty; but instead of him I saw the taller of the two priests whom Ihad passed only that morning on the way to the convent. The delusionlasted only a moment. For as he turned his head, I saw beneath the
cowlthe well-known, cadaverous, hungry visage of my masquerading 'prentice,and knew that I was right after all.

  He flung his senseless burden to the ground with a curse, and wasturning to the horse, when I stepped out, sword in hand, and faced him.I gave him no time for parley or excuse. I heeded not the yell he sentup as he saw who I was, and felt nothing of the one savage blow he aimedat me with his knife. Time was short. At any moment that othermasquerading priest, whose name I guessed shrewdly enough now, might behere on the top of us. So I had at him and ran him through the carcase,and without waiting to look twice to see if he lived or no, or torestore his fainting victim, I lifted her on to the horse in front ofme, and dashed, in the gathering night, through the forest roads.

  Two days later, as the snow fell thick in the London streets, I stoodwith the maiden at my master's door without Temple Bar. There werecrowds in the Strand, I remember, talking over some notable news whichhad just come in; and so full was every one of the same, that we passedunheeded, and not a man had time to recognise me or wonder who was mycompanion. Even my master and mistress were abroad gossiping; so that,to my vast relief, when I opened the door and walked in, there wasJeannette to meet us and no one else.

  "Thee art welcome, dear Humphrey," said she, coming forward; "and so isthis lady."

  And she dropped a curtsey as she turned to my companion. But seeing herpale face and sad looks, she went to her and, taking her hand, kissedher on the cheek. I think that sisterly welcome put new life into themaiden, for the colour came again to her face, and a smile to her lips,as she said--

  "We are not strangers, sweet Jeannette. It does me good to see theenow."

  And somehow I was overlooked in the talk that ensued betwixt those two,and so left them and went out to the street to hear what this great newsmight be.

  It was indeed great news. Yesterday, in the early morning, the ScotchQueen had paid the penalty of her grievous treasons, and had beenbeheaded at Fotheringay Castle. Men seemed half dazed by the news. Tomany it had seemed that the dangers of which she was the author were totrouble England's peace for ever; and now that, by a single blow, thecloud had been lifted, some of us fetched a great sigh of relief and hadtime to pity the fate of the fair woman, whose name we had so latelyhated. So there was not much shouting or burning of bonfires. Butevery one felt something wonderful had happened, and rubbed their eyes,like those awakened out of some long drawn nightmare.

  When I returned my master and mistress were still abroad. Jeannette, Ifound, had carried the maiden to her own bed, and having left her thereto rest--and indeed she needed it, for we had travelled hard two days bylong and tiresome roads--awaited me with a grave face.

  "All this is passing strange," said she, "and I love this maiden. But,my Humphrey, I have sad news to tell you since you left. Twas theevening of the very day you went; as I was helping the father draw hischarges, there came suddenly into the shop a man, tall, haggard, butnoble to look at, and seeming like a hunted lion. He looked round himwildly, and then asked, was this the printer's house outside Temple Bar?The father answered shortly, yes. 'Then,' said he 'is there one here,Humphrey Dexter by name?' 'No,' said the father, who, I thought,mistrusted the fellow's looks, and wanted to be rid of him. Without aword, then, he turned and left us; before I could so much as cry to himthat you would be back anon. Where he went I know not, but that thiswas Sir Ludar, and that he goes in peril of his life I am as sure asthat I speak now to thee."

  Now, I understood why, as I lay dreaming that night at Rochester, I hadheard my master's voice calling me back, while that of the maiden urgedme forward. To think he had been here, in this very spot, calling forme, and I not at hand to answer! It was too bitter a cup; and late asit was, I rushed out once again into the street, in the foolish hope ofseeing or hearing of him. But it was all too late!