CHAPTER VII
THE MYSTERY OF PYCROFT
I waited a few minutes, but no one came back to the room. Moreover dawnwas now appearing; the birds were singing louder every minute; thesilence of night was dying in the gladsomeness of a new day. I creptdown from the tree, my mind wellnigh bewildered by what I had seen andheard. When I had left my home two days before I had no idea that Ishould so soon be enshrouded in the mists of mystery. Nay, a few hoursbefore, when I had ridden up to the inn in Folkestone town, I did notdream that before sunrise new interests and new hopes would arise in mylife. Yet so it was. At sundown my one hope was to find the clue to thehiding place of the marriage contract of the new king with Lucy Walters,now, although I had in no way abandoned the mission which inspired mewhen I set out, it had become interwoven with other interests whichkindled my imagination and stirred my heart even more.
Who was that old man? Why did he live there all alone? What was thesecret of that old house? What was the link that bound the woman I hadaccompanied hither with this strange old creature? Why had she comehither, and who was that other woman who had come into the room?
These and a hundred other questions haunted my mind as I waited near thehouse, while both eyes and ears were open to every sight and sound.Almost unconsciously I crept away to the spot where I had separated fromthe woman, and this place being somewhat higher than the house gave me afull view of the building.
As day came on, the outlines of the house became more clear to me. I sawthat it could scarcely be called a mansion, while on the other hand itwas larger than a farmer's dwelling, nay for that matter it wasevidently intended as the dwelling place of a man of importance. It wasa low irregular building, built of stone, and was evidently of greatstrength. The doors were heavy and iron studded. The mullioned windowswere so constructed that no one could enter through them. Moreover ironbars obtained everywhere; at no place, as far as I could see, could anyone find an entrance, save at the will of those who dwelt within. An airof dilapidation reigned. There was no evidence anywhere that the placewas inhabited. The paths were covered with weeds and grass. What were atone time flower gardens had become a wild mess. The grass grew in largequantities, while wild flowers were appearing in great profusion. Butnowhere was human care visible.
The spring air blew fresh and cold, and although the birds sang blithelythey did not dispel the feeling of desolation which everywhere reigned.Had I not seen those two women and the old man I should have said thatPycroft Hall had been deserted at least ten years. Nothing save birdsand insects betokened life. Not a bark of a dog, or the low of a coweven, could be heard. All told of lonely desolation.
In spite of myself I shivered. My clothes were wet with dew, andstanding in the shadow of the trees as I was the rays from the risingsun did not reach me. Like a man dazed I crept to an open spot where thesun shone, but it seemed to give no heat. Bright spring morning thoughit might be it was deathly cold, and more than all, my heart was cold.
I waited in silence, how long I do not know, but it seemed a long time.Still I remained there, listening for the sound of footsteps, and forthe presence of the woman. I made up my mind concerning the questions Ishould ask her. Cunning, searching questions I thought they were, suchas would lead her, unknown to herself, to give me the clue to the secretwhich threw a shadow over her life. I planned how I could gain herconfidence, and, presently, by my own wisdom and courage, free her fromthe weight which I felt sure was crushing her.
Meanwhile the sun rose higher and higher. The day was now fully come,and yet neither sight nor sound reached me.
"What is the meaning of this?" I asked myself. "She promised to cry outif she were in danger. She told me to wait for her."
I called to mind that she had said nothing concerning her future plans,or of her return to the inn at Folkestone. Then a thought came into mymind which dismayed me and determined me to take action. I thereforeleft the spot where I had been standing and crept closer and closer tothe house. I did not keep within sight of the windows. I feared to doso, not for my own sake but for hers, even although I did not know whatharm I should be doing her by exposing myself to sight. Still Iremembered how eagerly she had pleaded with me not to enter the housewith her. I judged she was anxious that I should not be seen by the manwith whom she had an interview that night.
I was not long in discovering, however, that my precautions wereneedless. No one appeared, and all was silent. Presently growing bolderI walked around the building. There was no sign that any living beingsave myself was near. Every door, every window was closed and bolted,and as I listened the silence of death seemed to reign in the old homeof the Pycrofts.
"She is gone," I cried out like one bewildered, "but whither hath shegone? what hath happened to her?" But only the deathly silence of thedeserted house made answer to the question which had unwittingly come tomy lips.
At first I could scarcely realize it, and I could not help believingthat the dread calamity at which she had hinted had befallen her whilein the company of the man.
Presently I climbed to one of the windows, some of the panes of whichwere broken, and looked in. I saw only an empty and deserted room. Itlooked very dreary just then, although I doubt not that at one time ithad rung with joyous revelry. It was a large dining hall, oak panelledand oak ceiled. The chimney piece, moreover, although black with age andsmoke, was quaintly carved, while there were many other indications thatthe builders of Pycroft Hall were people who loved things tasteful andpleasant to behold. I placed my ear to the broken pane also, but nosound could I hear. A silence like unto that of death reigned.
At this time all through which I had passed through the night seemedlike a dream, and I felt like doubting the things which I have here setdown. Especially was this so when, emboldened by the continuous silence,I gave a shout, which echoed and re-echoed through the forsaken rooms.
"What hath happened to her?" I asked myself again and again, and eachtime I asked the question the more difficult did the answer become.
Presently I took a more commonplace view of the matter. "Doubtless shehath gone back to Folkestone," I said to myself; "perchance, moreover,the other woman I saw hath gone back with her, while the old man hathaccompanied them a part of the way. After all the woman did not promiseto return to me. She did not ask me to accompany her; rather it wasagainst her will that she allowed me to walk by her side. Perhaps if Imake haste I shall overtake them before they reach the _Barley Sheaf_."
But although I said this I did not leave the place at the time thedetermination was born in my mind. There still remained lingering doubtswhether she was not immured in this lonely house, and whether she mightnot even then be needing my aid. But after I had again made a journeyaround the building, I was led to the conclusion that it was deserted. Iwould have given much to have entered, so that I might have set mydoubts at rest, but as I have said, every door was closed and bolted,while every window was so barricaded that no man might enter exceptafter great preparations.
I therefore presently turned back disappointed and weary; the woman, thepathway of whose life I had so strangely crossed, had willed to go awaywithout telling me whither she had gone, or perchance she had beencompelled to do the will of the man with whom I had seen her in the roomopposite the fir tree.
There seemed no reason why I should trouble about this, yet I did. Agreat weight rested upon my heart and, even when I had left the Pycroftwoods and was out on the main road again and saw the clear blue skyabove me, I was oppressed by what had taken place and I accused myselfof being unfaithful to the promise I had made.
What o'clock it was when I reached Folkestone town I know not, but itwas yet early, for but few people were stirring, neither did the inmatesof the tavern seem to have aroused themselves from the carousal of theprevious night. I found the main door opened, however, so I entered ascarelessly as I was able, in the hope that if any one appeared I mightgive the impression that I had gone out for an early morning walk. Butno man molested me as I found my
way to the chamber which had beenallotted to me, neither could I hear a sound coming from the adjoiningroom. All was perfectly still.
I went into the corridor and listened intently, but no man stirred. Ifthe man, the thought of whom aroused angry feelings in my heart, sleptnear me, he must have slept as peacefully as a child.
After a time I heard the sound of bustle and movement in the roomsbeneath me, and then, although the thought of food had never entered mymind during the night, I felt a great hunger. I therefore made my waydown stairs, where great steaks of ham fresh from the frying pan werespeedily set before me.
"A fine morning," I said to the maid who brought them.
"Ay, it feels like summer," she replied.
"Are there many people here who have been sleeping at the inn to-night."
"I dunnow," and with that she left the room.
I thought the maid desired not to answer my question, but this, while itaroused suspicions in my mind did not keep me from eating a heartybreakfast. Moreover, I felt neither tired nor sleepy. My journey of tenmiles, my long watching and waiting, seemed to have affected me not onewhit, and when I had finished breakfast I had no more weariness thanwhen I had left my home two days before. In spite of my anxiety, too, Ifelt strangely light of heart, and as the sunlight streamed into theroom I found myself humming a song.
"Good morning to you, young master, and a good appetite."
It was the landlord who spoke, the very man I wanted to see.
"The same to you Master Landlord," I replied.
"Ay, but I spoiled my appetite an hour ago, young master. An innkeepermust needs be an early riser."
"Ay, I suppose so," I made answer, blessing my stars that the man hadgiven me the very opening which I desired. "Doubtless some of yourguests have taken leave of you this morning."
"As to that, no, young master."
"Ah, no one has left you to-day?"
"No, not to-day."
"That is lucky for me," I said, "for I had fears lest one of your guestswhom I wanted to see had left before I had a chance of speaking to him."
"And which might that be, if I am not making too bold in asking?" hesaid, and I thought his eyes searched my face curiously.
"The Cavalier who rode up last night with a lady."
"Ah, but which?"
"I saw but one," I made answer. "He came up even while the groom wasunsaddling my own horse. A tall man, with black hair just turning grey.He wore a grey feather in his hat, and his sword was jewel hilted."
"That description might apply to many a traveller who puts up here," hereplied. "His name, young master, his name?"
"As to his name," I replied, for here the man had found a weak place inmy armour, "well there may be reasons for not mentioning it."
"I have naught to do with nameless wanderers, young master, and thankGod the country will have less than ever to do with them since England'strue king is coming back. Each traveller who comes to this inn gives hisname as a gentleman should. It is well known for five miles around, ay,fifty for that matter, among those who travel, that _The Barley Sheaf_bears a name second to none. Its sack is of the best, its company thebest, while neither footpad nor traitor is ever welcomed within itswalls."
The man spoke as I thought with unnecessary warmth. There seemed noreason why he should be so anxious to defend the character of the housebefore a youth like myself, who made no charge against it.
"Methinks he does protest too much," I said to myself, calling to mindthe words of Master Will Shakespeare, whose writings had been littleread during Cromwell's time, but whose plays I had often read with muchdelight. Still I remembered my father's advice, and determined to arouseno suspicion in his mind.
"I heard of that before I came hither," I replied. "As to the sack, andthe company, I made acquaintance with both last night, and that withrare pleasure. Nevertheless a man doth not blazon his name on the wallsof every inn he enters. Even King Charles II, who is expected to land atDover before many days are over, had often to enter places like thisunder an assumed name, as every one knows right well. And, even althoughtimes will be changed at his return, it may be that many a man, while hemay give his name to such as yourself, will not care to shout it aloudto the tapster or the ostler."
"Ay there is reason in that," replied the innkeeper, "and I perceivethat young as you are you are a gentleman of rare wit."
"As to that, mine host," I made answer, "I may not boast, still I havewit enough to know that it may not always be best to speak names aloudin an inn, although the king will be in England soon."
"God bless King Charles II, and down with all psalm-singing traitors,"he cried fervently.
"Amen to that," I cried; "down with all traitors whether they singpsalms or no. But to come to my question, since the worshipful gentlemanwhom I have described hath not had the misfortune to be obliged to leavethis hospitable house, I trust you will take my name to him, with therequest that I may enjoy a few minutes of his company."
"You mean the gentleman who rode a grey horse with a grey feather in hishat, and carried a jewelled hilted sword?"
"Ay, I mean him. He was accompanied by a lady, who wore a long cloak,and whose face was wellnigh hidden by her headgear; I heard him ask youfor private rooms as he entered."
"But did you not know?"
"Know what?"
"That he left last night at midnight."
"At midnight?"
"Ay, a messenger came bearing him important news, and although the ladyhad gone to bed he had to arouse her, ay, and the ostler too for thatmatter. Both their horses were saddled, and they rode away at one o' th'clock, but whither they have gone I know not."
At this I was silent, for I knew that the man had told a lie.
"But what would you?" continued the innkeeper. "We shall have bustlingtimes now, and the innkeeper's trade will be brisk, so he must notgrumble. Besides, he paid his count like a prince, and would not takethe silver change which he could rightfully claim."
Now this brought me to a deadlock, as can be seen. I dared not askdirect questions, first because I did not wish to arouse suspicions, andnext because I feared by so doing I should shew my state of utterignorance concerning the man about whom I inquired. Still when one istwenty-three one does not lack confidence, and youth will dare to rushbareheaded where an older man would hesitate to enter with a steelhead-cap.
"Ah, I would I had known," I replied. "I could perhaps have told himthat his danger was not so great as he imagined."
At this he started like one surprised, while his eyes flashed a look ofinquiry.
"Danger?" he said questioningly. "What danger, young sir?"
"Better not give it a name," I made answer. "Besides I do not know howmuch he hath told you, and I would betray no man's secrets. Solomon saidmany wise things and wrote them down in a book, and Solomon, whom somecall a fool," here I stopped, and looked into his face, "although hiswritings are placed among the holy Scriptures, said that there was atime to hold one's peace as well as to speak."
"Solomon had many ways of obtaining knowledge," he said, almost timidlyI thought.
"Ay, some have said that they were means known only to himself."
I could have sworn that the man trembled. Whether I was getting anynearer the truth or no I knew not, but I was sure that my words wereconstrued by the innkeeper in such a way that he fancied I was thepossessor of the secret he had sought to hide. Still the man doubted me,and he did not seem inclined to offer any information.
"God save King Charles II," he said, as though he thought I doubted hisloyalty.
"Amen to that," I replied. Then I continued quietly, still watching him:"Charles is a good name, whether borne by a king or another man."
Now whether he was too thick in the head to understand the drift of mywords, or whether I was on the wrong track I know not; whatever may bethe truth he suddenly left the room, craving pardon for leaving me soabruptly, and assuring me that he had many things to attend to thatmorning.
Alone again, I had time to collect my thoughts. The landlord'scommunication if true, left me more in the dark than ever. That he hadtold me lies I knew, but whether it was a lie that the man had left theinn I had not yet been able to discover. I called to mind the words Ihad heard spoken in the bedchamber next to my own, and remembered thatthe man had told the woman to return early in the morning before any onewas astir. Would he, having given such commands, depart at midnightleaving her alone and helpless?
In truth the mystery in which I had become involved seemed to entangleme more than ever. Then I called myself a fool for not taking anecessary step, and one which would have occurred immediately to any onethat was not half-witted.
I hurried to the stables, and there I found that, whether the landlordhad spoken truly or no, the horses which had brought the man and womanthe previous night were gone. Only my own stood there eating her fill ofoats. I went to her and patted her, and then looked round for someevidence which might tell me how long it was since the others were takenaway. But nothing could I see. The stable was cleaned, and every markthat they had been there was taken away.
The ostler entered as I made the examination.
"No horses here beside mine, ostler?"
"No sir; I had to get up in the middle of the night to saddle two whichcame about the same time as yours. I was rare and tired too. But therewas a lady in the question, and you are old enough to know that what awoman wills will have to be."
"Ay," I replied with a laugh, wondering whether his information had notbeen given at the command of the innkeeper.
I therefore pretended to take no further notice of the fellow;nevertheless I kept him within sight, and presently when I saw him go upto the landlord, as though he had some special communication to make, Idrew my own conclusions.
Nevertheless I was at my wits' end what to do. I had done all that wasin my power, but as yet I had found out nothing. The man and the womanhad crossed my path, and the man had gone without my speaking a word tohim. But the case of the woman was different. I had seen her and spokento her. I had heard the note of pain and anguish in her voice, I hadwatched her face as she spoke with the old man at Pycroft Hall, the manwho my father believed held the secret of the king's marriage. But shehad gone, leaving no trace behind. What was the meaning of it all? Iwandered over the cliffs which border the sea at Folkestone, andpresently my thoughts became more clear. If the old man possessed thesecret of the king's marriage he also possessed the secret of thewoman's life. It was true I had not been able to enter Pycroft Hall thatmorning but it might be that he would again visit it during the night.Well I would go to the old place again that night, and if the lightshone at the window, I would demand admittance and then trust to my owncourage and wit to meet whatever I might happen to see.