The Coming of the King

  CHAPTER IV

  THE HAPPENING AT THE INN

  After I had partaken of food, I made my way to the harbour for thepurpose of finding out when a boat might be leaving for theneighbourhood of Boulogne. By this time the rain had ceased, andalthough the night was wellnigh upon the town I was able to seesomething of its character. Not that it was of any great note. Itconsisted of only a few narrow streets, which being wet, lookedmiserable and squalid. The bold outline of the cliffs impressed megreatly, however, and I judged that on fair days the whole district mustbe pleasant to behold.

  I found as I passed through, that here as well as in London the solesubject of conversation was the coming of the new king, and of thechanges his coming would bring about. Here also as in London, men had itthat it would go hard with those who had fought against the late king,and especially against those who had put him to death. Neverthelessnone, as far as I could discover, spoke against him; rather they evenpraised the profligacy of which all seemed to believe him guilty.

  But much to my disappointment I could hear of no vessel that would leavefor the French coast, at least for three days, and as I had not enoughmoney to hire one for myself I had to content myself with the prospectof spending that time in the vicinity of Folkestone. I was not at alldismayed at this, for I reflected that I might be able to discoversomething of Master Elijah Pycroft, and might not indeed have to go toFrance at all.

  When I returned to the inn I found my way into a large low room whereseveral persons were sitting. Some were playing cards, others weredrinking, as it seemed to me for the sake of drinking, while othersstill were laughing at their own wit for want of something better tolaugh at.

  No one seemed to take note of my entrance, save one, who pointed to aseat by his side, as if to bid me welcome.

  "What will you drink?" he asked.

  "What is the house noted for?" I asked, for although I determined not todrink, remembering the old adage that "when the drink's in the wit'sout," I thought it best to attract no notice by failing to fall in withthe custom.

  "Sack, my master, sack," replied the man. "There is no better sackbetween here and London town than can be bought at the _Barley Sheaf_,and what is more a man can drink his fill and no questions asked. We beno longer troubled by a sour-faced Independent constable who is ever onthe watch for a man who seeks to be merry."

  "Did they trouble you much in Cromwell's days?"

  "Trouble me! Marry, and that they did. No man pleased unless he carrieda Bible at his belt, and sung psalms through his nose. Why a man couldin no wise make merry. The man who kept a dog or a cock was watched dayand night, while those who were suspected of having a Prayer-book in hishouse was almost as much in danger as those who read the Bible in QueenMary's days. Why even the town crier had to speak through his nose, asthough he were singing psalms in church."

  At this he laughed as though he had made a good joke.

  "But all will be changed now?" I suggested.

  "Ay, but they be changed already, young master," said another man whowas listening. "Already Old Nol's people be seeking to make friends withthose who be shouting 'God save the king!' while a man may kiss hissweetheart, and no questions be asked. And what would you? The king, whohath received fifty thousand pounds from Parliament to buy himself goodclothes, and good wine, hath sent word to us that we must drink hishealth in the best wine and ale that our town affords."

  "Ay," said the other, "and painters be everywhere washing out theState's arms and painting the Lion and the Unicorn instead. I do hear,too, that the king hath given orders that all the vessels built by OldNol are to be renamed, as his Majesty doth much dislike the presentnames."

  "Have you heard aught concerning what will be done to those who tookpart in the king's father's death?" I asked.

  "I would not stand in their shoes for something," he repliedsignificantly.

  "In spite of the Act of Oblivion," I suggested.

  "Act of Oblivion! Think you that the new king will forget the name ofthose who killed his father? Why I do hear that Sir Charles Denman iseven now being followed by those who were faithful to Charles I."

  "Sir Charles Denman, who is he?" I asked, for I had never heard his namebefore.

  "Never heard of Sir Charles Denman! Why where have you lived, youngmaster? He was one who cried loudest for the death of Charles I, and whohath ever since Richard Cromwell died done his utmost to persuadeGeneral Monk against having aught to do with the new king. He hathspoken words which are said to be treasonable, and what is more is asfanatical a preacher as Hugh Peters himself."

  "Ay, but there are no edicts out against him?" I queried.

  "But there are, young master; at least so men say. Some have it that theking, no sooner was he invited to come back to his throne, than he sentsecret instructions that Sir Charles should be arrested and imprisoneduntil his Majesty's pleasure be known."

  "Know you aught of Sir Charles?" I asked.

  "Nay, I know naught, but men have it that he is a dangerous man, and notto be trusted. I have been told that his very preaching is only a cloakto cover up his misdoings. Men say he hath never married, and yet he isaccompanied on his journeys by one who ought to be his wife. It is said,too, that he whips her as a man might whip a spaniel. A sullen, cruelman whom no one loves."

  At this I was silent, whereupon the man went on.

  "Some have it that he is married to this woman, who is of low degree,while other gossips say that he hath stolen her from her father's house,because she will inherit a great fortune when her father dies."

  "Have you ever seen him?"

  "Nay, but I am told he is the best swordsman in the kingdom, that he isdeadly with the pistol, and that he shews no mercy anywhere?"

  "And are all the people loyal around here?" I asked.

  "Ay, what would you?"

  "And all the old families will receive the new king with open arms?"

  "Ay, all as far as I know."

  "I do not know the names of these families--at least not of all," Isaid, feeling my way towards the information I desired, "but you as animportant man doubtless know them all."

  "Ay," he replied, sitting back in his chair with a look of importance onhis face. "There be the Jeffries and old Sir Michael Oldbury, andAdmiral Billton, and Squire Barton, and my Lord Bridgman, and others.Most of them nod to me when they come to town."

  "I think I have heard of a Master Pycroft," I said, "know you him?"

  He shook his head. "No," he replied, "there be no man of note within tenmiles of Folkestone who bears that name."

  At this my heart seemed to sink in my shoes, for it seemed as though Ihad come on a fool's errand. Still I kept a brave face, and answered asthough the matter were of no import.

  "I must have mistaken the name," I said, "or perchance he lived in someother part of the country."

  "Stay," said the man, "there is an old place called 'Pycroft,' but ithath been in ruins for years. It is an old house among the Pycroftwoods, and is said to be haunted. No man lives there, but I have heardthat an old miser had it long years ago. He was killed for his money,and ever since the place hath been infested by evil spirits. Years ago,about the time the king was beheaded, I mind me that I passed by it, butnot a soul was to be seen. The windows were broken, and the gardens wereall covered with weeds. Neither sight nor sound of living being could Isee or hear. Even the birds seemed afraid to sing."

  "What was the name of the miser?" I asked.

  "People called him 'Solomon the Fool,'" replied the man; "'Solomon,'because he was said to have much learning, and 'The Fool' because he didnot know how to use it. Ah, and now I come to think of it, I have heardthat it was once held by the Denmans, but whether they were any kin toSir Charles, of whom we have been speaking, I know not."

  After this I learnt but little more, for a man came in who said he hadridden from Dover, and began to tell of the grand preparations whichwere being made to welcome King Charles II when he landed on Englishshores. So feeling somewhat
weary, and desiring to think of what I hadheard, I made my way to the chamber the innkeeper had allotted to me,and then by the light of the candle which had been given to me, I soughtto set down in order what had happened to me since I left London town. Ihad come to my chamber very quietly, but even if I had made a noise theshouts of the revellers in the room below had drowned any sounds I mighthave made. When I had been alone an hour or more, however, they began togrow more quiet, which led me to think they were leaving the inn fortheir homes. I therefore decided that I would undress and go to bed, buton second thoughts I simply pulled off my riding boots and doublet andthrew myself on the bed. I did not feel at all sleepy, but ere long Ifelt myself becoming drowsy; but even then I did not think I should fallasleep. In this I was mistaken, however, for after that I rememberednothing until I suddenly awoke.

  At first I scarce remembered where I was, but the sound of someonesobbing brought everything to my recollection with great clearness.

  "No, no! Not that!"

  I heard the words with great distinctness, and they were spoken by awoman. Moreover, the one who spoke them was in great terror, foralthough she spoke not loudly, I detected the anguish in her voice.

  As may be imagined, the woman's cries caused me to listen intently.

  "I tell you, yes." It was a man's voice I heard, and the partitionbetween the room in which I lay and the next, from whence the soundscame, was so thin that I could hear much of what was said. "This must bedone. It is my will."

  He spoke in a low voice, but it vibrated with passion.

  "But it is more than five miles away, and it is midnight."

  This the woman said in a low, fearsome voice.

  "What of that? The distance is not too great for you to walk easily. Youhave rested, and you have had food. As to its being night, so much thebetter. Every one is now abed, and no one will see you."

  "But the way is lonely; besides, the place hath an evil name. You havetold me yourself that it is haunted."

  "So much the better for my purposes. You must go thither, and find outwhat I have told you of. You can be back here before folks be astir."

  "It is cruel, cruel," said the woman with a sob.

  "It is your duty; you owe it to me," replied the man. "Besides, you darenot refuse. If I speak but a word you know what will happen, so do mybidding, and that without delay."

  "But who shall I find there? It is said to be an empty house; besides,perchance I cannot find it. It is in the midst of woods; and even if Imet some one on the road, I dare not ask them where Pycroft is."

  At this, as may be imagined, my heart gave a great bound. These peoplewere speaking of the very place I desired to enter; moreover, there wasevidently some secret surrounding it. Did this man know aught of whathad been told me? Did he seek to find the king's marriage contract aswell as I? Besides, who was he, and what was his relation to this woman?These and many other questions I asked myself as I lay silently on mybed, for in my eagerness I did not realize that I was playing theeavesdropper. In truth, everything had come upon me so suddenly that Iscarce understood what was taking place.

  "There will be no difficulty in finding the way," said the man. "Youwill climb the hill out of the town, then you will take the road thatleads to London. This road you wot of as well as I. When you come to thepond by the roadside you will see the gate on the right side of theroad, and from there you can easily follow the path leading to thehouse."

  "But why can you not go yourself?" said the woman.

  "Because it is not my will," replied the man. "Besides, it would not besafe for me to go until I know the old man's thoughts: he might betrayme, and then what would happen to you?"

  "To me?" repeated the woman.

  "Ay, to you. Whither can you go if I cease to protect you? Ay, and whatwill befall you?"

  "But I have done nothing."

  "Nothing! Then go and show yourself to him. Ay, let it be known in theinn who you are. If I had not given you my name, where would you benow?"

  I have recorded this conversation as well as I am able; nevertheless Icannot vouch for its entire correctness, seeing that many of the wordswere almost inaudible.

  After this I heard sounds as though some one were preparing to go out; alittle later there were footsteps along the passage, and then silence.My nerves were all tingling, while my brain was in a whirl. What did allthis mean, and what had I to do?

  In a minute my mind was made up. I would wait until all was silent, andtime given for the man to return to his chamber, and then I would creepout of the house, and follow the road the man had so clearly marked out.If their interest was at Pycroft, so was mine; besides, my heart wentout in sympathy towards the woman whose voice was so plaintive, andwhose condition seemed so piteous.

  Presently I heard stealthy footsteps outside my door. They passed alongthe corridor, and presently were lost in the distance. Now was the timefor me to act. All my weariness had gone; I was eager and alert; themystery upon which I had happened threw its spell upon me, and I longedto discover its meaning. Besides, it fell in with my plans; and Iremembered my father's words warning me never to allow want of courageto stand in the way of fulfilling my purpose.

  I fastened my sword carefully by my side, and having seen to my pistols,I took my riding boots in my hand, and crept carefully along thepassage towards a doorway I had noted during the evening. No one seemedastir, and the house was as silent as death. When I came to the door, Ifound that it was unbolted. Evidently the man had left it so that thewoman might enter when she had performed his mission.

  Closing the door silently behind me, I pulled on my boots, and a minutelater was creeping silently up the hill out of the town. Once away fromthe houses, I realized the cruelty of the man in sending out a woman onsuch an errand. It is true the night was neither dark nor cold, but fora woman to take such a long weary journey alone at such a time was hardindeed. The country, since Oliver Cromwell's death, had become infestedwith footpads, while the thought of going to a haunted house wasterrible enough for a man, much less a woman. Besides, she was troubledby some fear. The man had some power over her beyond the ordinary, orshe would never submit to his will. What was it? I called to mind thestory told me concerning Sir Charles Denman that very night. Was thisman Sir Charles? And was this woman the one who had been associated withhim? This might be the case; and yet I could not believe it, why I couldnot tell. Perhaps it was because I had learnt to be wary of stories toldat taverns and inns, perhaps because I desired another solution to themystery.

  When I was well out in the country I stopped and listened. I also lookedeagerly along the road, but I could neither hear nor see the woman I hadcome out to follow. Thereupon I started running, for the road was betterthan ordinary, and the light of the moon revealed all pits and dangerousplaces. Presently I reached the top of the hill, where the road crossedan open space. Neither hedge nor ditch hid aught from me, although amile on, skirting the open plain was a belt of trees. Here I stoppedagain, and gazed eagerly along the roadway. Yes, there could be no doubtabout it, away in the distance was a dark object.

  Up to this time I had formed no plan of action save to follow the woman.Now it came to me that if I desired to speak to her I should not knowwhat to say, while if I watched her without letting her know of mypresence I should be acting the part of a spy. She was alone andunprotected, she did not know that I heard something of what had passedbetween her and the man at the inn. Therefore my presence would give hera fright, while I had no excuse for intruding upon her as she took thislonely and mysterious night journey.

  What an older man might have done I may not say. What I should do nowthat I have passed the age of impetuous youth I dare not hazard. Butthen I was young, I knew naught of the world, and the mission upon whichI myself had come caused me to surround everything with the halo ofyouthful vision. I determined that I would overtake her, tell her that Ihad heard what had passed between her and the man at the _Barley Sheaf_,and then offer to accompany her on her journey. Doubtless
an older manwould have acted differently, but I suspect that my decision was thatwhich any youth of my age will understand.

  I therefore commenced running again, and I saw that every step lessenedthe distance between me and the dark form which toiled silently alongthe lonely road. Not a house was in sight, neither could I see aught butthe line of road curling its way along the heather covered land, and thebelt of trees which lay beyond. I ran silently, because I kept on theedge of the road, where grass grew, and as I drew nearer I saw that thewoman kept straight on, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

  Presently the moon, which had been under a cloud, shot into the clearsky, so that I could see her plainly. She was clad from head to foot ina long garment, while on her head she wore a hood, as if even in theloneliness of midnight she desired to hide her face. I could see, too,that she was tall and that she moved with rapidity and ease; but thatwas all, for her back was toward me, and although the light of the moonwas bright I could not even tell the colour of the garment she wore.

  As I came up close to her, my heart fell to beating wildly, not becauseof my exertion in overtaking her, but because of the strangeness of myadventure. In truth it seemed as though I were in a dream from which Ishould presently awake, only to find what had taken place was but thewild fancy which comes to one when one loses control over one's ownimaginings.

  Whether I should have dared to speak to her I know not, but when I wasonly a few yards from her I happened to kick a stone which lay in myway, and as it rattled along the road she turned around sharply, andwith a cry of fear.

  "What do you wish?" she asked, and I noted that her voice trembled notone whit.

  But I did not reply; I was so much wrought upon that no words would cometo me.

  "I have naught to give you," she said, "so pass on and allow me to go myway."

  As she spoke her hood dropped from her face and I saw her every featureplainly.