CHAPTER XIII
AN ADVENTURE ON THE CANTERBURY ROAD
It is difficult for me to describe my feelings at this time. For whileon the one hand I was pleased that the king should speak so kindly tome, I was in a most unaccountable way disturbed at the news of MistressConstance Denman's imprisonment. So much so that, as I have said, Idetermined that, happen what would, I would rescue her from prison. WhyI should decide to do this may seem to the reader somewhat of a puzzle.I knew but little of her, and even that which I knew was not in herfavour. She was the wife of a man who, although calling himself aPuritan, was a hard, unscrupulous man, evidently one who would intrigueagainst the king, and be a party to murder. But not only this, she washerself guilty of attempted murder, and therefore a dangerous woman. Iknew that General Monk had been much hated when he had yielded to thedesires of those who sought to bring about the king's return, especiallyas he was thought to have been a traitor to all the promises he hadmade. Nevertheless, none but a desperate lawless woman would be guiltyof attempted murder, and thus the justice of which the king had spokenwas surely merited.
In spite of this, however, I determined to save her. It is true she hadtreated me with scant courtesy, and although she had told me to waitoutside Pycroft Hall until her return, she had never again appeared.Evidently she had left Pycroft Hall only to be taken prisoner, and thenconveyed to Bedford. I knew by the look on Monk's face that no mercywould be shown, while it was easy to be seen that the new king would beanything but clement towards the daughter of John Leslie, who had beenone of the principal actors in bringing about the death of his father.
Still, I was not changed in my resolution, neither for that matter couldI bring myself to believe that she was guilty of the crime of which shewas accused. I knew that she was a brave, resolute woman. No one couldbe with her as I had been and not be sure of that, but her face was notthe face of one who could coldly meditate upon and arrange for murder.Passionate she might be, and therefore in the heat of the moment mightbe led to do a terrible deed. But she could not plan to do it. Such ascheme as had been described to me must have been brooded over in coldblood, and I could not believe that she could have done this.
I called to mind my first sight of her features, and I felt confirmed inmy impression. She was only twenty, and her face was free from thepossibility of such a crime. A noble face I thought it was, and even atthe time I felt that its possessor was a noble woman.
All this passed through my mind as I stood beneath the canopy preparedfor the king, while the multitudes were shouting all around. So much wasI occupied with them, moreover, that unlike the others I did not followhis Majesty to the great coach in which he was to ride to Canterbury;but remained there alone, brooding over what I had heard.
"Roland."
"Yes, father."
"Come! we must needs haste."
"Why?"
"Because we will follow in the procession to Canterbury. The horses aresaddled. I have seen to that."
"Yes, father."
This I said like one in a dream, for while I had it in my mind that thejourney to Canterbury would suit me well, seeing that we should be onour way to London, my mind was so occupied with other things that I paidbut scant heed to his words.
A little later we were on our way out of the town, a great crowdfollowing the king, while a greater crowd prepared to remain in Dover,so as to take part in the carousing which had, been arranged. On thehill near I saw Dover Castle, which looked stately and grand in thesmiling sunlight, while seaward the waters gleamed brightly, as thoughnature sought to harmonize with the gladness of the multitude. Allaround the people continued to cry "God save the king!" while gunsboomed with a great, thundering noise, and bands of music played merrytunes.
"Methinks, this is a great day, Roland," said my father, who rode closeto my side.
I did not reply, for my mind was full of the thought of the woman wholay in prison.
"The king seemed pleased with you."
"Ay," I replied, "I trust so."
"Trust nothing, Roland."
I gazed nervously around, fearing lest my father's words should be heardand reported to the king.
"You need not fear to speak, Roland," said my father. "No attention ispaid to us. Besides, there is such a noise that no man can hear youspeak, save me, whose ear is close to your mouth. In truth had I amatter of secrecy to discuss I would desire no better place."
I continued silent, first because there seemed nought to say, and secondbecause I thought of other matters.
"I have thought much of what you related to me last night," continued myfather, "and I have concluded that you have forgotten to speak to me ofmany matters."
In this my father spoke truly, for although I had spoken freelyconcerning my interview with old Solomon, I had said but littleconcerning the woman whose fate had become of so much interest. Why Ihad refrained from doing this I knew not, yet so it was.
"I have told you all I know concerning the thing I went to seek," Ireplied.
"Ay, that is so, Roland, and thou hast never told me a lie. But I amconvinced of this: That old man never intended thee to die in thatcavern."
"No," I replied. "What is your reason for believing that?"
"I have many reasons."
"Then why did he leave me?"
"To return after you had fasted two or three days, and when yourstrength would be so gone that he would be able to make his own termswith you."
I had not thought of this before, and I wondered at my dullness, forthere was sense in my father's surmise, and I fancied there might betruth in it.
"I see gay doings ahead," said my father presently.
"Ay," I replied, for I was thinking of the reception the king would meetin London.
"Never did a king come to a throne under fairer skies," said my father."He hath come back without conditions. His will is as powerful as hisfather desired his own to be. But there will be a terrible time for thePuritans."
"But he hath promised general forgiveness."
"He is the son of his father, and all the world knows what a Stuart'spromises are worth. But never mind, thou hast found favour. See thatthou dost make use of it. But ask for nothing yet; throw your dicecarefully. But, Roland, you must obtain those papers."
Again I looked nervously around, but I saw at a glance that no one paidheed to us.
"I tell you, you must do nothing until they are in your possession."
"No," I replied eagerly enough, for his commands fell in with my mood.
"I can do nothing to help you."
I looked at him inquiringly.
"Nothing. I shall have other things to look after. But you are no fool,and you must do it yourself. And mind, never sow your seed until yourground is prepared."
At this I set to wondering much as to what might be in my father's mind,but not, I am afraid, to much purpose, seeing that the noise of thecrowd seemed to increase rather than diminish, especially as we drewnear Canterbury.
Arrived at this old city, the king make straight for the Cathedral, andso great was the multitude who desired to follow him that I becameseparated from my father; and then, scarcely regretting the happening, Irode away from the turmoil, and set out for London town with all speed.A full hundred miles lay before me, but I hoped that by hard riding,even although the day was somewhat spent, I should get thither beforemidnight. My horse had rested for several days, and had been well fedand groomed during the time, and being a creature of high mettle, heresponded to the feelings of his rider, and dashed forward at a finespeed. I had not ridden many miles, however, before I noticed that twomen were riding behind me, and as I judged were anxious to keep me insight. At first I took but little note of them, but when I found theykept about the same distance from me, neither losing nor gaining uponme, I began to wonder what was in their minds. About five o'clock in theafternoon I stopped at an inn, so that I might obtain refreshment for myhorse and myself, and also, as I thought, give them an opportunity ofpassing me
. I took my place near the window, so that I might be able towatch my horse and the road, at the same time, but although I letnothing escape me, I saw neither of them pass by the hostelry in which Iwas sitting.
"They must have taken some other road," I said to myself, and when aftera few minutes I again mounted, and on looking around saw no sign ofthem, I was confirmed in my impression. But in this I was quicklydeceived, for I had not gone a mile along the road, before I heard thesound of horses' hoofs, and on turning round, I saw these same two menat a short distance from me.
I stopped, determining to have the matter out with them, but the momentI did so they likewise stopped, as if by set purpose.
"Two to one," I said to myself, "and both are armed. It were foolish forme to pick a quarrel." So I determined to outdistance them by hardriding. But here again I failed to succeed, for although as I have saidBlack Ben was young and fleet, I could gain not one yard upon them.
If I galloped they did likewise, and if I dropped into a canter theyfollowed my example. This kind of thing was kept up until I saw the sunbegin to sink, and then, seeing a piece of lonely country before me, Ibegan to apprehend an attack.
"Two to one," I repeated to myself, and I began to examine my pistols,and to see to it that my sword lay easy in its sheath; but no sooner hadI done this than they vanished as if by magic, and I was left alone.Upon this I again gave Black Ben rein, but by this time he had becomesomewhat wearied by his long journey, so that although I made goodspeed, I feared to press him too hardly.
A little later, and the night had fallen; moreover my way led through awood, which made everything dark, so that I had to ride warily. Added tothis, I presently approached a steep hill, where I rode slowly so thatmy horse might take breath. I had scarcely gone half-way up when I hearda rustle among the bushes at my side, and before I had time to draweither pistol or sword, my arms were pinioned, and I was thrown to theground with great force.
"Not a sound, not a movement, or I will blow your brains out," said someone in my ear.
I tried to catch sight of his face, but in vain. The woods made the roaddark, and as far as I could judge he was closely muffled. Moreover thefall stunned me, and so numbed my senses that I was unable to thinkclearly. I remember, however, that they searched my pockets, which mademe think of them as common footpads, but even when they had done thisthey did not leave me.
"Have you found it?" said one.
"Not a sign of it," said another.
"But the fellow hath it: we must get it out of him somehow."
"He hath not, I tell you. I've searched him to the skin. This was easy,for the fall knocked all life out of him. He lies like a man dead."
"Surely, we've not killed him?"
"No, he breathes."
"Then ask him where he put it, and threaten to flog him alive if he willnot tell you."
"A good thought. I say there--wake up!" and he shook me violently.
By this time my senses had come back to me sufficiently to know that Ishould learn most by holding my peace. I therefore continued to lie likea man dead.
"I say, you Rashcliffe, speak up. It's to your advantage, man," the mancontinued.
This, as you may be sure, made me more alert than ever, I was nowconvinced that these were no common footpads, but men who had followedand attacked me for a purpose. They knew my name, and they suspected meof having something which they desired. Immediately I thought of oldSolomon's words, "the Duke of York would give his eyes to have thisthing." Were these men agents of the duke, and had they discovered thatI had found out where the marriage contract was?
"It's no use, Rickmore. He must have struck his head against a stonewhen we dragged him from his horse. He may lie like this for hours."
"You are sure you've searched him thoroughly?"
"Every rag upon his body?"
"And what have you found?"
"Nought but a little money and his pistols."
"Pull off his boots, it may be there."
I allowed them to pull off my boots, lying limp and inert as they didso; but, as may be imagined, they were again disappointed.
"The fellow hath nought," said the man who had been called Rickmore,"and 'pon my word, I believe he's dead."
"Then Duke James will have to wait."
"Hush, man, some one may hear!"
"Hear!" and the other laughed scornfully. "There's not a living soulwithin three miles of the place. I say Duke James will have to wait. Thething must be found, but this springald hath it not, spite of thewoman's speech."
"Doth the thing exist at all?"
"Exist! You should have seen the look on Duke James' face when I toldhim what Katharine Harcomb had said to me. 'By the Holy Virgin,Hamilton,' said he, speaking like the good Catholic he is, 'get hold ofthe young rascal. Never let him out of your sight until you haveobtained all he hath found, and know all he can tell you.'"
"Did he say that?"
"Ay he did. I tell you he puts great store on it."
"But the fellow hath it not."
"No, and what is worse we have so nearly killed him that he might aswell be dead."
"Well, what are we to do?"
"We can do nought but return to London, and wait for the coming of theking. At all events the king is king, thanks to Monk."
"He's to be made a duke, I hear."
"After Denman's wife tried to send him to heaven?"
"Ay, and would have succeeded, but for a mishap."
"Nay, nay. She might have sent him to hell, but never to heaven."
"Well, from all I hear no one could wish to be sent to the other worldby a fairer hand. Men have it that when Denman married Master Leslie'sdaughter, he wedded a face as fair as an angel's."
"Well, it'll not save her from the gallows. Had her father not been sucha Puritan, it might have gained her favour with King Charles, but I hearthat the very name stinks in his nostrils. I am told that she nearlyescaped, but a man rode night and day to Dover to tell Monk that she hadbeen captured, and was safely lodged in Bedford Gaol."
"She must be a brave woman. Were she not the wife of such a fellow asDenman I would strike a blow for her deliverance. Bedford Gaol is not ahard place to get out of, for the gaoler not only loves his wine, butwill take a bribe. Besides, the woman who tried to send Monk intoeternity deserves some help. But say, what are we to do with this youngjackanapes?"
"Do you think he's dead?"
"No; he lives, although there's no knowing how much we've hurt him. Wedare not let it be known that we've had aught to do with him. Duke Jameswas very careful to tell us that everything must be done in secret."
"Then let him lie, while we make our way to London."
"Shall we take his money? He will think then that we are footpads."
"No, we cannot do that, badly as we need it. After all, a gentleman is agentleman."
"Nor his horse? It is a good one."
"Nay, that might tell tales. Besides, we are well supplied; let us on toLondon. A good night's rest to you, Master Rashcliffe."
"With apologies for delay."
"And a curse upon you for not having what we wanted."
I heard them laugh as they mounted and rode away, as though they werepleased with themselves. For some time I did not move; I thought itwould be wiser to keep up the part I had been playing, for fear theymight come back. Presently I heard the sound of horses coming towards mefrom the Canterbury road, and this led me to get up with all speed, andto call Black Ben to my side. A few minutes later I was again onhorseback, but little the worse for my happening, although sore vexedwith myself for being mastered so easily. Still, I had learnt something.I was not the only one who was trying to obtain Lucy Walters' marriagecontract, while my father was not the only one to whom Katharine Harcombhad spoken concerning the thing. Moreover I had been confirmed in myinformation concerning the prison of Mistress Denman, neither did I failto take note of what was said about the gaoler.
On the whole, therefore, I was not ill-pleased with
the night's events,and possessed no very bitter feelings towards either Master Rickmore orMaster Hamilton.
Nothing of importance happened further to me that night. As I drewnearer London, I found the people talking much about the gay doingswhich were to take place when the king came back to his loyal city, aswell as the terrible punishments which would be meted out to all who inany way took part in King Charles' death. I did not stay in Londonlonger than I could help, however, for, foolish as it may appear, Idetermined to ride to Bedford, and if possible deliver from prison thewoman who had been my companion to Pycroft Hall but a few nightsbefore.