The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dick Chester
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Title: Dick Chester
A story of the Civil War
Author: G. I. Whitham
Release date: August 2, 2025 [eBook #76615]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Blackie and Son Limited, 1921
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DICK CHESTER ***
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: DICK ANSWERS THE ROUNDHEAD MESSENGER]
Dick Chester
A Story of the Civil War
BY
G. I. WHITHAM
_ILLUSTRATED BY PAUL HARDY_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. Dick Swims the Moat
II. Captain of Dent
III. The Enemy at Dent
IV. The Flag goes Down--and Up
V. Giles makes a Sortie
VI. Dick and Giles draw Lots
VII. Giles's Master
VIII. Dick's Disappearance
IX. Master Purvis tells a Tale
X. The Inn-keeper's Boy
XI. The Lady Dorothy Byng
XII. Dick's Cousin
XIII. Lady Dorothy's Story
XIV. The Coming of John Dent
XV. Dick Meets Death
XVI. Her Ladyship's Promise
XVII. Dick goes for Help
XVIII. In their Majesties' Lodgings
XIX. Giles's Master again
XX. Giles
XXI. The End of John Dent
XXII. Dick's Return
XXIII. Her Ladyship Finishes her Story
ILLUSTRATIONS
Dick answers the Roundhead Messenger ... _Frontis._
"He held up a bright object dangling from a silk string" [missing
from source book]
"May I come in, madam?" he asked [missing from source book]
DICK CHESTER
CHAPTER I
DICK SWIMS THE MOAT
Giles the stableman had led out the horses, the two horses--one for
the steward, Master Purvis, one for Captain Dent,--and he stood at
their heads in the castle-yard. The owner of the castle, Sir
Reginald Chester, was dead--killed in battle; Captain Dent, his
cousin, did not care to hold Dent Castle for the King, and was
leaving it to its fate. The servants had fled, hearing the enemy
were at hand. Master Purvis remained, and Giles the
stableman--Master Purvis because he was too fat to run away, and
Giles by Captain Dent's orders, and for reasons of his own. Dick
Chester, the late baronet's son, aged eleven years, stood on the
steps, very red in the face, waiting for his cousin. Out came
Captain Dent, swinging a riding-whip--a handsome, hard-looking man,
dressed in a riding-suit of buff leather, with a breastplate of steel
and a crimson sash. His beaver hat was of black, with a waving
crimson plume, and a long sword swung at his heels as he strode down
the steps. Dick sprang forward.
"Cousin--!" he cried.
"Is the flag down?" asked Captain Dent of Giles, who stepped back and
looked up at the tower.
"Yes, sir," he said, saluting.
"Cousin John," Dick said, coming up to him again, "I wish to remain
behind."
"You wish?" said the captain grimly. "Get on to that horse, and be
brisk, I advise you. You and your wishes! Go to!"
Dick hung back with an angry glance at the captain, who turned to the
stableman.
"Go and find that fat fool of a steward. Am I to wait all day for
servants and children?"
He swore as he sprang into the saddle.
"What, not up yet?" he thundered, as he saw Dick still irresolute on
the steps of the door.
"'Tis my house," the boy cried impulsively; "my house, now my
father's dead. It was to be held for the King. You've no right to
drive us away. You've no business--"
The captain made a long arm and struck at him. Dick dodged the blow,
flew down the steps, whipped across the courtyard, over the
drawbridge, and out of sight. Captain Dent spurred after him,
thundered across the bridge, and stared about him. The long white
road twisted through the fields to the highway. Through the length
and breadth of the land all was still. There was not a sign of Dick.
The captain was furious. He swore. He stormed. He searched every
ditch and hedgerow with his eye. No Dick. The fat steward came
ambling out behind him. He suggested that they should call to him.
As if, quoth his kinsman, he would come! It was rather like singing:
"Dilly-dilly ducks, come and be killed", you know, for John Dent was
a cruel man, and Dick feared him dreadfully. There was only a
thrashing in store for him did he come. Master Purvis suggested
searching.
"Not I," said the captain; "he may stay and starve, for me; or be
found by Roundheads and hanged, for me! Up with the drawbridge,
Giles! Surrender when called upon, and good-day!"
So the captain pricked his horse up to a canter, and Master Purvis,
with a wry face, for he hated riding, jogged behind him.
No sooner were they well out of sight down the highway than young
Richard Chester appeared on the scene from a little wood behind the
old gray castle. When he reached the moat he found the drawbridge
was drawn up, but at the same time perceived Giles the stableman's
dark head through the latticed panes of the gate-house window.
"What ho, there! Giles!" he shouted.
No answer.
"Giles!" again he shouted.
No movement.
Losing patience at the fourth repetition, he took up a pebble and
flung it through the glass into the room. At this Giles came forth.
"Let down the bridge, sirrah!" cried little Dick.
"Not so, my young friend," answered the stableman.
"I'm not your young friend," said Dick angrily. "Let down the
bridge!"
"Not so, my young enemy, then," Giles replied calmly. "I hold this
castle for the King. Those who run away at twelve cannot return at
one. Good-morning."
He turned away.
"Giles," Dick shouted, dancing on the moat-edge in his excitement, "I
order you! I'm your master."
"Ha, ha!" said Giles, "that is a good jest, my little one," and he
stepped back.
"I'm Sir Richard Chester, and the castle's mine!" Dick cried.
"Come and take it then, my man," said Giles, and he went back into
the gate-house, and shut the door.
Prayers, entreaties, threats, explanations passed across the moat to
unheeding ears. Dick at last, tired out, sat down and cried. Then,
stung by the thought that Giles the stableman watched and laughed, he
sprang up, pulled off his coat and shoes, plunged into the deep moat,
and swam across.
CHAPTER II
CAPTAIN OF DENT
Little Dick Chester had never known a mother's love nor a father's
care. His mother died when he was born. His father had been too
much occupied with the King's business to attend to his family. Dick
had been alternately petted and tyrannized over by servants. He was
high-spirited, but had never been taught to control himself, and his
want of training amongst gentle people had left him something of a
savage. His cousin John had beaten him for his insolence, as he
called it; and the rector of the parish had set him tasks to learn
for his carelessness; but he had never had an example to go by. He
feared his cousin, and hated learning in the person of the rector.
He was proud--proud of his good birth, of his old castle, of his new
title,--inclined to be overbearing, and, if roughly used, revengeful.
Struggling out of the moat water, he dashed open the gate-house door,
and with a torrent of angry words, dripping, gasping, choking, flung
his small person into the room.
"Upon my word!" said Giles the stableman. He was sitting at the
table writing.
"What do you mean? How do you dare?" Dick cried, tossing the drops
from his hair. "Writing! Since when did beggars learn to spell?"
He swept ink, pens, and paper off the table on to the floor.
"Since young gentlemen ceased to learn manners," said Giles, and he
frowned.
"Pooh!" said Dick rudely, stamping on the fallen papers. "Go to, for
a surly rogue and pretender. You cannot write your own name nor what
you are--beggar."
"I could write your name and what you are, nathless," said Giles,
picking up his writing from the floor.
Dick clutched at the paper to tear it away. "Fair and softly," said
Giles, holding it far above his head. "Go and fetch your coat and
shoes, your honour, and then we'll have a talk."
He let down the bridge. Dick shook his head. "When I'm across
you'll pull it up again and leave me."
For answer Giles snapped his fingers, walked out across the bridge,
picked up the coat and shoes, and came back. The bridge was pulled
up, the portcullis lowered, and Giles came in to find Dick reading
the superscription of the letter which he had taken from the floor.
"'To His Majesty the King!'" He laughed at Giles. "You write to the
King, Giles!" and he laughed again.
"Sir," said Giles, "I was never thrashed for reading another man's
letter, but I have the best will in the world to thrash you for it
now. However, I'd do it did I not know you were ignorant of
politeness, never having been taught it. Let it pass."
Dick blushed, but said angrily: "You! Who are you? The stable-help?"
Giles bowed.
"Picked up by Captain Dent, who knows where, or how, three days ago."
"True," said Giles. "On the great North Road, sitting in the ditch,
starving. 'Want a job, my man?' said the captain. 'Want some food,
my lord,' said I meekly. 'Hold my horse,' growled the captain, and
went into an inn. At the end of half an hour he came out of the inn
and asked me one or two questions. 'On what side was I?' 'On the
road-side,' I answered. 'Did I want an easy job and much money?'
'Of course I did.' Followed a good meal at The Checkers, in the
presence of two ugly Puritans, and then the captain's stirrup and a
long trot hither."
Dick listened with interest, half-forgetting his anger.
"Why did you lie in the ditch starving, Giles?" he demanded.
"Because," said Giles gravely, "had I lain in the middle of the road
I should have been, by your leave, trodden on. And now, sir," he
added, "let me tell you I am for toe King, and I happen to know it
was the King's will that this house should be held for him."
"Yes," Dick cried, "word was sent us with the express order to keep
the flag flying and hold out till relieved. Then comes news of my
father's death, and Master Purvis was frightened. Then comes my
cousin, Captain Dent, saying we must all quit, and he brings--"
"Me," said Giles, "and he bids me shut up the house closely when he
has gone, and surrender to the first Roundhead who knocks at the
gate. Captain John Dent is a traitor."
Dick started to his feet.
"Giles," he cried, "what shall we do?"
"When I saw you," said Giles, shaking his finger at him, "running
away this morning, I thought you too were a traitor. I would have
stood by the old place, and--"
"Giles! I only ran away from my cousin. I'm here. I've come back.
I hid so's to return."
"Very good," said Giles. "Then we two will hang on here, and fly our
old rag over the crop-ears of Puritans."
Dick did not think to question the loyalty and devotion of the
stableman. His plan was his plan; his intention jumped with his own.
He had only been in the place a week; he was a stranger, a beggar a
tramp from the road, a starving man out of a ditch, but there was
something so gay, so fearless about him that young Dick was attracted.
"For God and the King!" cried Giles, tossing his battered hat.
"For God and the King!" Dick echoed proudly, and they shook hands.
"We're well victualled, sir," said Giles, "and our walls will stand
anything but cannon. You must know I heard a thing or two at The
Checkers that led me to suppose the enemy may be here any moment."
Dick gave a caper of delight. Fancy the glory! A castle to hold
alone--almost alone! Sir Richard Chester, aged eleven, supported
only by a stable-helper, held his castle for the King for--oh,
weeks!--with incredible risks! Dick almost regretted the great
stores of flour, of beer, of hams and cured pork, of preserves and
wines at his command. He was almost ashamed of the thickness of his
walls, for he was in comparative safety, and might dwell at his ease
and laugh at his foes he thought.
"Giles," he said.
"Sir," said Giles, pulling his forelock.
"I am the captain of this castle."
"Not a doubt of it, sir."
Dick smiled, and walked, head in air, across the floor. Giles
watched him.
"If your honour will go and change your clothes, which are too wet to
be healthy, I will prepare dinner," he said respectfully.
A clammy, clinging feeling about the legs and back moved Dick to
acquiescence. He ran out, first being graciously pleased to remark
that he was hungry.
Giles followed him thoughtfully across the court and into the
kitchen. During dinner, which Dick insisted upon Giles sharing with
him, he explained that he had decided that Giles must be promoted
from the stables to be his lieutenant, especially as there were no
horses in the stables to mind. Giles thanked him with becoming
gratitude. Then Dick held forth upon the grand position they were
in, the solemnity of their trust, and the wicked desertion of Captain
John Dent.
"He said he had no orders to hold the place," Dick said, "and we
couldn't without him. His orders were to rejoin his regiment. He
frightened the men-servants with something or other, and they ran
away. No one cared but me."
"What did he mean to do with you, I wonder?" said Giles.
"Take me with him and put me to school, he said," and Dick shrugged
his shoulders. Defending a castle is better than school, and an
enemy not yet arrived is pleasanter in contemplation than a cousin's
harsh words and heavy whip.
"Is the flag up, Giles?" he questioned restlessly. And, seeing that
it was, he set off to visit the walls and defences, as he said.
Later in the afternoon he came out on the leads by the flagstaff, and
found Giles there looking out over the land. Giles was a tall young
man, but he stooped somewhat. His dark hair was not cropped like the
Puritans', nor long and waving like the Cavaliers'. It fell over his
brow and straggled over his shoulders untidily. He wore a long beard
and moustache, and his skin was tanned and browned by sun and wind.
He was thin, but seemed stronger and more active than he looked. His
clothes were an indescribable tangle of rags. Yet, withal, he looked
clean, and Dick remembered seeing him undergoing very prolonged
morning ablutions at the pump in the yard. His eyes were
particularly nice, large and rather sad, but very friendly and kind.
Dick sat down by him on the leads. He was tired, and a little
disappointed that the enemy had not arrived yet and given him an
opportunity for importance.
"Giles," he said, "have you always been a groom?"
"No, sir," said Giles, smiling.
"What have you been?"
"Everything, I fancy, except a thief; and then, again, nothing,
except a fool."
Dick was puzzled.
"What were you doing on the road when Cousin John picked you up?
Where had you been?"
"I had just come from France," said Giles.
Dick stared.
"Well--" he said.
"I was in France, and my master sent for me to come to England."
"I see. Your master was in England?"
"Ay. So I took ship and came over. I was ill at the time, but that
was no matter. When we landed we stayed the night at an inn--an
infamous place. The landlord would have murdered me. The servant
who was with me ran away--custom of servants, you will observe,--the
landlord seized my baggage. His wife helped me to escape in these
rags of her husband's. I took, perforce, to the road, for I was
penniless and a stranger, and your cousin found me. And," he turned
himself round with a comical movement of his hands towards his
tattered person, "behold me!" he said.
Dick laughed.
"And your master, Giles; where is he?"
"Ah, boy! where is every man's master in these days? He is riding up
and down England, fighting and flying."
"A soldier?" Dick asked.
"Be sure of it," Giles answered. "We shall meet soon, doubtless."
Then he laughed. "Faith, he wouldn't know me if we met to-day," he
said.
"Have you been in other countries besides France?" Dick questioned.
"Ay. Germany, the Low Countries, and Spain, and Russia, and Italy."
"With your master?"
"I have served many masters," said Giles shortly.
Silence fell. Then Dick suddenly sprang up.
"Look!" he cried, "look!" He pointed to a cloud of dust on the
highroad. "They come!" he said.
CHAPTER III
THE ENEMY AT DENT
The cloud of dust rolled nearer. Presently a dark mass could be seen
on the level road. Then, before Dick's wondering eyes, a body of
cavalry unrolled itself over the plain in the mellow light of the
September evening. He caught the heavy tramp, tramp of the horses,
the jingle of bridle-chains, the ring of steel on steel. Nearer they
came and nearer, blue-gray lines of armed men, with the flutter of an
orange scarf here and there, with here a tossing crest and there a
white charger to relieve the sombre hues of the Puritan horse. Giles
swept his gray eyes over the moving lines.
"Grand!" he muttered. "My faith! what won't drilling do?"
Dick moved restlessly at his side.
"Giles, Giles, what next?" he cried, as the word of command rang out
crisply, and the long lines of horsemen swayed and stopped as if
turned to stone. Then three or four officers rode to the front and
paused, looking at the old walls of Dent, and pointing to the flag
that flapped idly over Dick's young head.
"Their worships are puzzled," said Giles, watching keenly, but
appearing quite calm. "You see, they thought they were coming to
their own house, so to speak."
Dick laughed a little excited laugh.
"They thought wrong," he bubbled.
Giles looked round at him with his friendly eyes.
"They will come and ask our meaning in a moment, Captain," he said.
"They shall hear," said Dick.
Sure enough, an officer with a white flag came galloping towards the
castle.
"Come along," said Giles. "I mean, your honour had better speak from
the gate-house."
They crossed the courtyard, and went up the spiral staircase that led
to the gate-house. The messenger with the white flag had just
arrived opposite, and was reining in his horse. Giles lifted his old
hat with a bow, and Dick, being nervous, copied the action.
"In whose hands is this castle?" asked the Puritan.
"In mine," Dick shouted back, feeling his own voice very weak and
small after the thundering bass of the soldier.
"You!" said the latter, shielding his eyes from the sun with a
gauntleted hand. "What are you, prithee?"
"Sir Richard Chester," said Dick proudly.
He looked a gallant little figure as he stood up, straight as a
ramrod, his dark curls blown out like a streamer behind him, and his
hand on the hilt of his dagger. As Captain of Dent he had thought it
expedient to don his best suit of black velvet, with the lace collar
and cuffs, when he had thrown off his wet clothes before dinner. His
shoes had steel buckles, and his hat a black plume. He was in
mourning for his father, and the only colour about him was the
red-leather sheath of his dagger.
The Puritan looked up at him grimly.
"Who is in command here?" he asked.
"I am."
The Puritan laughed.
"Come you down, my manikin," he jeered, "and open the door."
Dick flushed with anger, and was about to fling a retort at the
officer, when Giles spoke to him.
"It's about time, your honour, that His Majesty's name came into the
conversation. Suppose you say this place is held for him?"
"Dent is held for the King," Dick shouted, and Giles lifted his hat
again.
"What is that?" asked the Puritan, pointing to the tattered figure at
Dick's elbow. "A scarer of crows?"
"And of bigger things than crows," Giles said smiling.
Dick could not help noticing that though Giles did not seem to lift
his voice, it rang out in the stillness, every word clear and
vibrating. By the Puritan's his own voice had seemed a mere shrill
squeal, but by Giles's the Puritan's was a roar, hoarse and unmusical.
"Well, you'll have to come out of that," he said. "The general will
come up and talk to you in person."
"A thousand thanks," Giles said, and it seemed to Dick, who was
struggling in a chaos of half-formed threats, that the stableman
dropped the words over the battlements right into the Puritan's face,
for he started and looked up sharply. Then he shook his head and
galloped off.
"If we'd a musket I'd put a bullet in him as he rides off," said Dick
savagely.
Giles turned on him with such a blaze of anger in his eyes that Dick
fell back a step or two.
"Fire on a flag of truce! Fire at a man's back!" Giles said. "Upon
my soul, Richard Chester, you want shooting yourself!" He laid a
heavy hand on Dick's collar, and lifted the other. "You hold a
castle for His Majesty! You little dastardly puppy!"
He swung Dick round, shook him till his teeth chattered, and let him
drop. Dick was choking with anger. He struck at Giles blindly and
silently. Giles moved away.
"A pretty sight for our friend the enemy," he said quietly; "the
captain cuffing the scarecrow, and the scarecrow shaking the captain.
Get up sir! Here comes their general to reason with you."
But Dick, white with passion, struggled to his feet only to rush down
the stairs, saying:
"You can answer him yourself, you beast! you beast! I'll never speak
to you again. I'll never come near you again."
The door crashed behind him, and Giles, in his rags, with a clouded
face, was left to speak to the enemy alone.
"Now, my man," began the general in a blustering tone, "this is some
little jest, I perceive. Believe me, 'tis ill fooling with me unless
you are prepared for consequences."
"'Who sups with the devil should have a long spoon'," said Giles.
"I'm prepared. See the walls. We are here. If you want to punish
us, you must get at us. To get at us you must scale our walls. If
you try that we shall shoot you. Pray, begin."
"I was told," said the Puritan imperturbably, and sawing the air with
his forefinger, "that this house would be delivered up to me to-night
by one Giles, a stableman in rags. You're in rags. Don't deny it,
sirrah! I can see them from here."
One of the officers laughed behind his gauntlet, for the wind flapped
Giles's garments mockingly.
"John Dent told you that in the Checkers Inn at Lumley. I heard
him," said Giles.
"Don't stand prating there, fool! Come down and let us in," shouted
a choleric little man riding beside the general.
"My orders are to keep you out," said Giles.
"Whose orders?" shrilled the little man.
"Whose orders?" echoed the general.
"Richard Chester's, the Captain of Dent."
Dick, crouching behind the door below, heard and wondered. Giles
might have left him out of it all when he had made him so furious,
and struck at him so hard.
Arguments, and explanations, and suggestions passed below amongst the
officers. Commands to surrender, mixed with threats of hanging,
ultimately, were wafted on the evening breeze to Giles. He replied
with a gentle shake of the head, as if too tired to make speeches,
until the general came to the end of a perfect storm of abuse and
maledictions and insults. Then Dick heard Giles make answer.
"Your manners are not nice, sir, and your words are not pleasant.
You are angry; to be sure you are. But, consider, anger in such hot
weather, in a man with your neckband, may lead to an apoplexy. Let
me recommend a cold supper, with light potations. Good-night."
Dick fled down the stairs, because he was laughing, and felt that
Giles ought not to see that. He avoided his lieutenant in gloomy
silence. He saw him go down to prepare supper, and he lurked in the
hall in the gathering twilight. Giles went to the yard-door and
looked out; he came to the hall-door and looked in.
"Supper's ready, your honour," he said drily.
Dick took no notice. Half an hour passed, and he sat in the dark,
holding out dismally against the hunger that begged him to eat.
Giles ran up the turret-stairs whistling a tune. Then Dick slowly
moved to the kitchen, saw bread and cold meat on the table, and flung
himself upon it. Crossing the hall in the dark, wondering whether to
go to bed or not, he hesitated, listening. Overhead he heard the
steady tramp of his lieutenant's feet on the leads.
"He watches"--Dick thought,--"I won't go near him," and went to his
room. He lay down to sleep in his clothes, but woke very soon and
sat up. He must get up and see what the enemy were doing. In his
stocking-feet he ran to the foot of the turret-stairs and listened.
All was still overhead.
"He's asleep," Dick thought, and crept up the steps softly. The door
at the top was open, and close to it, on the leads, with his head on
his arm, lay Giles. As Dick's head appeared in the opening, Giles
turned over and fixed him with his eyes.
"I--I--" Dick stammered clumsily.
Giles rose to his feet and saluted.
"Your honour wishes to look out?" he said, and moved aside.
Dick brushed past him and looked over the battlements. He could see
watch-fires blazing in the fields, and, in the half-lights, descried
white tents--shadowy, vague, like phantom tents. In the night
silence he could hear the sentries pacing up and down, up and down.
A horse stamped, restless at its feed. A distant voice started a
dreary psalm-tune, and other voices answered out of the shadows.
Dick gazed and gazed, and behind him Giles stood, at ease but very
silent; and Dick knew that he was looking at him, looking through
him, with the gray eyes he had all but once found so friendly and so
gay. At last Dick turned from the battlements, and, after several
false attempts, succeeded in passing the tall figure of his officer
with his head reasonably high. Giles saluted, and Dick passed, with
the knowledge that Giles, in his fluttering rags, was immeasurably
his superior, that he had fallen in the estimation of his stableman,
and was regarded with serene contempt by a beggar off the king's
highway. When he woke in the morning he was first thrilled with
excitement at the call of a bugle outside, and then recalled the
uncomfortable incident of yesterday, which had dashed the glory of
Richard Chester, Baronet and Captain of Dent.
"Never again," he said aloud, before rising, "never again will I even
think of hitting a man in the back."
"And, therefore," said a voice in the doorway behind him, "you will
never say it any more than, I think, you would ever have done it."
Dick sprang off the bed, and Giles--Giles with the old gray
eyes--saluted with respect from the doorway.
"I dare say I ought to have been shaken," Dick began simply, thinking
aloud in a moment of excitement, "but--
"But," Giles cut in, "you scarcely think I--Ragged Robin--am the man
who should have done it. My dear sir, consider"--Giles set down a
pail of water he was bringing for Dick to wash in, and spoke
earnestly.--"That kind of thing said amongst men--such men as your
father and my master,--what would it bring you? Contempt and
dislike. Believe me, those two things don't make pleasant living.
But, observe now, you spoke without thinking, and because you knew no
better. Has anyone taught you what a man's honour is?"
"No, Giles," said Dick slowly, "but I think I know--a little."
"Very good," said Giles. "You are here, and you have taken the
King's honour to keep as well as your own. His Majesty has no use
for persons who hit in the back. You understand? It's just one of
the things we don't do--that such men as my master don't do."
"There are others?" Dick questioned.
"Many others. But you've learnt one; and be thankful you've learnt
it with me, and not amongst strangers." And then he added gravely:
"I was very violent; I was very much aggrieved at you. I must ask
your honour to pardon my assault."
Dick looked at the floor.
"Of course," said Giles, "striking my superior officer in the face of
the enemy proves me mutineer and insubordinate."
Still Dick regarded the floor.
"And, moreover," said Giles, "your honour is perfectly free to think,
and say, and indeed act, now and always, as you please. What concern
can it be of Giles the stableman?"
Dick had nothing to add.
"If you disgraced yourself before others, ought it to matter to
Giles, or ought he to care?"
Dick's face puckered curiously. Giles backed hurriedly to the door.
"And thirdly and lastly, your honour's breakfast is waiting."
Dick plunged after him and caught him by the ends of his fluttering
rags.
"Giles--I say--Giles--I am sorry I struck you," he cried huskily.
And Giles turned with a laugh.
"You're a gentleman, Dick!"
The day passed chiefly in sitting on the leads talking. Dick's eyes
scarcely left the spread-out wonder of the little cavalry camp below.
Questions simply flowed from his lips, to every one of which Giles
seemed to know the answer. He knew what everything
meant--bugle-calls, horse-exercising, the mysteries of drill, the
saddling-up, the watering, and the thousand-and-one orderly,
fascinating, jingling details of a soldier's day in camp. He told,
too, stories of other camps that he had seen, of brilliant leaders,
like Prince Rupert, who "never comes but to conquer or to fall". He
led the boy through the mazes of engagements by day and by night. He
made him enjoy sieges, both inside the walls and out. He told him of
deeds of valour that set his blood dancing, and deeds of shame that
made him pause and think. In moonlight escapes and midnight
massacres, in the silence of prisons and the noises of battlefields,
in perils by land and perils by water Giles the stable-helper had had
his part under the masters he had served. Dick listened to tales of
strange lands and distant cities, of foreign ways and clothes and
customs. Giles was indeed a perfect storehouse of romance and
adventure. And his heroes were all brave and gallant, modest and of
a becoming reverence. He had no condemnation deep enough for the man
who was false to his God, his King, or his friends. Dick was
enthralled, enraptured. To be like these men whom Giles had served
and known, to think such thoughts as theirs, to say such words as
theirs, to live such a life as theirs, and die such a death--this
idea filled his soul.
"Giles," he said, "I will be a hero, the friend of kings, faithful to
death."
"God knows," said Giles; "we are in His hand. To-morrow a bullet may
kill you, covered with glory; or a week hence you may die in a ditch,
out of sight, never missed. You may be called to rot all your years
in a dungeon, or die disgraced on a gallows, for that. You cannot
tell."
"Why, then," said little Dick, "what is the value of striving and
trying?"
"Because," said Giles, "that is what we were born for."
"But these masters you served?" Dick cried.
"Their duty led them to glory," said Giles. "Had it led to shame,
they'd have followed. My dear fellow, it's the duty that counts."
CHAPTER IV
THE FLAG GOES DOWN--AND UP
On the sixth day of the siege Dick noticed that his lieutenant looked
unwontedly serious.
"What is it, Giles?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"
Giles shrugged his shoulders.
"Little Captain," he said, "why don't our friends, the enemy, go away
or attack us?"
"Go away?" Dick asked, for it had not struck him that cavalry might
be better employed than in camping before a castle into which they
could not seemingly get.
"I admit," Giles went on in his jesting way, "that the situation is
salubrious, that the plain is well watered, and that the pasture for
cattle is excellent. The view, too, of yonder hills is delightful,
for men who have seen neither the Alps nor the Pyrenees. Your
honour's cows, too, give excellent milk. Hark to the clatter of the
pails in the hands of the Puritan dairymen! But, notwithstanding, to
an unprejudiced, leisurely observer, it seems, in these tumults, our
friends there might seek something more suiting their
profession--unless, to be sure," he added, "the troopers are
recruiting their health."
Dick drummed on the stones with his shoe-heels.
"I wish they'd attack us," he said.
"I want--" said Giles. "I know what I want, little Captain--"
"What do you want?" asked Dick.
"A man--one of those men," said Giles, stretching his hands towards
the camp as if he would have picked up one of the Puritan soldiers
that they could see in the meadow below. "Now, if I want a bird for
the pot, I go out and shoot him."
Dick caught his hand.
"Let's go out and shoot a MAN!" he cried.
"We can't," Giles said with a despairing gesture. "How can we? Why,
your little body wouldn't hold the bullets they'd send us."
Dick sighed.
"Bear up," said Giles, patting his captain's shoulder. "I'll load a
musket there is in the hall, and go sit me in the room over the gate.
Who knows, some carping pig of a Puritan may come past to bid us
good-day."
He ran down the turret-stairs humming a tune, and Dick watched him
presently cross the courtyard. There were two windows in the little
room over the portcullis arch in the gate-house--one narrow slit,
with an iron bar down the middle, looked over the moat, and one
looked over the yard, and had a view of the leads and the flagstaff.
Giles had sung two Cavalier songs to himself, and had, I think,
almost forgotten why he was sitting there with a gun across his
knees, when he became aware of a man crouching behind a low wall that
flanked the castle orchard on the far side of the moat, well within
range.
He had scarcely marked him before he heard a report, then a loud cry
from the leads. Darting to the other window, he saw the flag
drooping from the broken rope. The wind caught it, held it straight
out for a moment, then down it came at a run, and sank out of sight
behind the battlements. From down the meadow he heard a cheer.
"For which we will have payment," he said grimly. He sprang up the
steps to the roof. The Puritan trooper had stepped out of cover, and
stood mocking, waving his hand to the bare pole.
"He laughs best who laughs last," shouted Giles, with his gun at his
shoulder. He fired, and the man fell as he laughed. Giles turned in
time to see the flag fluttering up to the staff-head gaily. Dick had
knotted the rope, and, looking across at a group of Puritans who were
watching, he waved his hat to them, bowed--in careful imitation of
the stableman's manner--and stepped out of sight.
"Of the right stuff," was Giles's comment, and he went down to meet
his commander. "Of course," he thought, "he will absolutely require
to tell me how he did it."
When Dick joined him, all he said was:
"Giles, what think you? They shot at our flag!"
"Very insolent, on my word!" Giles responded, and waited.
"But it's up still," said Dick, and he slipped his hand through
Giles's arm, and smiled to himself.
"I saw," said Giles quietly. "It was well done. You're a captain
for a man to serve under, Dick."
For a minute Dick was silent. Then he looked up.
"I've been thinking, Giles," he said, "that it is very foolish of me
to lord it over you here. You've served in the wars, Giles, and you
know so much more than I. It seems a great piece of absurdity. So
here, I resign. And--let me see. Yes. Have this." He unbuckled
his dagger. "It's all I've got, Giles. Let me fasten it on for you.
What's the matter? Did I prick you with the point?"
Giles's eyes were suddenly lowered--almost shut, in fact--but Dick
was sure he had seen something very curious about them. And it
seemed impossible to find Giles's middle amongst his rags, for his
hands were in Giles's hands; and--anyhow, between them, the dagger
fell to the ground.
"Dick, I'd serve under you to the end of time!" Giles said gaily. "I
wouldn't have you resign for an empire! Nay, don't talk of
resigning. Zounds! my dear little fellow, I'm more proud of serving
under you than under any one of my kings and dukes and great barons!"
Dick was convinced of the utter impossibility of giving up his post.
Giles promised to help, to advise, to suggest; but command, no!
"But I'll keep your dagger for a keepsake, sir."
"Call me Dick," the boy cried affectionately.
"I'll keep it in memory of this day, Dick, then, and some day,
perhaps, I'll give you something in exchange."
And there never was a more devoted, attached, considerate, unselfish
couple of officers anywhere in the world. And if, forgetting his
mightiness, the captain at times waited on the lieutenant, and the
lieutenant at times rated the captain, and if they both laughed
loudly at each other's jests, and played each other desperate
practical jokes, there was no one to complain. They were prepared to
stand by each other, living, in the face of every foe; and Dick, for
one, had no higher ambition than to die in the esteem and affection
of his lieutenant and stableman Giles.
CHAPTER V
GILES MAKES A SORTIE
"Giles," said Dick in the evening, as they stood on the leads by the
flagstaff; "Giles, they haven't taken the Puritan's body away," and
he pointed to the man where he lay by the moat.
"No," answered Giles. "I fancy, my Captain, that his people will
leave him alone."
"Do you think--" Dick said, staring at the Puritan's body, "are you
sure he is dead, Giles?"
"That I am quite sure he is not, Dick," said Giles.
Dick nodded.
"I thought I saw him stir."
"He may be dying, and he may be suffering acutely, and he may,
peradventure, need a drink," Giles remarked.
Dick regarded the figure of the soldier a while longer thoughtfully.
"He's an enemy, Giles."
"He was, Dick, so long as he had the will and the strength. For
myself, I feel no particular anger against yon helpless man now. But
it may be a lure."
"A lure?" Dick questioned.
"Ay. They may leave him there to lure us out. For you must know,
Dick, and they will know, Dick, of what value that man is to us."
"How?"
"He will, maybe, tell us the news. And news to a besieged castle is
worth risking a life for. But, you see, in this castle--to our
future glory and present inconvenience--there are so very few lives
to be risked."
"I'll go," said Dick, drawing himself up.
"My child, could you carry him in?"
Dick's face fell.
"I'd drag him hither by the heels."
"I think, were I wounded, I should scarcely like that kind of
carriage," said Giles with a grimace.
"You go, then," said Dick.
Giles saluted.
"At your honour's orders," said he. "And if you'll do as I tell
you," he added, when Dick expostulated with him for addressing him
so, "I'll let down the bridge and go out, Dick, and you must stand by
to work it up again at need."
He looked down at Dick very earnestly.
"What you have to do, Dick, is the simplest thing in the world. If
you see me fall, if you see the enemy close with me--more than, say,
three at a time.--up with the bridge!"
"And leave you!" Dick gasped.
"Of course. It isn't me you're responsible for; it's Dent Castle.
If I go out to bring in my man, there must be no danger to Dent.
Understood, Dick?"
"Yes."
"And you'll do it?"
"Yes."
They shook hands, and going down to the court Giles lifted the
portcullis, and stood in the arch, looking out. There was nothing to
be seen but the body of the Puritan by the low wall, and nothing at
all to be heard. Giles shaded his eyes with his hand, and searched
the first meadow. Not a soul. Then he examined the camp in the
meadow beyond.
"I can get to my man and back before anyone there could get hither,"
he said.
What he could not see was the little wood in the rear of the castle,
and four troopers and an officer lurking in the orchard. He let down
the bridge.
"Now, Dick, stand here. And remember, if I fall, or am attacked, up
with it!"
Dick went and laid his small hand on the crank. Giles walked over
the bridge, along the side of the moat to the wall of the orchard.
He knelt down by the man's side, and felt for the heart, found it
beat still, though feebly, and rose to his feet. As he did so he was
almost blinded by the flash of a musket, and the ball carried away
his old battered hat. Dick, at his post, turned very white, and knew
suddenly, as he saw him face to face with death, how much he had come
to love ragged Giles.
The trooper who had fired dropped his musket, drew his sword, came
running through the orchard shouting, caught his foot in the twisted
root of a plum-tree, and fell sprawling; and his sword, flying up out
of his hand, whizzed almost to Giles's feet. He picked it up, put it
between his teeth, picked up his man, flung him on his back, and set
off at a run for the bridge. Two bullets flew past him, and one
lodged in his burden, as he knew by the sound and a sudden twist of
the hands he held in his own. Three men appeared by the wall. Two
fired again, and the third, sword in hand, leapt the low wall after
Giles. Dick, watching, saw Giles start forward and stumble.
"He's hit!" Dick thought, and his hands, clinging to the cranks of
the drawbridge, trembled, and his legs shook under him.
And now he saw a party of horsemen separate from the camp below, and
come galloping over the fields. But Giles was still running forward.
Oh, how short a way it had seemed to the orchard-wall a moment ago,
and what miles and miles it now seemed to come back!
"He's not down! They've not closed with him!" Dick told himself. "I
needn't draw it up yet."
Giles's feet were on the bridge-end as the line of horsemen came into
range, drew up, and fired Dick saw the flash, then the blue line of
smoke. He heard the report echo and re-echo, and the bullets come
hopping on to the bridge, into the water, and one or two whistled
softly past him and dropped ping-ping on the stones of the court.
Dick shut his eyes.
"Up with it!" a voice shouted in his ear, and something shot past him
and fell at his side.
Flinging all the strength of his little body into the effort, Dick
felt the cranks yield. Up went the bridge, and the foremost Puritan,
springing and missing his foothold, went down into the water with a
curse and a crash. A horseman, whipping and spurring for the bridge,
but failing to wrench his charger's head round, followed him with a
splash that sent the moat-water as high as the roof of the
gate-house, and a noise that deafened Dick as he stood tugging at the
portcullis pulleys for dear life. Giles limped to his aid, and
whilst bullets rained past them, and muskets cracked, and soldiers
shouted, and officers yelled orders, the great iron grating came down
with a clash, and the two besieged comrades lifted a cheer.
"God save the King!" Giles shouted in mocking triumph, and then Dick
leapt into his arms.
"Giles, Giles, I love you! But oh, Giles, I'm very sick!"
And the two heroes retired to the hall with their Puritan, to ransack
their wounds, as Giles said, and to drink the King's health and the
Captain of Dent's.
CHAPTER VI
DICK AND GILES DRAW LOTS
Giles bound up the Puritan's wounds first, and gave him some wine,
laying him on a settle by the kitchen fire. He revived a little, but
Giles saw very soon that he was dying. Dick had conceived the idea
that Giles would torture the trooper to gain information. Master
Purvis had told him how they treated Guy Fawkes, and what a part the
boot and the thumb-screw had played in similar cases. But Giles, on
being questioned, said his taste did not run to displays of that
kind, and Dick felt relieved, he scarcely knew why.
Giles was wounded in the leg, but only slightly, the ball having
passed through the flesh without injuring the bone. He bound it up,
and then they drank to the King. The Puritan's face twisted in a
grim smile.
"I'm dying," he said slowly. "To-day me, to-morrow thee."
"Scarcely so soon, I trust," Giles said, fixing a keen eye on the
speaker.
"Within the week," the man said.
Giles gave him more wine.
"We are courageous," he said, smiling, "for your people can't get
into Dent. In a day, or two days, there will come our own fellows.
Up will be crumpled your psalm-singing friends yonder. Within a week
we shall have the King here at Dent."
The Puritan, strengthened by the wine, tried to lift himself to his
feet, but fell back again. He had only power to shake his fist at
Giles.
"Your King," he said, "is six miles off, at Lumley. Can he hear when
you call him? He'll hear the guns that shall shatter these doomed
walls, I tell you."
He stopped. Again Giles gave him wine, but he refused it.
"Your people have no guns to shatter our walls with," Giles said
sternly, bending over him, and, it seemed to Dick, anxiously waiting
for something the trooper might add.
"Within a week," said the man almost inaudibly. "To-day me,
to-morrow thee."
Giles paused a moment, and then asked Dick to go up on the leads and
see what the enemy were doing.
"Don't come back. I'll be with you in a few moments," he said.
At the end of a quarter of an hour he came up to him, and told him
that the Puritan soldier was dead.
"We must bury him in the court, Dick, where there are no flags, and
the grass grows."
So they went down and dug him a grave. Giles bore out the Puritan
wrapped in a cloak, laid him in the ground, and they shovelled in the
earth over him silently. Then Giles asked for a prayer-book, which
Dick, wondering, found him; and Giles, standing at the foot of the
new grave, bareheaded, in his fluttering rags, read the prayers from
the burial service.
"Perhaps he would have preferred one of his own people to do it, but
I've done my best, Dick," said he at the end; "and I dare say he did
his."
When they were sitting on the leads in the late evening-light, Dick
observed that Giles was silent, preoccupied, absent, not at all
himself.
"Giles," he said, and his companion started.
"I'm thinking, Dickie," he said. "Will you favour me with your views
on the state of the case at this juncture?"
Giles turned over and lay full-length on the leads, his chin in his
hands, and his eyes fixed on the boy.
Dick did not reply to the question, not quite understanding it, but
he said: "Methinks, Giles, that we took a great deal of trouble this
morning for naught."
"'Naught' being our friend under the earth there," Giles suggested,
waving his hand towards the court.
"He was no good to us," Dick said.
"Was he not?" Giles said, smiling. "Within a week, he said, we
should be dead. He called our walls doomed. He prophesied that His
Majesty would hear the guns that shattered Dent. He was good enough
to inform us, if you will bend your mind to consider his words,
Captain,--he was good enough to inform us that his people had sent
for artillery; and he was good enough to add, also, that His Majesty
was six miles off, at Lumley. Why, Dick, if we'd learnt all that
from a letter, how grateful we'd have been to the man who brought it
to us. Prithee, don't scorn it because I acted as bearer."
Dick looked at Giles solemnly. "What a wonderful man you are,
Giles!" he said simply.
"Thanks," said Giles, bowing his head. "The thing is, how shall we
act in the matter? We want to know if Dent is worth holding--if His
Majesty wants it. How shall we learn?"
Dick shook his head blankly. "We cannot," he said.
"Oh, tush, my dear fellow!" said Giles scornfully. "Let us think."
And he thought, with his eyes fixed on the moon rising over Dick's
head. Dick thought too, and was the first to come to a solution of
the riddle.
"Giles, you were writing a letter to the King--once--in the
gate-house--you remember. Someone must carry it to the King quickly."
"First fix on the someone," advised Giles.
"There's only me and you," Dick said breathlessly.
"We'll draw lots," Giles said; "for the reasons for each of us to go
and stay are just equal. You are the Captain of Dent, and should
stay by the castle. You are the least observable of us, and
therefore should go. I might do it swifter, so should go; but there
are other reasons why I should stay."
He did not state the reasons, the chief of which was that, if help
did not come before the Puritan artillery, the one remaining in Dent
would be taken and shot. Dick's youth might have been his safeguard;
but still, Giles would rather he were safe out of the way.
A little tuft of grass was growing in a cranny of the stone coping,
and Giles plucked two blades.
"These two blades are us, Dick," he said; "the little one's you, and
the big one's me."
He turned and placed them between his finger and thumb, concealing
the ends.
"Now, draw," he said, holding his hand out to Dick.
Dick suddenly felt a wild thrill of excitement, and a tightening of
the throat as if he would choke. On the one side he saw himself
alone in the great world without the walls, seeking his sovereign,
every tree and hedge hiding an enemy. On the other, he saw himself
alone in the great empty castle of Dent, fearing at every sunrise the
sight of advancing artillery, and dreading to hear the thunder of
guns in the darkness of every night.
"Draw, draw," said Giles, smiling down at him. "Now!"
Dick drew one of the narrow green blades, biting his lip hard as he
did so.
Giles opened his hand and looked at the one he still held. "The long
one stays," he said. "Dick, it is you."
They had risen for this solemn business, but now they sat down side
by side. Giles was relieved, and Dick felt, now that the choice was
made for him, that he would have been disappointed had it turned out
otherwise.
"No time to lose," said Giles cheerily.
And Dick said excitedly: "Tell me what I shall do. Shall I go
to-night? Giles, they'll see us let down the bridge. If they take
me, what must I do with the letter?"
"We'll have no letter, Dick," said Giles, stemming the questions.
"'Tisn't safe; 'tisn't needed. Now, hearken!"
Giles explained what the messenger must do. He must go out that
night, but not till late, for the moon shone on the wrong side for
them yet. When the back of Dent was in shadow, Dick must climb out
by the little window in the buttery--Giles would take out the bars.
Dick must then swim the moat, as Giles knew he was quite equal to
doing in moments of excitement. (Dick laughed guiltily at that.) He
must then put on a dry suit, for fear the damp and the night air
together crippled him with an ague before he reached Lumley. Before
he swam across the moat he was to hurl a bundle of clothes to the
other side ready.
"Do you know the way to Lumley?" Giles asked.
"By the fields," said Dick. "Once I went thither with Master Purvis
to a coursing-match."
"How long will it take you to get there?"
"About two hours. 'Tis a shorter way by the fields, but the first
bit's uphill."
"Well, avoid roads and people. If a Puritan accosts you, you're a
poor boy driven from home by the enemy. So you are. Your father's
killed, and your mother's dead; you have no brothers. You haven't,
have you?"
"No," said Dick. "I'd a step-brother, but he died years ago in
France."
"Oh, well, you needn't drag him into a talk with a Puritan! If you
meet any of our people you're Richard Chester of Dent, with news for
His Majesty or any general commanding at Lumley. And, mind this,
Dick, don't tell anything else to anyone till you've seen the chief.
Don't be led into the tale of our siege, because no one will believe
you. Be sure of that."
"Will the King or the general believe me?" Dick asked.
"The Puritan said the King was at Lumley," said Giles. Then, as if
suddenly struck with some brilliant idea: "My master will be at
Lumley if the King's there!" Giles seemed to be hunting for
something hidden in his tatters, and presently produced the half of a
golden coin, with a hole in it, attached to a silken cord. "See; if
you think they are not believing your story, hold up this boldly, and
say: 'Does anyone here know this?' The one who has the other half is
my master, and if he believes you all will go well."
"Couldn't I ask for him first, Giles?" said Dick. "What is his name?"
"No," said Giles. "If you're stopped by a sentry, say your name, and
ask for the general or His Majesty. If you can get on alone, do, and
reap the glory, Captain. But if our friends doubt the tale, as they
may--boys and stablemen not holding castles alone as a common thing,
and Captain Dent having, no doubt, told them something very far from
the truth,--up with your token, and see what it brings you."
Dick promised to obey these directions. It was further arranged that
he should wear an old suit of homespun, and a hat without a plume,
and a collar without lace, and strong shoes without buckles. As they
put these clothes together in a bundle, Dick said:
"Giles, I've been thinking. There are clothes in the house--some of
my father's,--could you not put some on? The winds get cold, Giles
dear. You'll be chilled."
Giles smiled with more kindness than usual, as he thanked the boy
gently. "But I have decided," he said, "to go through with this
adventure as I am." He surveyed his figure in a mirror. "Upon my
soul, Dick, the flutter of my clothes when a draught fans them is
decidedly quaint. It's like living with congenial companions; they
sympathize with every mood, my dear. If I sigh, they sigh with me;
if I laugh, the merry wags shake all over like aspens; if I am in a
hurry, they spread out like wings to assist me. Never was man more
at one with his garments, or his clothes more a part of himself."
"But, Giles, if your master comes with me, what will he think of you?"
Giles laughed softly. "Faith, Dick, it will greatly amuse him. And
after, why it will make a rare jest for--for the other servants of my
master."
When the moon was silvering the old gray gate-house and the flags of
the courtyard of Dent, Dick was standing in the dark, with nothing
on, on the brink of the moat at the back. He flung his bundle over,
and heard it fall with a thud on the far bank. Then he ran back,
shivering, and embraced Giles through the buttery window. There was
nothing more to say of advice or caution. Giles had only to kiss him
and wish him God-speed. "Drop a pebble in the moat when you're ready
to start, Dick," he whispered.
The next minute Dick plunged in and disappeared in the darkness. On
the farther side he dried himself down, according to Giles's
direction, with a towel from the bundle, which he afterwards hid
under a boulder, lest the Puritans should discover it and guess one
of their birds had flown out of Dent. Then he dressed, dropped a
pebble in the moat, and then, with a beating heart, very cold and
very courageous, set off to find the field-path to Lumley.
CHAPTER VII
GILES'S MASTER
Giles, left behind, pictured many adventures that might have befallen
Dick in his two hours' walk in the dark, but he did not
foresee--perhaps because he did not know the field-path to
Lumley--what really befel. Clouds coming up about two o'clock hid
the moon. In the darkness Dick missed the bridge that crossed the
beck about a mile from the castle, and, having wandered some distance
out of his way, found himself suddenly overshoes in a bog. He
floundered out again and left a shoe behind--floundered in again to
seek it--groped about, feeling the oozing mud over and round, but
failed to discover it--finally, after much squelching and sucking of
the mud, determined to leave it altogether. To walk in one shoe is
not easy, to hop is most fatiguing. Dick hurled the left shoe into
the swamp to keep the right one company, and set off to seek higher
ground, his ardour undamped--that is, in comparison with his person.
About an hour later it began to rain, first in light showers, then
faster. Dick, coming into violent collision with a stone wall, crept
under the lee of it to wait till the rain ceased, for in the darkness
he was utterly lost. When the dawn began to grow gray he rose and
looked about him. Just before him was a roofless barn, and beyond
that the beck that he ought to have crossed higher up. Reflecting
that he could not possibly be any wetter, Dick took off his stockings
and waded in. The September morning was raw, and the water was cold.
It was deep, too, and there were slippery stones at the bottom. Just
as he sprang for the bank his foot slipped, and he fell back with a
splash. Away floated his stockings unheeded, and when he emerged,
wet, muddy, drabbled, bare-legged, scratched and bruised, he looked,
in fact, an excellent companion for Giles in his rags.
The King had his quarters in the manor-house at Lumley, and the Earl
of Newcastle was in command of his army. Prince Rupert was there
too, and very anxious to occupy the earl's place.
A number of gentlemen were sitting at breakfast in their quarters--a
small farm close to the manor--when a tall cavalry-officer came
swaggering in, and, saluting, said with a laugh:
"More news of Dent, so please you. Just being reported to my Lord of
Newcastle, but I have the messenger here."
"Bring him in," said the gentleman at the head of the table.
The officer retired, and came back in a moment with a boy,
bare-legged, and dirty, and torn.
"Ho!" said the gentleman. "Who are you, my hedge-sparrow?"
"Sir Richard Chester of Dent," answered Dick, looking round the room,
and then long and earnestly at his questioner. He thought he had
never seen anyone so beautiful, or so handsomely dressed. The
gentleman wore a coat of tawny velvet with open sleeves, showing a
white cambric shirt with very fine lace at the wrists. Over this he
had a sleeveless buff leather coat. Round his throat was a gorgelet
of steel, over which fell a lace collar, and a richly-embroidered
baldric held his sword in a gold-tipped scabbard. He had gold spurs
fastened to his long wrinkled riding-boots. Such men and such
clothes had never been to Dent in Dick's lifetime. He might well
regard them with awe.
"Sir Richard Chester!" said the gentleman, flicking a crumb from his
sleeve with a lace handkerchief, and returning Dick's stare with
good-humoured carelessness. "There seem to be a good many baronets
in that family, gentlemen," and he smiled round the table. His
friends laughed softly.
"Three within a month!" said one. "Four, for 'tis barely a month
since the first Sir Reginald died."
"Four," said another gentleman. "Sir Reginald the First, Sir
Reginald the Second, Sir John, and--"
"Sir Richard," said the first gentleman, and he pointed at Dick with
a beautiful white hand covered with jewels.
"I don't understand," said Dick, coming nearer, eagerly.
"Farther off," said the gentleman, pushing back his chair, but still
good-humouredly, "if you will be so good! Thank you. I perceive you
have been in a quagmire."
Dick had begun to feel hot and uncomfortable. The gentlemen seemed
so indifferent to any news he might have, and they spoke so slowly,
and moved so negligently, that his preconceived ideas of his own
importance, and of a commanding officer's desire for information,
deserted him. His nervousness made him aggressive. That indefinable
something, that was not insolence, and yet was supreme indifference
to his feelings, vexed him bitterly, as Giles the stableman's manners
had vexed him when, the first day of the siege, he refused to let
down the bridge. He clenched his hands, and, scowling, spoke up
quickly.
"I am Sir Richard Chester, and I have held Dent Castle for nearly a
week, I may tell you. And I am come now to ask the King's
will--whether we hold it longer or whether we give it up, or how we
shall act."
"'Tis gracious of your honour to consult him," said the other gently.
"You will observe, sir, that the young gentleman is so used to
negotiating with sovereigns as a brother-potentate that he drops of
nature into the regal 'we'," said another gentleman in an
elaborately-explaining tone from the far end of the table.
Dick turned scowling to him, tossed back his clinging curls, and
simply glared at him. The young gentleman covered his eyes, and
murmured: "I am scorched," almost inaudibly.
Dick was trembling with rage, and would have flown violently at him,
but for the restraining hand of the officer behind him.
"Osborne, where did you come across this young baronet?" enquired the
first speaker.
"In the ante-room of the Lord Newcastle's chamber, sir."
"You lie! 'Twas the pig-sty!" cried Dick.
The gentlemen laughed all at once, and the one at the head of the
table the loudest, at this.
"Nathless the earl's ante-chamber, my child," continued the officer.
"He had been sent on from a picquet beyond the river, having given
the name of Sir Richard Chester, and demanding the King or the
general commanding."
"I am Sir Richard Chester," said Dick again.
"But," said the gentleman, "you were drowned, you know, a week since,
in the Lum."
"I was not," said Dick stoutly.
"Yes, truly. Gregory Balston yonder attended your funeral. Did you
not, Gregory?"
"Upon my word I did, sir," said a young gentleman, setting down a
glass and nodding gravely "I was sharing tents with Dent--Captain
Dent--Captain Sir John Dent."
"One of the baronets of the family," murmured another.
"Precisely," said Balston, "having succeeded the interesting young
gentleman who fell into the Lum. Captain Dent was on duty, so he
sent his secretary, one Master Purvis, to see the body, and he asked
me, as a friend, to attend upon his part."
"Thank you," said the gentleman in tawny. "We quite well remember,
for Sir John claimed the barony the next evening, and promised to
raise a troop for the King."
Dick looked on helplessly, and could only say: "I never fell in the
Lum."
"You fell into the quagmire, you know," said the gentleman.
"And you fell into the pig-sty, you know," said the officer.
"Has Newcastle seen him?" asked the gentleman.
"No, sir. He was engaged."
Just then another officer entered to say his lordship had asked for
the messenger from Dent.
"Come," said the gentleman, "we've not had a breath of Dent news yet,
sir. Stay, sir, a moment. Now, my boy, say what you want to say."
But Dick had gathered by now that this was not the general
commanding, and, remembering Giles's advice to give his news to no
one else--though rather late in the day,--he was dumb.
"Speak," said the gentleman.
"I will not," Dick retorted. "You think I tell lies; and you tell
them about my being dead--that's a lie; and John Dent's not a
baronet--that's another!"
The other stood up. "Dead or alive, your manners are quite
unbearable. Take him away, sirs, and I'll follow."
Osborne handed him over to the new-comer, and Dick was marched off
down a passage to the Earl of Newcastle's quarters, the gentleman in
tawny clanking behind him.
Lord Newcastle was writing at a table as they entered his room, and
he rose and bowed.
"If you will have the goodness to bear with my company, my lord,"
said the gentleman, "I should be glad to hear news of Dent."
The earl handed him a chair. "Now, boy," he said, turning to Dick
with some sternness, "what news of Dent?"
"I am Sir Richard Chester," Dick began.
The earl smiled slightly, and the other gentleman said: "If we might
suggest passing over styles and titles, and keeping strictly to
business, my lord--?"
"Go on," said the earl quietly. "Have you come from Dent?"
"Yes," said Dick sullenly.
"Who is commanding there?"
"I am," said Dick.
The earl frowned. "Tell the truth, sir," he said.
"I am," Dick persisted. "We have held it for a week. Yesterday we
learned artillery was coming, and Giles wished--"
"Who is Giles?" enquired the earl.
"Giles is--is--the stableman." Dick flushed and stammered.
The two gentlemen laughed.
"Here is a story of a cock and a bull," the one in tawny said.
"Truly--behold the cock--of a fine hackle!"
Dick bit his lip. He was very tired. He thought all these people
very unreasonable; he was being disbelieved and ill-treated. He was
cold and hungry, and he hated this gentleman. Therefore, in spite of
his manhood, he wanted to cry.
"Proceed," said the earl patiently. "What did Giles wish?"
"Giles wished to know," Dick faltered, "if the King--"
"Would give him a peerage," began the bantering gentleman.
The earl suddenly turned, as his servant announced someone to him in
a low voice. "Oh, just remove this boy to your room, Dennison!" he
said hastily. "See he breakfasts. I shall want him again."
"Might I suggest a bath also," murmured the gentleman.
Taking Dick by the hand, the servant led him off to a small cupboard,
which was his room at the farm. Here Dick found courage, after
breakfasting, to ask if he might have a wash; and, in washing, came
across the silk cord attached to Giles's golden token.
"I am a little fool! I quite forgot it. Who knows but one of these
gentlemen might have been Giles's master. He would have befriended
me."
"Eh?" said the man in whose care he was. "What is that about?"
"'Tis Giles's token," Dick answered vaguely. "I'll try it when they
send for me again."
Just then the earl's voice was heard calling loudly on Dennison, who
came running back in a moment for Dick.
When they came into the room, Dick found it crowded with people. The
Earl of Newcastle was speaking to a gentleman in black velvet, who
was leaning on a gold-headed cane. Dick caught something about Dent.
"The first news was from Captain Dent, to say he had quitted the
castle before the orders reached it. The second was from his
secretary, to say his cousin, young Sir Richard Chester, had been
drowned whilst fleeing from the enemy, and, as the next baronet, he
promised to raise a troop."
"Yes, yes," said the gentleman.
"Then," continued the earl, "there came a man from Dent village,
saying the Chesters' flag was floating again. Then he came and
reported the castle besieged by the enemy, the flag still up, and a
garrison making sorties and capturing the enemy by the dozen. He
said Sir Reginald Chester was in command."
"He being dead," put in Dick's first questioner. "I believe they are
all dead in that family; but, being loyal, have come back to help us.
This pygmy says he is Sir Richard."
Every eye was turned on Dick.
"Ay, sir; to-day comes this boy," said my Lord Newcastle, "saying the
garrison is composed of himself and a stableman, and that he has come
through the enemy's lines for assistance."
"And through a variety of other things also, as we perceive," said
Dick's tormentor, pointing to his mud-stained clothes.
The gentleman in black tapped Dick on the shoulder with his cane,
saying:
"What is your name, friend?"
"Dick Chester," answered the boy, and he held up a bright object
dangling from a silk string.
"Ha! and what have we there?" asked the gentleman with a slight smile.
"It's Giles's. He gave it to me, and said the man who had the other
half was his master, and would believe all I said."
One of them took the token, and Dick watched anxiously as it passed
from hand to hand. His heart sank as one after another handed it on
without owning to it. At last it came to the gentleman whom he
hated, who shook his head mockingly, and was about to toss it back to
Dick when the gentleman in black took it from him.
"By your leave, Nephew," he said.
Seating himself in the earl's chair, he laid the token on his knee,
and, having felt in his pockets, presently laid another bright half
beside it. They fitted. He looked up with a whimsical smile.
"Evidently," he said, "I am the man."
Dick came forward. "You are Giles's master, then," he said.
"And this belonged to Giles the stableman?"
Dick nodded. "Yes, and my lieutenant at Dent. He should have been
captain, but refused it."
"In favour of whom?"
"Me," said Dick, gaining confidence. "I claimed it because it was my
castle, but I wanted him to have it very soon, for he was a better
man than I."
"A better man never stepped," said the other, repressing a laugh.
"But if he had a better, 'twould be you. Now, come--Dick, is
it?--come, Dick, then, let us have the news of Dent from beginning to
end."
He drew the boy to his side, and, whilst the rest of the company
stood wondering by, Dick gave the history of the siege, from the
moment when he swam the moat to get in, to the moment when he swam
the moat to get out. He told all about Giles, who had been found
starving by the road-side, of his wonderful wisdom, and of the
treachery of John Dent.
"Is it to be believed?" queried the Earl of Newcastle.
"Every word, my lord," said the gentleman in black; "I vouch for
every word that comes from Giles the stableman." His lips twitched
with amusement, and, beckoning the earl to come nearer, he whispered
in his ear. The earl started and looked round at Dick.
"There isn't a doubt of it," said the gentleman in black, rising.
"The Chesters were all madmen," said the earl.
"A very good kind of madness, however," said the other, patting
Dick's shoulder. "Now, my lord, will you be so good as to relieve
Dent, sending a special messenger from us to the officer commanding,
to come as he is, and on peril of our displeasure to alter a rag of
his apparel."
"Ah, he said it would make you laugh!" Dick observed.
The gentleman laughed heartily. "So it does," he said gaily. "So he
is Giles, is he? A stable-man, eh?"
"Yes, sir," said Dick,
"So be it, then," said Giles's master. "And now, will you stay with
my Lord Newcastle here till Giles comes?"
"May I not ride with the troops to bring him in?" Dick requested.
He did not understand the ways of these gentlemen, and was very much
afraid of being left alone with any one of them.
"By no means," said the gentleman in tawny, shaking his head. "If we
find no Giles at Dent, if we find you've been romancing, the
Provost-Marshal will want you, youngster. The whipping-post"--he
rolled his eyes,--"the stocks, then chased out of the camp."
"Nephew," said the gentleman in black, "I beg you will desist. Sir
Richard Chester stands in no danger of such things."
Lord Newcastle came up to Dick with a friendly smile.
"Now, sir, will you go with me?"
Dick hung back, and the gentleman in tawny laughed.
"He mislikes you, my lord. Hey! he shall choose amongst us. Dick,
my gallant, wilt come with me?"
"Not I, sir," said Dick promptly, stepping to the side of Giles's
master. "I will go with you," he said, taking his hand.
Half the people in the room sprang forward as if to drag him back,
but the gentleman seemed more pleased than otherwise. He waved back
the one in tawny.
"Eh, Nephew?" he said; "you cannot say his choice is a bad one. Do
not follow me, I thank you."
And holding Dick's hand, he walked slowly out of the room.
CHAPTER VIII
DICK'S DISAPPEARANCE
As Dick and his new friend crossed the meadow that divided the farm
from Lumley Manor, everyone they met saluted. The people looked
after Dick with marked wonder that did not escape him, tired and
confused as he felt. He thought Giles's master must be some great
lord or other, and that these men wondered at his condescension
towards himself.
"They don't know who I am," he thought, "nor what Giles and I have
done."
And rather proud of the great man's interest in him, he pressed
closer to his side and addressed him with a confidence which
something in his companion's bearing kept from being too free. They
were the beat friends in the world by the time they had sat together
half an hour in the manor-house parlour. There was not a single
thing left untold about Giles or himself, Dick considered. There
were a great many questions to be asked of Giles's master, only
unfortunately Dick was so sleepy that no words could come to his
mind. He was annoyed to find that while the gentleman spoke to him
his head would nod, and that, unless he rubbed his eyes very hard and
very frequently, the room and the gentleman kept fading out of sight.
He tried to sit straight on the cushioned window-seat, but found
himself slipping down in a most undignified manner over and over
again.
"I should think a person might keep awake better," he said in an
anxiously polite tone, "had he his head on--a--a--level with--with--"
"With the said person's feet," suggested the gentleman. "Decidedly."
Before Dick could make any effort to achieve the desired position he
found himself lying full-length on the cushions, in the most restful
attitude imaginable, with a cloak thrown over him.
"I fancy," the gentleman observed gravely, "that a person could keep
awake better did he first sleep."
Dick closed his eyes.
"Will you tell me when Giles comes, sir?" he said. "I must be ready
to run out and meet him. Dear Giles!"
"It seems to me you love Giles from the bottom of your heart, and
don't give the least trifle to any other creature."
Dick curled himself into more luxurious comfort.
"Is no one else," he observed.
"No father or mother, I am aware," said the gentleman thoughtfully;
"but have you not a brother?"
"No," said Dick sleepily; "he's dead."
"Oh, then Giles has it all, has he? None left over for--the King,
for instance?" and the gentleman twisted his moustache and regarded
him with an amused expression.
"The King? No," said Dick solemnly. "One would not love a king, you
know. 'Tis not possible. One would fear the King--"
"I see," said the gentleman, inclining his head.
"But I think I love you, sir," Dick said shyly. "Giles does--and
Giles--"
His eyes closed just as he felt the gentleman's hand on his hair.
"Then there's nothing to complain of, Dick," he heard him saying, and
then was asleep in a second.
Dick slept peacefully hour after hour. It was quite dark in the
manor-house parlour when he awoke. He lay a minute trying to
remember where he was and what had happened. Then he heard the
sentries pacing up and down outside the closed door, and looking
round the room, found it empty. He threw off the cloak and got up.
His eyes caught the glitter of something brilliant on a table in a
dark corner. Boy-like, he must needs go to see what it was. It was
a cluster of diamonds in the hat-band of Giles's master. The hat lay
on the table, with a pair of perfumed gloves, the gold-headed cane,
and a little Latin book. Dick stood, winking back at the winking
diamonds, feeling very happy, listening to the bugle-calls without,
to the steady tramp of the sentry, to the hum of conversation in the
next room, where he now and then recognized the voice of Giles's
master. He was in the midst of friends, quite safe to all
appearance, so hemmed in with the safeties that surround the near
presence of a king that had he been conscious of an enemy he would
have felt no fear, and no one need have the least fear on his account
it seemed.
About five minutes after he got up there was a great noise of
cheering in the camp, and not ten minutes had gone by before the door
flew open, and Giles entered in his rags, followed by his master and
Dick's tormentor, and the Earl of Newcastle.
They looked round the room. The boy was gone.
"Dick!" Giles cried gaily; and then again louder: "Dick!"
But there was no answer.
Giles looked under the table. The gentleman in tawny laughed.
"Were our young friend at all of a shy or retiring disposition," he
said, "one would fancy he had been overcome with confusion at your
graciousness, Uncle."
"He fell asleep on the window-seat yonder," said Giles's master.
The gentleman went up and patted the window-seat, and shook his head.
"All solid," he said. "Can't have gone through."
"Have the goodness to question the sentry, and the guard in the
hall," said Giles's master to a gentleman behind in the passage.
The earl followed him, and returned in a few moments to say the
sentry and guard all assured them that no one had passed for any
purpose. The sentry had looked in twenty minutes before, according
to his orders, and the young gentleman was sleeping quietly on the
window-sill. There had never been any sound from the room.
Giles took a turn through the chamber whilst the rest stood silently
contemplating each other. Then he began a rapid search of the walls,
till he came to that part which was behind Dick as he stood by the
table.
In the panelled oak Giles's finger, warily moving, found an
inequality; a spring gave way under pressure, and a door in the wall
flew back.
"Hum!" said the one in tawny, and his face changed from gay
indifference to interest.
"'Sdeath!" Giles muttered, and passed through into a dark narrow
passage, stone-flagged, that led to a door into the garden, concealed
outside by a great hedge of yew. The hedge was hollow, having a
passage up the middle. Giles and the gentleman went up, and came out
at the end into a wood, and then into a meadow, where some of the raw
recruits were returning from drill. The gentleman went down to the
officer in charge, and questioned him closely. He was a mild-eyed
countryman. He had seen no one come out of the wood, but they had
only been there ten minutes. Surely there was a misapprehension; no
path led from that side of the manor; there was no door on that side.
The gentleman bade him go back to the drilling of chaw-bacons.
Giles had waited impatiently while he made his enquiries. They came
back together, but the other hurried off to his quarters immediately,
being wearied of looking for needles in bottles of hay, as he put it,
waving his hand to the world, as it were, and adding: "Shall one
child be found that is lost in England at this day?"
"This child shall be found," said Giles's master quietly. "My Lord
Newcastle, you will send out to search everywhere for him." Then he
laid his hand on Giles's shoulder. "Of what are you thinking?" he
asked.
"Of John Dent," said Giles grimly.
"John Dent was arrested four hours ago, sir, said the earl.
"And is he still in ward?" Giles's master demanded.
"Enquiries shall be made," and the earl bowed and retired.
In ten minutes he was back. "John Dent is gone," he said briefly.
Giles stood for a moment thoughtfully, with bent head.
"If you will be so good, my lord," said Giles's master, "as to make
out a commission for my friend here, as I directed, and to draw on
all loyal persons, in the King's name, for assistance to the utmost,
with power to take troops at his pleasure, and a pass to go
whithersoever he wills, I shall be glad."
Giles looked up. "I thank you--" he began, and the earl, bowing
hastily, left master and servant alone.
CHAPTER IX
MASTER PURVIS TELLS A TALE
And what had become of little Dick Chester?
He was standing by the table, as I have said, when suddenly, without
the sound of an opening door, or the fall of a footstep behind him, a
great cloak was thrown over his head, and wound tightly round his
body; he was lifted off his feet silently, and borne off, he knew not
by whom or whither. It was useless to struggle or cry out, for he
was almost smothered, and his captor's arms were as strong as his
step was swift and silent. Yet Dick writhed and trembled in despair
for he knew not how long, till he heard a horse stamping close by.
Then he felt himself lifted up. Another pair of arms, steel-clad and
unyielding, received him. He was on the back of a horse. Then there
was the sound of a man dropping into the saddle close to him.
Bridles jingled, saddles creaked, scabbards tapped spurred heels, but
no one spoke. Then eight hoofs beat the earth together, and Dick
found, by the sway of the man who now held him, that they were going
at a hand-gallop, and by the thud, thud at their side that another
rider accompanied them.
On and on they went in that appalling silence, never speaking or
making any human sound. The horses snorted occasionally, but he that
held Dick never seemed to breathe. Terror, and the heat of the thick
cloak, and the wild pace together made Dick sick and giddy. He made
one or two desperate efforts to get his hands free, but they were
useless, and he lay still again, trembling and choking. Perhaps he
fainted, or perhaps he slept, but anyhow, when the smothering cloak
was at last removed, he found himself in a dismal little chamber,
with a high grated slit in the wall far out of reach. A man was
standing over him, holding a light.
"Eat your supper," he said sternly, pointing to a plate of bread and
meat, "and then go to sleep."
Dick begged him to say where he was, who had brought him there, and
what for. But the man relapsed into silence, and went out and locked
the door after him. Dick rushed to it, and called, and entreated,
and cried, but nobody came; and when he listened, the silence was
unbroken and terrible.
But there were other people in the house--a lonely farmhouse, miles
away from Lumley, in the midst of desolate moors.
At the end of a long passage was a room with fire and lights, and
there John Dent, in armour, looking very hard and dangerous, was
striding up and down restlessly, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
He had been arrested, on Dick's information, as a traitor, and
awaiting the arrival of Giles to bear testimony against him, had been
confined to his quarters, from whence he had escaped. He had with
him his servant, Newton, and he had met at this farm Master Purvis,
who lodged there, and a renegade Cavalier--broken, that is, dismissed
from his regiment, for neglecting his duty.
A few days ago John Dent had been perfectly satisfied with
everything. His cousin had been drowned--so he supposed--and he had
succeeded to his title and possessions. These were assured to him if
the King proved successful in his struggle with the Parliament, for
he had curried favour by offering to raise and arm a troop. If the
king failed, he was ready to go over to the victors, for whom he had
done several services already--such as agreeing to vacate Dent for
them to go into.
And now, to-day, not only had he been charged with his treason, not
only had Dick inconsiderately come to life again, but he had heard
that his title and estates were gone. No wonder he felt bitter
hatred against Dick, and a wild anger against the stableman whom he
had helped on the highroad, and who had turned all his plans upside
down. He could not endure to leave Dick unpunished and to escape
himself without some, however slight, revenge; and Newton, his
servant, found out, through a man who had worked at the manor, the
entrance, by the yew-hedge, and the secret door to the parlour.
Knowing Giles's master was at a council, the servant had entered
softly and succeeded in capturing Dick, John Dent having promised a
high reward if he did it unseen.
Having got him, the question was: What should be done with the boy?
Master Purvis could only puff out his fat cheeks and say: "No, no,"
as though someone had already suggested a deed he dared not
contemplate. Perhaps he saw the suggestion in John Dent's hard face
as he paced up and down uneasily. But Newton, who was full of
resource, knew of the very thing, he assured his good master, which
could be worked easily for a trifling sum.
"Go on, sirrah," said Captain Dent shortly.
It appeared that Newton had a half-sister in the south somewhere,
whose husband kept an inn. They had just lost their only son, and
were anxious to adopt a strong lad who would make himself a bit
useful about the place. Adopting, as Newton said, grinning, was so
much less expensive than hiring a boy. Now, couldn't the young
gentleman be taken there immediately, to lie snug until his honour
wanted him, or until he had other plans for him? His half-sister's
husband was a thrifty man and hard-working, and his sister a sharp
woman. They'd keep the boy out of mischief, and active employment,
as his honour knew, was healthy. To be sure, he would have to work;
but then none would take him for nothing. And if his honour wanted
to be sure of his staying where he was put--Newton paused,--why, he
couldn't expect to pick him a home anywhere, with anyone, as his
honour would quite understand.
Captain Dent paced the room more slowly. "An inn?" he said at last.
"Every kind of traveller stays at an inn. Dick will get hold of some
Royalist or other, and tell his tale while he waters his horse for
him."
Newton had nothing to say to this. But the dismissed Cavalier
officer cut in. "Would he be believed, think you? I heard from
Newton that it went hard with him amongst the officers at first."
"Ay," said Newton. "I heard the earl's groom say that he was almost
whipped away for a liar. Anyhow, he refused to stay with them, for,
they say, someone frightened him by saying he must stay till his
story was proven, as the Provost-Marshal would need him for a
thrashing."
John Dent stopped by Master Purvis. "Go you," he said sternly, "and
tell the boy his tale was not proven; that there was no Giles at Dent
Castle; that all the King's host know, or will know, that he is a
liar; that he is under the King's severest displeasure. He will
believe you. Don't mention my name, on your peril. Teach him to
fear the very air round a Cavalier of any rank. Say, if he breathes
the name of Chester anywhere in England, every King's man has orders
to hale him to the whipping-post and the stocks. Say you've saved
him at the risk of your life; you were fond of him. Say what you
like; but make haste, and let it be well done, or--"
"I go, I go!" said Master Purvis hurriedly, and he went out of the
room. "They'll kill him, if he gives any trouble," he thought; "and
Captain Dent will kill me if I fail him. For all sakes he must be
made to believe as they tell him."
He found Dick crouched on the floor in one corner, but as the moon
fell through the grating on Master Purvis's round figure, Dick
recognized him, and sprang to his feet with a cry of joy. Master
Purvis had been kind to him at Dent. It was he who had given him the
dagger with the red-leather sheath on his birthday. Master Purvis
had come to save him, for he was his friend.
But Master Purvis sat down on the floor and told him such a tale as
went near breaking Dick's heart. There was no Giles at Dent; no sign
of an enemy there either. It was all as Master Purvis had left it a
week since. Everybody believed Dick a liar and no more Sir Richard
Chester than he, Master Purvis, was. Through all the army, and to
all loyal persons, a proclamation had been sent denouncing Dick as a
traitor, who had tried, and almost succeeded, in luring the King's
forces into a trap. The King himself had expressed his endless
displeasure, without hope of a pardon, and the Earl of Newcastle had
issued an order to every man, of what rank in the King's forces
soever, to take, whip, and brand any boy giving the name of Dick
Chester. And the Provost-Marshal was waiting, prepared to deal him
justice, when he, Master Purvis, had engaged a friend to rush in
softly and kidnap poor Dick.
To a broken question about the gentleman who had been so good to him,
Master Purvis made up a swift reply that the gentleman had not
believed anything against him at first, but did now, and would never
forgive him. The tale came on so swiftly, almost without a pause,
the facts followed each other so glibly, that Master Purvis was
almost proud of his achievement, and more than convinced of the
effect it had upon Dick.
"And so," ended Master Purvis, "you must go quietly away to some
friends of mine till I can come for you. Newton will take you--a
good faithful servant; and you must be obedient and silent, and he
will take all care of you."
Master Purvis got up here nervously, for the misery on Dick's white
face spoilt the flow of his sentences. He felt he was doing the best
for the boy, and had made himself think that Dick ought to be
grateful.
"Be sure you never say your name," he said hastily, "nor breathe a
word of your story." He opened the door. Dick sprang after him.
"Giles!" he cried. "Giles! Where is Giles?"
"I don't know," said Master Purvis, shaking him off. "Perhaps dead.
Most likely dead," he added, desiring, of all things, to get away
from Dick's agonized eyes, and the tones of his voice, and the touch
of his hands.
Master Purvis came back to his master quite out of breath. Captain
Dent was still pacing the floor.
"Have you done the business?" he questioned sharply.
"Yes," panted Master Purvis.
"Have you frightened him thoroughly from confiding in Royalists of
any sort?"
"Yes; I think--Nay, I'm sure," Master Purvis answered.
The ex-Cavalier laughed. "You ought to make quite sure," he said.
Captain Dent, suddenly halting by the officer, said: "You might meet
him and Newton on the way, and carry out some of His Majesty's
orders. But you may go short of dragging him back to the Provost."
"Ay, I might, if you make it worth while," said the other coolly.
"He won't know you're broken," said Dent. "And there's nothing like
feeling for believing."
"True," rejoined the other. "And we'll see which feels more broken.
Terms?" he added, and they discussed them.
Then Dent left the farm, and the ex-Cavalier shortly followed him.
In the early morning, Master Purvis took Dick some breakfast, which
he did not eat; afterwards set him before Newton on horseback, and
watched them gallop off with a sigh of relief. Master Purvis was
selfish, so selfish that he did not care even to see anything
painful, and there was something very painful in the silence of Dick.
All the day he was silent, did not even cry, did not eat or drink,
scarcely moved. They slept at an inn, and started again in the early
morning. Dick put one or two questions, but in a dull way, merely
about the length of their journey, for bodily weariness was now his
most conscious feeling. He had no chance of escaping had he dreamt
of anything of the sort, which he did not. He only wanted to stop
riding, to rest, and he had a queer feeling that, if they were to
stop for a whole day, he would fall asleep, and wake up to find it
was all a bad dream. But they never stopped, except for an hour or
two.
Newton changed his horse on the second day and on the fourth. On
that day Dick asked more questions. "When did Newton think Master
Purvis would come to his friends in the south?" Newton couldn't say.
Dick did not like Newton, and towards the evening of the fourth day
he began to be troublesome. He had been sick in the morning, and was
inclined to a sullen resistance simply for the relief of resisting.
And now he cried and was peevish, would rather stay and starve where
they were than go farther.
"The first Royalist we meet will save you from starving," Newton said
meaningly.
And just then there came into sight round a bend of the road a
Cavalier, gaily dressed, well mounted, with a servant behind him.
This was the ex-officer, and he felt a certain amusement in the part
he was now playing. He seemed to be riding by, but suddenly reined
up, and looked sharply at Dick.
"Hold!" he shouted. "That boy is wanted by the King's
Provost-Marshal."
Dick's heart was in his mouth. Newton drew up, and stammered out
something with well-feigned confusion.
"Hand him over, sirrah, and don't gibber," snapped the officer. "The
earl has given his orders about this matter. All the officers intend
to be present, let me tell you!"
Dick shivered. He thought of all those gay gentlemen looking on at
his shame. He knew how indifferent and good-humoured their faces
would be, how they would jest courteously with each other, and care
not a jot for the boy who, they said, had lied to them brazenly. And
Giles's master would be there! He had been so kind, and had trusted
him so thoroughly.
Newton set him down on the ground. The officer had dismounted too.
Dick, utterly misled by the tale he had been told, and quite in
despair, flung himself at the officer's feet, and begged him to kill
him there, not to take him back--to have mercy and kill him there.
"Not that!" Dick cried. "I can die here, but not before them! For
pity's sake, spare me!"
The man's hard face flushed a little. He remembered his own shame
when, before the troops, he was degraded and sent from the army.
Newton muttered impatiently: "Thrash him, Major, and let us be gone."
But Dick, seeing some signs of relenting, sprang to his feet, and
pointed to the pistols in the nearest holster. "Shoot me!" he said
steadily, ceasing to cry and to tremble. "I did not lie to them!
Shoot me here! Don't take me back! I'll stand still!"
Dick heard the chink of gold coins as the major stood with his hands
in his pockets.
The major's face twitched. Somehow the game had lost its amusement.
He took hold of Dick and swung him up before Newton. Then he mounted
his own horse.
"The money in your pocket?" said Newton insolently.
The officer reined in so suddenly that his charger reared in the air.
He plunged his hand in his pocket and dashed the gold pieces on the
ground. Then he struck in the spurs and galloped off, followed by
his man.
Newton dismounted, gathered up the pieces, and rode off with Dick,
laughing. "That's the fault of being a gentleman, my chuck," he said
roughly. "However degraded you are you can never rely on yourself.
A pinch too much dirt and--fah!--your gentleman's nose tilts. A bit
of a whine from a weakling, like you, and--eh, dear me!--my
gentleman's blood boils, and turns him soft again!"
CHAPTER X
THE INN-KEEPER'S BOY
The Seven Thorns was a lonely place. The long dusty road ran past it
to the hills, and the country was desolate and wild. The road sloped
down to the east and up to the west. As far as you could see to the
east swept the trees of the Forest of Arne, and in a clearing, out of
sight save for the smoke-wreaths and the church weathercock, lay
Arncastor, the county town. There was nothing to the west but the
sunset, where the white road ran out of sight into the sky, as it
seemed.
Master Tomlinson and his wife Mistress Joan, and his cow and three
pigs, a mongrel dog, some fowls, and "the boy" lived at the inn. It
was not a place of good repute, for tradition said that travellers
were robbed there. In quiet times Master Tomlinson had but little
custom, but in these days the road was busy and the inn much
frequented. Now a party of the King's horse would clatter up to the
door, with waving plumes and jingling spurs, and rainbow coats and
sashes. Anon, next week, maybe, a Puritan regiment would gallop up
soberly, with grave, earnest faces under their steel head-pieces, and
plain suits, and long swords clanking at their sides. Then would
pass a party of travellers: a Royalist parson and his family, driven
from the rectory-house, going they knew not whither. And to-morrow a
Puritan divine, grave and pious, exhorting men to repentance, and
denouncing the King and his gallants and the ladies of the Queen.
Once or twice there was a skirmish between rival parties in the
inn-yard, with oaths and cries and groans and great confusion. These
scenes Master Tomlinson abhorred, for they meant that one or maybe
both of the parties would ride off without paying the score.
Every week, on a Friday, Mistress Tomlinson rode over on the old
white horse to Arncastor to buy necessaries for the house. Master
Tomlinson never went with her, nor did she take the boy. Her
husband's work was to lounge beside the door and wait for travellers,
be polite to them if it seemed worth while, protesting he was all for
the King to the Cavaliers, and all for the Parliament to the
Puritans. He would carry the dishes and wait upon the officers, and
drink, at their expense, confusion to the King to-day and to his
enemies to-morrow.
The boy's duties were manifold: to rise at four, to go to his bed--a
heap of straw--when Master Tomlinson had done with him, to make the
fire and sweep the kitchens, to feed the pigs and clean the stables,
to carry wood and wash the dishes, to hold and water tired horses, to
draw the ale and wait on the common soldiers and low-class
travellers, to turn the spits and dodge the blows, to bear burdens
and get kicks and buffets, to eat his food where and when it could be
found, to hear foul language, to see all things ugly and unpleasant,
and to be always alert, always ready to obey. This was the business
of the boy at the Seven Thorns, under the stick of the host, and the
open hand of Dame Joan, and the promiscuous compliments of everybody
else--a belt to-day from the trooper whose ale did not suit him, a
switch to-morrow from the Cavalier whose stirrup he forgot to hold,
the flat of an irritable officer's sword or a boot at his head from
another, the shrill recriminations of some woman on whose dress he
had spilled, or long exhortations from some Puritan preacher. Always
ill-clothed, badly shod, in the bitterest weather, with work always
to be done, and eyes swollen with crying, with bruises and wheals
generally fresh and aching somewhere, Dick Chester served for six
months as the boy of the inn.
Master Purvis never came. There was nothing else to hope for. The
Cavaliers were his constant dread, lest, recognizing him, they should
hale him back to exhibit him as a liar, and disgrace him. His spirit
was broken. Had he thought of flight, whither could he fly? He had
neither friend nor hope anywhere in the world. Giles was dead, or he
would not have deserted him and covered him with dishonour. He was
an outcast, one who lived under a ban. He never asked for pity after
the first month, or looked for any mercy; Master Tomlinson cured him
of that. If he ever dreamed of escaping he was checked by that fear
of detection, for, child-like, he never thought that the world would
have forgotten him completely in a week. Surely the Cavaliers all
knew of him! He turned pale and trembled under their indifferent
glances, for might not one of them recognize him, as the gentleman on
the road had done? And he might not be suddenly turned to mercy, as
that one had been, and then--!
There is no knowing how long Dick might have lived at the Seven
Thorns but for an event which happened at the beginning of April.
Perhaps he would have stayed there all his life, and grown from a
cowed, terrified child into a stupid, ignorant man. He had been
trustful, easily led, and so deeply impressed by Master Purvis's tale
that he accepted his position without a word. Truthful, kindly, very
simple, he had no idea of others deceiving him to this extent. Had
John Dent appeared at all in this business he might have suspected
trickery, but fat, dull Master Purvis, whom he had known all his
life, carried no fear to his mind. Master Purvis had heard of his
danger, and had saved him. Dick had always teased and despised
Master Purvis, but now he was the only creature he thought of as a
friend in the wide world.
It was on a gusty April day that Dick, feeding the pigs in the early
morning, saw a troop of Parliamentarians gallop up to the inn door.
He was about to run out to hold their horses when something in their
bearing, and their haste, and the way they glanced behind them to the
west, struck him. The troop did not dismount; only two soldiers
swung themselves from their saddles, rushed into the inn, and
returned in a moment, bringing with them Master Tomlinson, who was
entreating, expostulating, and explaining all in a breath.
Dick had hidden himself in the yard, but he could hear the stern
voice of the Puritan commander charging the host with some falseness
that had led him and his men into the midst of a force three times
their size. In vain Master Tomlinson denied all knowledge; in vain
he protested 'twas all a mistake, that he had fully believed the
King's force to be small. Dick could not catch all that was being
said as to how and when the host had given the misleading
information. But he saw the soldiers bind his hands, and put him up
before one of their companions. Then out dashed Mistress Joan with
tears and screams for her poor husband, and the officer was a kind
man and would have pity, she was sure. And they were poor folks, he
must observe, and had to turn a penny how they could in these bad
days.
"Forward!" cried the officer.
But Mistress Joan clung to his stirrup, and entreated and threatened,
betraying so exact a knowledge of facts that the Puritan did not deem
it safe to leave her behind. A warning cry from the rear made him
look round. There was a dust-cloud on the sky-line.
"Turn her apron over her head," he commanded. "Up with her!"
Dick saw the dame hoisted up before a trooper, wringing her hands and
filling the air with muffled wails.
"Forward!" again shouted the officer, and they were off down the hill
with a swirl of wind and a clatter of hoofs, and in five minutes out
of sight in the Forest of Arne.
Dick, wondering and frightened, had just gathered up enough courage
to step from behind the haystacks when, with horses spume-flecked and
riders swaying, past swept a Royalist troop at a hand-gallop, the
earth shaking as they went by. Five minutes had scarcely passed
before a long train of horsemen came more slowly down the road, with
silken guidons fluttering in the April wind and the sun glittering on
armour and bridle-chains. Dick's heart stood still. In the
midst--tallest, handsomest, most debonnair--rode the gentleman who
had teased and threatened him at Lumley. He had taken off his
helmet, and was fanning himself with a lace handkerchief, commenting
at the same time on the heat, the dust, and the tiresome haste of the
enemy. He broke off to point at the seven thorn-trees by the inn
door, then to the sign. He called an order, and he and his cavalry
rode slowly on, leaving two officers and about a dozen men behind.
They came into the yard, and discovered the boy behind the hay-ricks.
They drove the cow off from her pasture, and led out the old white
horse. The ducks were driven from their pond, and the pigs,
squeaking and grunting, from their sty. They killed the cocks and
hens, and the mongrel dog, who interfered injudiciously. They cut up
the hay-ricks and bore them off in sections, and took all the corn
they could find in the granaries.
Dick, meanwhile, stood quaking at the officers' mercy, being
questioned, and giving confused replies. He did not dare to look up,
fearing recognition. He knew both the gentlemen--one was called
Balston, and had declared he had attended Dick's funeral, and the
other was Captain Osborne, who had taken him before the teasing
gentleman and his friends at Lumley.
"Was the man Tomlinson your father?" asked Osborne.
"No, sir," said Dick.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Gone with the enemy."
"With the rebels? Come--answer!"
Dick replied, and after much questioning they got from him the
account of how Tomlinson and Dame Joan had been carried off.
"Ha! Traitor to both sides, of course," said Balston.
They dismounted and went into the house, leaving their chargers in
Dick's care. He could hear them talking in the hall.
"We must take him," said Osborne.
"Take that dirty boy with us? Heavens and earth, Osborne! I'd as
soon take a sack of coals!"
"Orders," said the other. "He can ride behind me, if you're afraid
he'll soil your armour, my over-delicate gentleman. Or, 'slife,
we'll give him a bath first in the pond."
Dick heard. He was lost! Quick as lightning terror woke the desire
for escape at any cost. He slipped the horses' bridles over the
gate-post, ran into the stables softly, passed through a door at the
back, raced down a meadow, and hot, sick, with a wildly-beating
heart, crouched under some bushes out of sight. He was sure the
officers had recognized him, and that their chief had sent them to
the Seven Thorns on purpose to arrest him, whereas their orders
merely were to attach anyone at the inn, so that he might be
questioned as to the Puritans' movements, which, it was supposed,
were well known there. Dick lay still until he recovered his breath,
and then ran away aimlessly across the fields till he was tired,
pausing every now and then to listen for pursuit. He soon felt a
lack--the lack of even the one piece of bread that would have been
his breakfast at the inn. Being sure he was not followed, he lay
down to rest under a budding chestnut-tree, and fell asleep. He woke
fancying Master Tomlinson was whipping him, and found the rain
beating his bare neck and legs. His only clothing consisted of a
fragmentary shirt, and breeches that would have disgraced a
scarecrow. Mistress Tomlinson had taken away the shoes and stockings
she had lent him for the winter, saying, now spring had come, he had
no need to wear out good woollen hose and leather shoes. A forlorn
little object, with a cough that belied the good lady's opinion about
warm clothing, he wandered over the country through the pouring rain.
There was no road where he went, and he came to neither farm nor
cottage. Cold and wet and hungry he had often been at the inn, and
to-day he was neither struck nor scolded. There was no work to do,
and if only there were some shelter to be found, he could lie down
again and go to sleep. He thought very much of Giles as he wandered
on. At the inn he had never had one moment for dreaming, but now he
remembered all that had happened at Dent, and all that Giles and he
had talked about.
But thinking did not satisfy hunger. The thought of a piece of dry
crust and an onion, or, may be, a piece of cold bacon, made his mouth
water, and as his strength failed him he cried bitterly for food. He
was more faint and tired and wretched than he had ever been, even on
the worst day at the inn. In his ignorance of death, thinking it
would come very quickly, worn out and broken spirited he lay down
towards evening to wait for it.
Death was tardy, and in two hours' time he was fainter, but as much
alive to discomfort as before. Trudging on again, he knew not how,
he came upon a deep, mossy lane, with primroses growing on its steep,
high banks, and hare-bells drooping in the wind. Dick climbed, or
rather rolled, down into the lane. Surely it would lead him to some
dwelling, and every feeling was merged now into the desire for food.
The stones and ruts cut his feet, and exhaustion made him dizzy. He
slipped and fell; rose and stumbled on again twice. The third time
he did not get up. It had ceased to seem worth while. It was
getting dark and eerie, but he lay quite still. Half-starved always,
one day of hard walking, absolutely without food, had been too much
for Richard Chester. His last thought was of Giles.
CHAPTER XI
THE LADY DOROTHY BYNG
The next traveller down the lane was a dog--a great black retriever
with the most benevolent brown eyes. He came splashing down through
the puddles, and overshot the mysterious heap by the roadside, though
he sniffed something. Plunging back, he described a circle, with a
suspicious stiffening of the tail, and smelt at Dick. "Boy" was his
decision. "Strange, dirty boy; must be growled at." The dog growled
accordingly, but the boy took no notice. Insufferable impertinence!
With great indignation the dog lifted his nose and barked. At this
point an old man in a gray livery suit, wrapped in a big cloak, came
round the corner.
"What's there, Lorry?" he asked, stopping.
The dog, with every appearance of thirsting for Dick's blood, barked
back that it was an orchard-robber, a stealer of chickens, a
vagabond, a tramp. The old man pushed him aside, and, kneeling down,
ran his fingers over Dick's bruised, bony little person.
"Case o' starvation, Lorry, my friend," he observed.
Lorry snorted, as if he knew different, and then he barked angrily,
by way of discouraging the old servant still further. But the man
shook his head, and lifted Dick out of the wet and muddy ditch.
"My Lady would fair eat me if I left him here to die, Lorry," he
said, and wrapped the boy in his cloak.
Lorry eyed this move with contempt, and as the old man started down
the lane carrying Dick in his arms, he rushed on ahead at a splashing
canter and with an angry sway of the tail. He stated in a series of
snapping barks that he was going on to tell someone what a very silly
old man this was. With this amiable intention he found his way
through a gate with stone pillars at the sides, up a broad avenue, to
a door. Lorry barked for admittance, and made the steps as muddy as
he could in the meantime. Presently the door opened a little, and a
young lady looked out, reproachfully.
"To the back-door, an' it please you!" she said severely. "Would you
have the hall flags looking thus?" She pointed down at the muddy
steps.
Lorry explained by barks that this really was an exceptional
occasion. Unless he informed her in time, Philip would certainly
carry in at the back-door a dirty, indifferent ragamuffin of a boy.
He was still arguing the case when the young lady, with her own eyes,
saw Philip coming carrying a ragged boy, just as Lorry was telling
her he would. Forgetting her hall flags, she ran out on the steps to
call Philip. Lorry rushed in, made a swift but devastating journey
round the hall and into the parlour, and out again, saying plainly:
"Exactly what I said!"
Lady Dorothy Byng lived alone in the big old Tudor house at the
bottom of the lane. Old Philip was her butler and house-steward, and
Bridget, his wife, was her maid. She need not ask anyone's leave to
have Dick carried into her oak-panelled parlour, and laid on a settle
by the fire. Lorry, it is true, remonstrated to the best of his
ability, but, failing to convince her, he lay down to watch
operations. In his opinion, starving creatures should be restored
with chicken-bones, not bread-and-milk, but he could not convince
anyone of that either.
Dick opened his eyes in the strange room, and saw kind faces.
"Dream," he murmured, and shut them again. In this condition he
drank milk until he was persuaded of its reality. The comfort was
almost unbearable. He turned his cheek on a soft cushion, and fell
asleep.
"Well, Philip," said Lady Dorothy next morning, "what think you of
our little waif?"
Dick had slept the night in Philip's room.
"Well, my Lady," the old butler replied, "'tis an ill-groomed colt,
to be truthful; but, begging your pardon, Bridget saith its skin is
as soft and fine as your Ladyship's; bruised, all of a mass, madam,
but white as milk now Bridget hath washed him. And hair, Bridget
saith, like spun silk."
Lady Dorothy lifted her eyebrows.
"Upon my word, I must go up and see this prodigy, Philip. Is it
asleep?"
"Not now, my Lady. But I'll carry him down if it pleases you to see
him."
"No, no," she said, "I'll go up."
Dick was lying in a bed--a real bed. The butler's couch was princely
after the straw of the inn-keeper's boy. He had had as much food as
he wanted, and, instead of being cuffed away from the dish, had been
pressed to eat more. He had been washed, and his cuts and bruises
doctored. It was no dream--a reality. He kept shutting his eyes and
opening them quickly. Each time everything was there: the
white-washed wall, the latticed window, the bed, and himself--Dick.
It was during one of these experiments that the door opened softly,
and Lady Dorothy Byng came in. Dick's lids lifted quickly, and his
gaze became fixed. She wore a gown of soft white material, and in
the white lawn and lace at her bosom, caught in the folds, was a
daffodil flower. Her fair hair was dressed in curls on her forehead
and neck, and her bare arms and hands were exquisitely beautiful.
She had been famous at a court where many women had been fair. To
Dick she appeared the most beautiful creature ever created. Her
brown eyes looked into Dick's gray ones with a gaze as fixed as his,
and more troubled. For fully two minutes she stood still, and then,
with a little sigh, came close to the bed.
"Are you rested?" she asked gently.
"Yes, Lady, I thank you."
"Rest as long as you like, and eat as much as you can," she said;
"and when you are stronger, perhaps you will tell me whither you were
going, and how I can help you."
At the inn no one had spoken like this to Dick, and he was at a loss
how to answer. In fancy he fell back to the modes of Giles's master,
and then, with more confidence, to Giles's own. Recalling his slow,
gentle way of speaking, he said: "Your Ladyship is very good. I
thank you." But there he stopped, hesitated a moment, and then
dropped suddenly into the hurried tones and loose language of the
inn--a quite unintelligible jargon to Lady Dorothy's ears. He tried
to explain how he came to be lying by the roadside, but she shook her
head.
"Never mind how you came there," she said. "You were hungry, I take
it, and tired, and the side of the road was safer than the middle."
Dick remembered Giles had said something like that. He smiled
faintly. Could he do nothing to show her Ladyship he was grateful
before she sent him away?
"I shall not send you away, my child," she answered, smiling. "You
will go when you want to."
"I shall never want to," said Dick, lifting his eyes to hers, full of
tears.
Lady Dorothy caught his face between her hands, and looked eagerly at
him.
"What is your name?" she enquired.
"Dick--" he began, and stopped sadly.
"What else?" she demanded. But as he did not answer, she let him go.
"Very well," she said kindly. "But if you choose to trust me, I come
of people used to be trusted with anything."
Dick hid his face in the pillow. But he turned in a moment.
"Are you for the King, madam?"
"Of a certainty," she replied, as if she deemed the question
unnecessary--almost foolish.
Dick sighed. She might have heard of him through father or brother,
or some Cavalier friend.
"And do I harbour a young rebel?" she asked.
"No--oh, no, madam!"
"That is well; for I might love my own enemies at a pinch, Dick, but
the King's--never!"
Dick sighed again.
"Do you know anyone who is with the King, madam?"
"Several gentlemen," she said, smiling. "I might claim acquaintance
with many."
"If you knew who I was," stammered Dick, "you might not--you would
not--"
"If you have done anything false, do not tell me," she said.
"Nothing!" he cried. "Oh, nothing, madam! But I am hunted. I
am--madam, my name is--"
"Have no fear," she said. "If you have done no wrong, and are in
peril, you will be safe with me. Tell me, Dick! Tell me!"
Dick could no more withstand her, now she entreated, than he could
fly.
"My name is Chester, madam. Sir Richard Chester of Dent.
"Yes, Dick," she said, kneeling down by the bed, and looking at him.
"Did you know all the time?" he asked, wondering.
"Yes, I think I did, dear," she said.
She kissed him, and then stood up.
"Go to sleep now, Dick," she whispered. "And--and you must stay with
me for always, dear."
She left the room swiftly, and Dick lay back wondering.
CHAPTER XII
DICK'S COUSIN
Bridget waited on Dick all day, keeping him in bed, petting him, and
nursing him, and making much of him. In the evening Philip came in
with a parcel in his arms.
"Now, sir," he said, "if you will be pleased to rise, here are your
clothes. All the way to Arncastor have I been to fetch your honour a
wardrobe, by my Lady's orders. And here you be."
Dick sat up and watched with interest as Philip laid out a complete
suit of gray cloth, very fine and elegant, shoes with large rosettes,
silk stockings, and a fine holland shirt with lace ruffles and collar.
"Those are not my clothes, sir," he said.
"By your good leave, sir, my Lady says they are. I was cleaning my
plate, and humming a tune, as it might be, this morning, when in
comes my Lady, and saith she: 'Philip, the young gentleman upstairs
is my kinsman.' 'Yes, my Lady,' I say. 'He hath fallen amongst
unkind people, and lost his clothes, Philip,' saith my Lady. 'Yes,
my Lady,' I say. 'Ride you over to Arncastor, and purvey him all
manner of apparel,' saith my Lady. And 'Yes, my Lady,' say I."
Dick got up and let Philip dress him without a word, and comb and
curl his hair.
"Moreover," the old man continued, as he wound a crimson sash with
fringed ends round Dick's waist; "moreover, my Lady fetches this
forth of her stores, and this fine lace also, and saith she: 'Dress
the young gentleman carefully, Philip, remembering he is my kinsman.'
And 'Yes, my Lady,' say I."
Between laughing and crying at all this comfort and kindness, Dick
was led downstairs to the oak-panelled room where Lady Dorothy Byng
was sitting. She rose as he entered, and dropped him a curtsy.
"Welcome, little Cousin," she said.
Dick stood stock-still and stared at her. There was a fire on the
hearth, for the spring evenings were cold, and she stood in the light
of it, wonderfully dressed in a pale-blue brocade, with hare-bells in
her hair.
"Come and speak to me, Dick."
She held out her hand. Dick sprang across the floor, and flung
himself on his knees to kiss her hand and thank her.
"Little courtier," she said. "Where did you learn such manners?"
"Ah, my Lady, how shall I ever thank you?"
She sat down and drew him towards her. "Dick," she said, "did you
never hear that the Byngs and the Chesters were cousins?"
"No, madam!"
"Ah, but they are! Lady Chester was Mistress Elizabeth Byng."
"I never heard of it, madam," said Dick.
"Will you not have me for a cousin, Dick?" she asked persuasively.
"Ay, that will I though!" he cried eagerly. He would have said the
same had she proposed to be his grandmother. He cared not a straw
how it might have come about. It was enough for him that she desired
to be akin to him--poor, lonely little wretch. Why, what a different
thing life might be, in this room, with such a cousin!
"Dick, will you tell me all about yourself some day?" she asked next.
"Now, madam--"
"Say 'Cousin Dorothy'," she said.
"Now, Cousin Dorothy. You will not tell anyone? You will never let
them take me away?" He looked up wistfully.
"No one shall part you from me, Dick. That I promise you," she said,
kissing him. "You shall stay with me always if you care, Dick. I
live here quite alone. I doubt whether anyone in the world remembers
poor Dorothy Byng. In all this long war, Dick, neither friend nor
foe has broken the quiet of our life here. We have never seen so
much as a plume or a crop-head from the windows. You will be safe
enough here, if you think you can bide in such a dull place."
She had won Dick's confidence as completely as Giles and his master
had done. Sitting there at her knee, he told her his story as well
as he could. Some of the incidents puzzled her, explain them how he
would, stumbling amongst the current language of the Seven Thorns.
On that, and on many other occasions, she made him tell his tale
again and again. There were parts of it quite beyond her credence.
For one thing, she would not believe the Cavaliers wanted Dick for
punishment, or that the two who came to the inn were on the look-out
for him, or remembered, or recognized him. She tried to reason away
his fear of detection, for she saw it weighed on his mind.
"When you're stronger, Dick, you'll forget all about it. Someone has
deceived you about the proclamation. You misunderstood the officers
at the inn."
"But there was the one on the road," Dick reminded her. "The one
sent to bring me back."
"We don't understand the whole matter, 'tis plain, Dick," she said
thoughtfully. "And the only way to make it all clear is to enquire
amongst His Majesty's forces."
But this suggestion almost threw Dick into a frenzy of terror.
"No, no, I beseech you, madam!" he cried. "They will come and seize
me! Oh, please, let it be!"
"But I want you set right, Dick."
"Oh, no!" he persisted. "I would rather--far, far rather not. Ah,
madam, to be taken back before all those fine gentleman and disgraced
as a liar!"
"But you are not a liar."
"No; but how prove it?" he said piteously. "They do so confuse a
person. They talk with two meanings, and one can't tell which to
answer. Whatever you say they laugh, and make it sound different.
Dear Lady Dorothy, keep me from them!"
"Well," she said, "we'll say no more about it at present. But, my
child, 'tis months since your adventure at Lumley. Think you any of
those teasing gentlemen would remember your face if they saw you?"
But Dick could not be argued out of his terror. The sight of a
Cavalier would almost have killed him with apprehension.
"Had you dealt direct with the King, Dick, you would stand in danger
of recognition if he met you. He never forgets a face, once seen, be
it peer's or pauper's."
"I didn't see the King," said Dick. He begged her ladyship so
earnestly not to stir in the matter, and to keep his very name from
everyone, that at length she consented. She would not wholly
sympathize with his fears, however, and tried, sometimes by coaxing
and sometimes by laughing, to persuade him out of them. But Dick's
chief sorrow was that he could not interest her in Giles. Lady
Dorothy dismissed the mention of him with a little gesture of
disgust. A stable-helper, tramping the road in tatters, taking the
first job that came, was distinctly disagreeable to her.
"Tell me all the rest as often as you will, Dick," she would say,
laughing. "But, if you love me, spare me Giles."
Dick felt this state of mind difficult to understand, but after much
arguing, and some tears, he gave the subject up in despair. He
supposed it was because she was a great lady, and great ladies, be
they never so charming, must have their foibles. To a great lord,
now, like Giles's master, what an acceptable subject was dear Giles!
The veto placed on Giles's praises prevented Dick from telling his
story very well. She seemed to find very unsatisfactory points in
it. For instance, why had not Giles honestly given Dick his master's
name? Why all that mystery with the token, pray? And what was the
token--a coin? But Dick declared he had not noticed it much. He did
not think it was a coin. It had not a crowned head on. Giles's
master had not given it back to him. Then she asked if Dick could
not describe Giles's master. Dick's description, though it seemed to
him truthful, was not convincing, the most lucid facts being that he
had worn a black velvet suit, and did not look like a soldier. But
he had said before that Giles had told him that his master was a
soldier, and her Ladyship shook her head doubtfully. And if Giles
was not at Dent when it was seen by the relief-party, where was he?
Dead, Dick supposed. She did not seem to think so. She was sure the
boy was telling the truth as far as he knew it, but she was certain
he had in some way been grossly deceived. Poor, simple country boy,
he had been sacrificed to someone's private ends, she thought. For
the Royalist proclamation she had nothing but contempt.
"Dick," she said one day, "I believe your cousin John Dent's at the
bottom of this trouble."
"Oh, how, Cousin Dorothy?" he asked with surprise.
"Why, I believe he had you stolen from Lumley, and set Master Purvis
to take you to the Seven Thorns. For, you see, he would be the next
baronet were you lost for ever."
Dick pondered this proposition for some time, but could not accept
it. He firmly believed Master Purvis had saved him from the
Provost-Marshal--the Provost-Marshal with whose justice the gentleman
at Lumley had threatened him if they failed to find Giles. Master
Purvis might have chosen a better home for him. But perhaps that
cruel man, Newton, had taken him to friends of his own to save
trouble. He had evidently been well known to the Tomlinsons. He
could not connect Captain Dent with the business in any way. He did
not think he had been at Lumley, and Master Purvis had never
mentioned his name.
"You have no other brothers, Dick?" asked her Ladyship. "I
mean--John Dent is your heir?"
"Yes," said Dick, "he is my heir."
"Then you have no other brothers, Dick?" she persisted.
"I never had either brother or sister of my own, madam."
"Not of your own?" she repeated.
"No. I had a step-brother. He died--oh, it will be six years ago
now!--in France."
"Do you remember him?" she asked, looking into the fire.
"No, Cousin Dorothy. I never saw him."
"How was that, Dick?"
"Master Purvis said he quarrelled with my father. I don't know. I
never heard. He never came to Dent--never after I was born, I'm
sure."
"Oh!" she said.
CHAPTER XIII
LADY DOROTHY'S STORY
Lorry expressed grave doubts of Dick's character for several days,
though, as her Ladyship told him, he had no grounds for his
suspicions at all. He was merely jealous. That a strange creature
should occupy the bear-skin at her feet, and that his mistress should
pat the boy's head as often as Lorry's, was an offence to him. In
vain her Ladyship introduced Dick to him as one of the family,
"Master Richard Byng", as he was called now, since he would not be
known as Richard Chester. Lorry would have none of him. But one day
he quite suddenly changed his mind. They were walking in the garden,
and Lady Dorothy asked the boy to fetch her scarf. Dick darted off
up the terrace to the house, and Lorry, with a joyous yelp, dashed
after. Here, he thought, was one who would sympathize with his own
wild moods. Here was this boy, who could run fast, faster than Lady
Dorothy; who could leap and bound, which Lady Dorothy never did. He
could scream with laughter, also, in emulation of Lorry's barks, and
he did not mind having his face licked, and had no skirts to crush.
Henceforth, in the interests of fun and exercise, he cultivated Dick.
Together they risked their lives in a thousand monkey-tricks,
climbing and fishing and falling. Dick learned to know the fields
and woods for miles round in Lorry's company; but they never went
quite to the top of the twisted lane and out on the highroad, for
there, as Dick told Lorry, they might meet with a Cavalier. He
fished and bathed in the streams. He rode on the fat pony, Fairy, by
her Ladyship's side. Old Philip taught him to fence, and to shoot
with a pistol, and many other manly accomplishments good for health
and bad for clothes. On Sundays her Ladyship read the Litany and the
prayers for the King, in the dining-room, for no clergyman could be
found to come and read the service in her chapel just then. On wet
days she read aloud to Dick out of books of romance and travel and
poetry, whilst he and Lorry shared the bear-skin or the window-seat.
She played the lute also, and she taught Dick to sing with her,
whilst Lorry whined outside, not liking their melody. She told him
delightful tales, too, about living men and women. Very much the
same kind of tales as Giles had told him, Dick thought, though he
dare not say so, since she would not love Giles. He grew
well-mannered under her care, affectionate and gentle, carried
himself like a young gentleman, losing in time the hunted look and
shrinking air of the innkeeper's half-starved boy. He was very
happy, and in a month or two became very merry. He loved his cousin
with all his heart, and hoped for nothing but to live with her all
his life, and please her if he could. The old house was a lively
place in those early summer months. Dick and Lorry were up at dawn,
and filled it with noise and laughter till the night. Sometimes, it
is true, Dick was very sad. Something would remind him of Giles, and
he would burst into tears and run away to hide himself until the fit
was over. One day Lorry crept after him softly, found him out, and
lay down by him, his tail slowly thumping the ground, and his great
eyes quite as full of grief as Dick's. Dick flung his arms round the
dog's neck.
"You seem to know how bad it feels," he sobbed. "How do you know,
old fellow?"
Lorry gave a little whimper, as though he would have him believe he
had lost scores of dear friends himself. Then he tried to lick Dick
all over at once.
"She is good, Lorry, yet she doesn't know. She won't hear me say how
I loved Giles--my dear, dear Giles!"
Lorry whined sympathetically.
"Perhaps she never missed anyone," continued Dick, rubbing his eyes
and crying bitterly.
"Yes, she did, Dick. Yes, she does," said Lady Dorothy's voice quite
near him.
She had caught sight of him crouching under the hedge at the end of
the garden, and he saw she was weeping too. She sat down by him, and
drew him to her. Dick laid his head on her knee, and Lorry laid his
on her dress.
"Tell me," said Dick.
"Well, Dick, I will tell you," she said, "because it has something to
do with you. You must know that I once had a brother, Dick, a year
younger than myself. He was very dear to me, and when I went to
court, our father got him a post there also. And it was there, Dick,
that he and I both met again your step-brother, whom we'd known when
we were children."
Dick dried his eyes, and looked up.
"I was sixteen, Dick, only sixteen, but I had more than sixteen
suitors. Of these I, outwardly at least, favoured most John Dent."
"John Dent!" exclaimed Dick.
"John Dent," she repeated. "In those days John Dent, 'twas expected,
would soon be a great lord, and he was handsome and rich--very rich.
My father and brother wished me to marry him."
"You couldn't!" cried Dick, sitting up. "He's a bad man, and cruel.
Oh, Cousin Dorothy, how dare they think of marrying you to him?"
"Well, Dick, perhaps he was not so bad in those days. He had done
many things--gallant, hazardous things--such as you read of in
tale-books. He was by way of being a hero, and he loved me, I think.
But--"
"But you didn't love him," said Dick, with strong confidence in her
judgment.
"No; but I was very young, and very easily flattered. And Reginald,
your brother, whom I'd known so long--well, for one thing, he did not
ask me to marry him, and he was poor, compared with John Dent, and I
loved riches. And he had done nothing, and I thought I loved a hero.
He only hung about the court, and was gay and a spendthrift, and my
father did not like him, nor my brother. And one day, Dick, someone
told me my brother, Lord Byng, had insulted Reginald Chester. And
the next day, when I was sitting at work in my room in my father's
house in London, the door flew open, and Philip rushed in. 'My Lady,
my Lady!' he cried, 'they are murdering your brother!' I ran down
into the hall, and there stood Reginald Chester, his sword in his
hand, and at his feet, quite dead, my poor young brother. Ah, Dick!
I accused Reginald, in my anger and grief, of killing Byng. He was
such a child, I told him, he should have considered his years and
scorned to take offence at his sayings. He had sworn to me once
always to be patient with Byng. And I called him a liar, then, and a
coward to fight such a boy, and I--Oh, I know not what I
said--everything cruel! Last of all, I drew from my bosom and flung
at his feet a boyish gift he'd given me, the only thing he'd ever
given me, when we were children. He had said then 'twas a pledge of
his love for me. He picked it up in silence, threw down his sword,
and said one thing, very bitter and terrible. I bent over my
brother. I never heard him go, Dick; and I have never seen him
since."
"He's dead now," said Dick, looking gravely before him; "but if he
did that, I'll never forgive him! Never!"
She laid her hand over his lips.
"He did not do it, Dickie. I would not have told you about him if
so."
"Who, then?"
"John Dent; quite accidentally, not deliberately. Byng and Reginald
had made friends, and John Dent, annoyed by it, taunted my brother
with fearing Reginald's sword. Byng sprang at him in anger. In
self-defence John threw him back. He fell with his head against a
stone table, and was killed so, Dickie. There was no other wound on
him. It was just so."
"And my brother?" Dick said.
"He went abroad--far away. We none of us saw him any more."
"Did people think he had done it? Was that why he went away?"
"Oh, no, Dick! A gentleman who was with them saw the whole thing,
and told us. Your brother had drawn on John Dent, to avenge Byng.
John Dent had but just hurried out of the hall when I came down the
stairs thither."
"Why did he go away, then?"
Lady Dorothy looked away across the garden to the sky.
"I sent him away, Dick," she said.
Dick gathered that Reginald had gone away because of the things Lady
Dorothy had said to him in the hall. After a long silence, he said
gently: "And then you were sorry?"
"Then and ever since," she replied.
"And he never came back?"
"Never. He would not, you know."
They were silent again. Lorry, feeling it was all very dismal, gave
a little whine.
"And so," Lady Dorothy said at last, "I made a mistake, Dick. When
my father died soon after Byng, I left the court, and bought this old
house in this desolate country, and came here out of the world."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't marry John Dent, Cousin Dorothy," said
Dick, with a great sigh.
"One mistake was enough, Dick."
"And is that why--why you were so good to me, Cousin Dorothy?"
"That is why I loved you immediately, Dick. It was because of your
eyes, Dick--real Chester eyes. I knew you before you told me, dear.
And you will always stay with me, and be my brother, Dick, will you
not?"
A little while later she said: "But I came meaning to cheer you, not
make you sadder."
"I'm happier," said Dick.
"But listen. I have a birthday, sir, week after next, and I have a
mind to be gay."
Lorry wagged his tail as if he understood something more cheerful was
coming up for discussion.
"Now, what shall we do on the day, Dick?"
Dick thought solemnly for a few moments.
"I have it!" he cried. "We'll ride out early, and take with us our
breakfast and our dinner."
"Ah!" said her ladyship. "And eat them both at once. And then what,
sir?"
"No, no!" cried the boy eagerly. "Ride a long way first, Cousin
Dorothy, then breakfast. Then on again to the ruined abbey you told
me of in the woods."
"Then dinner?" she suggested.
"Then dinner!" cried Dick. "And you will tell me stories about the
monks, and the knights who used to ride about adventuring. Then ride
home in the evening. A lovely day, Cousin Dorothy! a lovely day!"
"Agreed," she said. "But what next? There will be some hours left
over, Dick. There will be--"
"There will be supper!" cried Dick, as one inspired. "Supper, Cousin
Dorothy, with roasted ducks, green peas, and strawberries, Cousin
Dorothy! And cream!"
Lorry lifted his head and barked for joy.
"Ducks' bones, Lorry," said Dick, poking him in the ribs. "And
skin--nice brown skin. Ah! so rich, and bad for dogs."
"We'll have a perfect banquet, Dickie," said her Ladyship, rising to
the occasion, and enjoying his delight. "You shall be toast-master
for the night, and call my health, after His Majesty's. And you may
wish me a long and happy life; for I dare look forward to one now
with my dear little brother Dick. And I'll wear white satin and
pearls, sir. And you, what will you wear?"
"My best suit--the gray, Cousin. 'Tis as good as new."
"Well enough for most days, Dick; not festive enough for this. 'Tis
to be a new life for me, Dick--less selfish, much brighter. You must
wear something new, for luck, and to remind you to wish me happiness,
you know."
"Then I'd best wear the rags I came in," cried Dick impulsively.
"Remind me to wish you well, Cousin Dorothy? They'd remind me, did I
ever forget for a second of the day."
"Why, Dickie," she said, kissing him, "you know how to say a good
thing well. But, my dear, they would not suit my satin and pearls."
"The gray, then. I care not two straws, so I'm with you."
"Don't make rash assertions, sir. You'll be a coxcomb some day."
They were going indoors, when she stayed him.
"I have it, as you say, Dick. We'll ride into Arncastor to-morrow
and have your worship measured for a suit. The court comes to
Arncastor, Philip tells me. The King meets the Queen there
to-morrow. There will be the newest modes and tailors in plenty,"
she went on, not heeding the boy's uneasiness. "You shall see what
gay gentlemen wear."
"Oh, no, no!" Dick entreated.
"No, no! Why no?" she asked.
"I dare not! I dare not!" he cried. "Someone would see me, and drag
me away."
"Oh, still that old fancy, Dick?" she said, with a touch of
displeasure. "Methought you'd outgrown it. And pray, who would
touch the cousin of Lady Dorothy Byng?"
"I dare not, madam."
"Then you're a little coward."
Dick's face turned very white. He bent his head unconsciously. "As
you please, madam," he said, "I will go then."
He walked away, but, calling his name, she stepped swiftly after him.
Unheeding, injured, and proud, he went on.
"Come back! Come back and forgive me, Dick!"
He wavered; remembered her story; remembered her goodness, and turned.
"Forgive me, Dick!" she entreated. "I had no right to say it."
"Never mind," he said, swallowing down his anger. "I am a coward. I
will go with you anywhere."
"That you shall not," said her Ladyship. "Indeed, I had forgotten
about--about it, Dick. Kiss me. There! we are friends again!
Philip shall fetch a tailor over here to measure you. What? Clear
your face and forgive me."
"But you think me a coward?" he said.
"No. You will get over it in time, Dick. 'Tis because you are not
very strong yet. But there; I will not torture you, dear. Come, let
us think of the suit, Dick. Of a rose-coloured silk, I picture it.
Rose suits your dark man, let me tell you. Quite simple. Just
slashed to let your honour's white holland show through. And I have
a Mechlin collar that I'll bestow on you, Dick, with a jewel to loop
up your hat."
Dick found the subject alluring after all, though he professed to
scorn dress as unmanly. But even whilst he talked of the birthday a
dead weight lay at the bottom of his heart. She had called him, and
she thought him, a coward.
CHAPTER XIV
THE COMING OF JOHN DENT
It was the night before her Ladyship's birthday, and she and Dick
were sitting in the oak parlour after supper, discussing the chances
of a fine day on the morrow. Dick was in a state of excitement, for
he had just been on a visit to the larder, and had seen the rows of
cold fowls, and creams, and custards prepared by her Ladyship's cook.
He was agitating Lorry's mind with whispered promises of good things
for to-morrow, when they all heard the sound of horses in the yard,
then men's voices at the door and in the hall. Lady Dorothy drew
back the shutter to look out, but Dick ran into the hall to see, and
came back in a second with a startled air.
"Cousin Dorothy! Two officers--rebels--and their troops!"
Old Philip here came into the parlour.
"Madam," he gasped, "'tis some of the enemy. They want a night's
lodging and supper, and won't be denied."
"Why were they admitted?" her Ladyship asked.
"Madam, the door was open. They were in ere I knew."
At the moment Philip was pushed aside, and one of the intruders
entered the room. "Madam," he said, "we have lost our way. If you
are mistress here, give orders for food to be served us, and beds for
us after, and we will give you no trouble."
"I have neither food nor beds for rebels, sir," she said
indifferently, scarcely looking at him.
"Then, madam, I must take what you will not give me, and place your
household under arrest."
"You must do what you please, sir. 'Tis easy to overcome a few women
and one weak old man."
The officer gave her a long, hard look, which she met with coolness,
and then he went out, pushing Philip before him.
"Dick," said her Ladyship, "that was--"
"John Dent!" cried the boy.
"Think you he recognized you, Dickie?"
"I think he scarcely looked at me, Cousin Dorothy. He knew you."
Her Ladyship began to pace up and down.
"There seems to be nothing for us to do," she said presently. "We
will go to our rooms and lock ourselves in, and wait till they're
gone. Do you think they will rob me of everything--burn, pillage,
and destroy?"
Dick went to the door, opened it, and shut it again quickly.
"There are two troopers outside, Cousin," he whispered excitedly.
"Guards posted! Imprisoned in my own parlour! Upon my word, Dick,
'tis insufferable."
She sat down to think out the situation. But very soon the door was
flung open, and John Dent came in again. She stood up.
"Madam," he said, "if you will retire, I shall be obliged to you. We
shall leave at daybreak, and since you have not given us hospitality,
we need not wake your Ladyship to say 'thank you'."
"Come, Dick," she said, without noticing the speaker.
"Dick will remain with me. My friend and I have a few questions to
ask him. Dick, I may tell you, is my cousin."
Another officer entered, and bowed awkwardly to the lady. John Dent
held the door open.
"You may leave us, madam," he said.
Dick knew well the hard look on John Dent's face.
"Cousin Dorothy," he said quickly, "if you will go, I will soon
answer these gentlemen's questions."
"I will not trust you alone with them, my dear," she said.
"As you please," said John Dent, with a slight smile, seating
himself. "Now, Richard, speak the truth, and don't lie to us as you
did to the Royalists at Lumley. Who was with you at Dent?"
"Giles," answered the boy. "The stableman you helped on the road,
and who knew you were a traitor."
"Who else?"
"No one."
"I warned you, boy," said John Dent. "We are no more to be imposed
on than the King's people. Who else?"
"No one," said Dick.
"You hear, Captain Strong?" said Dent to the other officer.
"'Tis a lie," said the other. "We should not have sat outside Dent
fearing to attack a child and a groom. 'Twas a gentleman spoke to me
and to our general, though he masqueraded in your stableman's rags.
They would not have held Dent without a garrison--don't you tell me.
Go to!"
"You see, Richard? Captain Strong was at Dent. He knows what he
speaks of."
"Ay!" cried the captain. "Why they made a sortie and carried in a
trooper. Think you, with the drawbridge down, they'd have left the
place in charge of a child?"
"No doubt one of their leaders masqueraded in Giles's rags. Now,
sir! once again, who?" asked Dent.
"There was no one but Giles and me," said Dick stoutly.
"Richard, I warn you once more to tell the truth."
"I am telling it. There was only Giles and me."
"A lie! A lie!" Strong affirmed angrily. "'Twould be to our lasting
disgrace if a stable-helper and a baby kept us out of Dent. Or
'twill be to yours, Colonel Dent. For we went thither by your
arrangement."
He cast a curious glance at his companion. Suspicion will attach to
the man who leaves one party for another, be he never so zealous.
"It is to your lasting disgrace, then," said Dick hotly. "'Tis you
that are lying."
"Were you a few years older you should hang, sir, if it's the truth!"
growled Strong.
John Dent looked across at her ladyship and saw her move uneasily.
"As it is," Strong continued, "you shall be flogged. I swear you
shall--whether it's truth or lie."
"You will not lay a finger on my cousin, sir," said her ladyship
haughtily. "And you, sir, who command here--"
"My name is Dent, madam."
"Oh, I have no concern with your name, sir!"
"Your Ladyship once listened when I offered to bestow it upon you."
"I thank God I escaped the disgrace, sir!" she replied.
"I must beg you to be silent, madam," he said, flushing, "or I must
compel you to leave the room. I was about to ask Captain Strong why
age should be a bar. If Richard Chester is old enough, or thinks
himself old enough, to hold a castle, and flout a general, he is old
enough to die."
Lady Dorothy could contain herself no longer.
"A truce, sir, to such mummery!" she cried. "Do you think to scare
Dick into a falsehood by such a threat?"
"Oh no, madam!" he replied. "I don't wish to frighten anyone. If
Dick prefers it, I am quite willing to send him to his friends. They
are all at Arncastor. He will know whether they are prepared, and
how prepared, to receive him."
"Not that!" Dick cried. "Not that!"
"Ah!" said Dent to the other officer, "a pretty conclusive proof his
story is a lie, Strong."
"Oh, if he admits 'tis a lie, and that there were men and a commander
at Dent, I've no more against him," Strong said. "The rumour that
one man and a boy kept us out must be stopped. And methinks 'tis to
your interest also that men shouldn't say your paid servant kept us
out where you'd lured us to enter."
"Tell the truth, Dick," said Dent fiercely. "Or to-morrow I send you
to Arncastor. They will cut the truth out of you there, whilst the
Cavaliers look on."
Dick turned white, but he said nothing.
"Say 'twas a gentleman at Dent. That you had a garrison--that's
all," Dent urged.
The boy was silent.
"Very good," said Dent rising. "Corporal!"
A soldier entered saluting.
"Take charge of this boy, Richard Chester, and conduct him to
Arncastor to-morrow."
Dick sprang towards him, clutched his arm, and cried: "Kill me here!
Kill me here! I can't bear that!"
Lady Dorothy swept forward, and drawing Dick to her, she folded her
beautiful arms about him.
"John Dent!" she said in a low voice, but very clear and cutting.
"You coward! How will you answer to your God for this offence? You
know 'tis a fabric of lies about our people desiring his
punishment--a fabric of lies, and you reared it. Stand back, sir!"
"Take care, madam!" he said angrily.
"Ah!" she said scornfully. "I do not fear a coward!"
"Then you shall confess me a brave man, for you shall fear me! He
shall die!"
"You have no power to do it," she said, but Dick felt her tremble
under Dent's glance.
"He has borne arms. He was Captain of Dent. Scotch your snake when
he's small, madam. He dies at sun-up."
"Sir," said her ladyship in an altered tone, "if I plead with you--"
"'Tis likely mere pleading will be heard after your insults!
Richard, step out, sir! If you hide in her Ladyship's skirts any
longer, my men shall drag her away."
Dick kissed her hands swiftly, tore them away, and stood out alone.
"Take him away, Corporal," Dent commanded.
"May I go to my own room?" Dick asked. "I've been very happy there.
It has a high window. I couldn't escape." He was addressing Captain
Strong, who sat back in his chair, with a slightly, puzzled
expression.
"Let him have his way," he said hastily to the corporal. "And
Dent--I say, Dent, have not we very suddenly jumped to this
conclusion? He is but a child!"
"Away!" cried Dent to the corporal. "What, Strong? Nay, thus I kill
rumours. Now, madam, will it please you to leave us, or must I send
for a guard for you, also?"
Lady Dorothy turned to Strong.
"Sir," she said, "you will not suffer this? You will exercise your
power--"
"Strong has none," said Dent brutally. "If he moves in this matter,
he reckons with me."
Strong fidgeted, and looked uneasily at the lady.
"I'm rich, sirs," said her ladyship desperately. "Captain Strong, if
you will aid me--"
"He daren't take a bribe," Dent interrupted.
"And you, sir?" she asked. "For what will you sell me the life of
this child?"
"There is one bribe I will take--only one,--you may offer it," Dent
replied slowly, looking at her.
Very hurriedly she left the room.
CHAPTER XV
DICK MEETS DEATH
The first thing Dick saw, when the sun rose, was the new suit of
rose-coloured silk which her Ladyship had given him to wear on her
birthday. Old Philip had laid it out on the oak chest when it came
from Arncastor the afternoon before. This was her birthday, to which
they had so looked forward. He sat up in the bed and looked at the
sun.
"I'm going to die," he said aloud.
It was quite unbelievable. There was the world outside, and here was
his room and the birthday suit, and himself well and strong, and as
much in need of breakfast as usual. He had not meant to go to sleep
last night, but without undressing had lain down to think. Sleep had
come, however, and here was the sun, and at sunrise they had said he
should die. He started up. In a mirror opposite he saw a tumbled
suit, an untidy head, and a pair of large frightened eyes.
"This won't do," he thought miserably. "I look like a traitor. I
die game, like the men in the tale-books."
He stripped, plunged into a basin of cold water, got out a clean
shirt, paused; cried a little, and dried the tears with his
wrist-bands; then drew on the new silken hose, and put on the shoes
with rosettes. Then came the rose-coloured suit, and with trembling
hands he fastened the collar of rich lace her Ladyship had given him,
and tied the embroidered sash.
"'Tis her birthday," he thought. "God bless her and give her many,
many happy years, dear Cousin Dorothy! I wish I'd died at the inn
before I knew what happiness felt like."
He buried his face in the pillows and cried bitterly. But he heard
steps outside, and pulled himself up. The corporal came in.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"I haven't said my prayers yet," said Dick.
"Say them then, in good season."
Dick said the Lord's Prayer, and then, putting on his hat, said: "I'm
ready."
"I'm not afraid to die," he observed as they went downstairs, "but
I'm sorry past bearing to leave Cousin Dorothy."
The corporal said: "Umph!"
In the hall Captain Strong bade them halt. The door was open, and
Dick saw two troopers under a tree on the grass, and hanging from a
branch of the tree was a rope. He started. He had thought they
would shoot him at least. A rope! A halter! Die on a gallows! He
flushed. And for what? A lie would have saved him, and his death
was of no importance. He was not saving anyone, or serving anyone,
by his death.
"God knows, Dick," Giles had said at Dent, "you may die disgraced on
a gallows, for that. But, my dear fellow, it's the duty that counts."
Dick bit his lip. If Giles were only here!
Just then, between Dick and the tree, came the black form of Lorry,
with a tense, disapproving lift of the tail. He saw Dick waiting for
a game, he supposed, gave a yelp of greeting, and came bounding up
the path and into the hall. Dick caught him in his arms. Then,
turning to the corporal savagely, he said: "Why don't you get on, you
cowards? I can't stand much more."
The parlour door opened as he spoke, and the Lady Dorothy came out,
followed by John Dent. She was very pale, but quite composed, and
she wore the same dress as upon the last evening, and the flowers in
her hair, Dick noticed vaguely, were dead. She came straight up to
him and kissed him.
"You are free, Richard," said John Dent. "To horse, every man!" He
was pale too, and curiously subdued in his manner. "She pleaded for
you, Richard," he said. "Farewell, madam!"
Her Ladyship turned and swept him a curtsy, but she neither spoke nor
lifted her eyes to him. He bowed. Then she led Dick away to her
room.
"Oh, Cousin!" he cried. "Dear Cousin! is it true? Have they gone?
Am I safe?"
"All true, Dick. Quite safe," she whispered.
He kissed her, kneeling by her, tried to thank her, and cried from
excitement and relief.
"And 'tis still your birthday, dear! It seems weeks since sunrise.
But, after all, we are going to have a merry day!"
She caressed him.
"We may, Cousin Dorothy, after all," he ran on. "Thanks to you,
dearest, best of cousins! I'll never call John Dent my cousin--never
any more! But you are weary. You haven't slept. Not been to bed
all night? And I--I slept like a log. We will not ride out, then.
We'll bide at home. Ods me! I'm hungry--something dreadful!"
"Go and breakfast, Dick," she said, "and I'll come anon."
"Shall I send Bridget with the chocolate and come and have it with
you?"
"Nay," she answered. "You will want much more than she can carry.
I'll call her by and by. You run, quick, Dick. Here comes Lorry,
scratching. Be off the two of you!"
She fairly turned them out of her room and shut the door.
Bridget came to Dick later, and said her ladyship was resting, and
would he hold her excused till the evening banquet, when she would
come down right gaily.
Dick cheerfully agreed, for had she not been up all night on his
behalf? He sent her his love, by Bridget, and bade her say he was
busy composing an oration for the evening feast. Then he went to
enquire of the maids what depredations the Puritans had made; but
finding they had confined themselves to beef and beer, he went off
with Lorry to visit the gardens and the stables.
"I've come back to life, Lorry," he told his friend. "Hours since I
should have been cold and dead, sir, but for her. Eh, Lorry, dear,
if she should some day need helping, I'd face anything for her!"
The rope was gone from the tree on the lawn, but Dick ran past it
with a shudder. It was good to be alive, and how near he had been to
death!
That evening the table was spread in the dining-room, with more
candles to light it than usual. There were great bowls of roses, and
strawberries in silver dishes, with creams and jellies enough for
three times the number of guests. Lady Dorothy Byng wore her white
satin and pearls, and a cluster of damask roses in her hair. She was
more gay and more beautiful, Dick thought, than he had ever seen her
before. At the end of the feast Dick stood up and cried lustily:
"His Majesty the King! God bless him!"
Her Ladyship rose and curtsied, and they drank the health together.
Her Ladyship leaned back in her chair, but Dick remained standing,
and Philip refilled the glass. He turned the glass in his fingers.
"I'd made a lovely speech, Cousin," he said, and the lights seemed
curiously dim, "but I--I can't remember a word. I'd die for you,
though, and I love you, and I wish you very many happy years and a
long--"
"Not that, Dick," she said, lifting her hand. "I don't think I'll
care for a long life. But I like the rest very much, Dick. Thank
you. Philip, you may go."
Dick's eyes saw things more plainly now. He looked at her steadily.
"What have I said to make you weep?" he asked.
"Nothing. Come here, dear. There! I think I'm tired again, Dickie."
Dick kissed her.
"You go and rest, Cousin," he said cheerfully. "All these candles
make one's head ache this hot night."
"Yes, Dick, but I want you first to add one clause to your dear
little speech."
"What?" he said.
"I want you to say, instead of dying, that you'll live with me
always. That you'll never leave me for a day."
"Add that!" he cried. "Did I need to? You know I never will."
"Say it, though, Dickie. 'Whatever happens' say."
Dick said it and drank the toast, and his cousin left him with a
good-night kiss.
CHAPTER XVI
HER LADYSHIP'S PROMISE
Dick was in bed and half-asleep when old Philip tapped at his door
and came in.
"Are you asleep, master?" he said softly.
Dick sat up.
"What's the matter, Philip?" he asked.
"Eh, eh, sir, matter enough," the old man muttered. "Her Ladyship
sent me to you."
"Is her Ladyship abed, Philip? Is she resting?"
"Nay, there'll be no rest for her to-night, master." The old man sat
down by the bedside as he spoke. "She was for not having you told,"
he went on slowly, "but Bridget overruled her, and I upheld my wife.
'Tis only fitting you should hear. You must know there was a price
paid for your life this morning, Master Richard."
"What for? What price?" asked Dick.
"Her Ladyship gave her word to marry that black coward and traitor,
Mr. John Dent."
Dick started up, gasping.
"John Dent! Promised to marry John Dent?"
"Ay, on condition he did not hang thee."
Dick fell back, shaking nervously.
"I'd better--" he began, "I'd rather have hanged than that."
"Well, there it is, sir," old Philip observed, "and no way, so far's
I can see, out of the hole. They didn't ask you and they didn't ask
me, and I'd have killed John Dent myself sooner, and hanged for it
after."
"John Dent!" Dick cried again. "For my sake!"
"Her Ladyship saith, if you must know, you must, and I must come and
tell you. She fears how you may take it. But she saith also she
trusts the promise you made her, that whatever happens you will never
leave her."
"Never!" Dick exclaimed. He was thinking of John Dent--the dark,
harsh face, the cruel tongue, the heavy hand. Always to live with
that! to be at that man's mercy! "Philip!" he cried, "cannot we stop
it? Hath my lady no friends?"
"He comes the day after to-morrow at noon," answered Philip, shaking
his head. "He brings a parson. My Lady stipulated for a churchman
to marry them here at once in the chapel. She cannot stir. She hath
given her promise. Her people--her family--are all away in the
north, what's left of them. There's no time to run to and fro
seeking their help."
"But, Philip, she must have friends nearer. The court is at
Arncastor. My Lady was at court. There must be someone there would
help."
"'Tis many years since my Lady was at court," said old Philip
shrewdly. "They have short memories at courts, sir. No one there
will recollect her; new names come up right fast."
"But there would be someone there who'd take up the matter," Dick
urged, "if only to catch the traitor John Dent. There would be some
gentlemen would ride out and help."
"Your ideas of gentlemen, sir--begging your pardon,--are got out of
my Lady's romance-books. The live kind is different. They'd ride
out to help, I grant you; but I know your court sparks! They'd want
a reward. We'd be as likely out of the frying-pan into the fire as
not, master."
Dick thought if his friend Giles were alive, and had power, he would
come to aid her Ladyship without wanting anything from her in reward.
Then he remembered Giles's master. He had seemed powerful enough.
But he did not even know the name of Giles's master. He sighed.
"Can you do nothing, Philip?"
"Me, sir? No! Her Ladyship gave a promise that none of her servants
should quit the place till--till it's done."
Dick stared dismally before him.
"But you are not one of her Ladyship's servants, master," said Philip
after a pause.
"Well?" said Dick.
"Well," the old man echoed, "if you have any friends at Arncastor, or
know of anyone that would help you--leaving her Ladyship out of the
question,--for anyone's sake, sir, now is the time to seek them up."
"I haven't a friend in the world," said Dick bitterly; "not one."
"You might have left the house, you see. You might have gone to
Arncastor," said Philip.
"I?" Dick cried in horror. "I go to Arncastor? Why, Philip, I
should be seized the minute I got there. They would not listen to
me. They wouldn't believe a word I said. Ah, you don't know!"
"'Tis only what her Ladyship hath told us that I know, sir," said
Philip. "That you were her cousin; that you had fallen amongst folks
that ill-treated you; and that you had found her out and come hither.
That is all, sir. But I thought that you might have other friends,
and you were sure to wish to serve her."
Dick said nothing. He was still thinking of life with John Dent.
Would he let Dick stay with them? After the wedding, even if he had
made her any promise about it, would he not try to get rid of Dick?
Think of being always in the power of John Dent! In trying to avoid
it he would run risk of danger, of failure, of disgrace, and also the
loss of her faith in him.
Philip took up his candle and left the room with a husky "Good-night,
master", which Dick did not heed. He buried his face in the pillows.
Stay with her as he had promised, and see her daily sacrificed to the
selfishness and cruelty of John Dent? John Dent had caused the death
of young Lord Byng, and he had caused her to quarrel with Dick's
brother, who had left her, and gone away to die. And should she be
married to this man, and must Dick stay with her always, bound by his
promise, unable to help, but seeing her misery? Would that be
keeping his faith with her? Would that be a return for her love?
It was her Ladyship's custom to drink chocolate at eight every
morning, and Dick always came to her room to have some with her. The
morning after her birthday she waited a few minutes, and then told
Bridget she might take away the tray.
"Shall I send Philip to look for Master Richard?" the woman asked.
"No," answered Lady Dorothy. "He hath gone away."
"Gone away, my Lady?" cried Bridget.
"Yes; he rode out at sunrise on the pony. I saw him. I was up."
"But he should be back by now, my lady."
"He is not coming back, Bridget. He stopped where the lane turns and
looked back at the house. He was crying, I think. Poor Dickie! I
didn't wave to him. He would have come back if I had.
I--I--expected it. He fears his cousin, John Dent."
Lorry had pushed his way into the room. He came up and laid his
black head on his mistress's knee. With eyes and tail he told her
what faithless beings boys were, and the creatures to be trusted were
dogs, and dogs alone, his kind especially, and of his kind himself.
"You may go, Bridget," said her Ladyship.
Bridget flew downstairs, and flung herself, the tray, and her story
into her husband's pantry.
"But I'll never believe it of him--never! Him as we've nursed and
cockered! Oh, no, man, no! Master Richard's too much of a gentleman
born, I say. His pony's mayhap fallen with him, he's that
venturesome with it. You mark my words, unless he's killed with his
tricks and his jumpings, he'll be back at dinner-time."
But at dinner-time there was no Richard.
"He's dead, then, poor lamb!" cried Bridget.
"You're putting my Lady's wine in his goblet, you silly woman!"
Philip interrupted. "Take yourself to your own place, look's ter!
Get along, wilt tha! You an' your lambs!"
CHAPTER XVII
DICK GOES FOR HELP
Dick had wakened at dawn, the dawn he would never have seen but for
her. He dressed quickly in the silken clothes of yesterday. "They
will less likely recognize me on the way if I go finely clad," he
thought. He said his prayers, took his long riding-boots under his
arm, slipped out of his room, paused to listen, then crept stealthily
along the corridor, down the stairs, and into the hall. Here he
paused again to listen, then went swiftly down a long passage near
the kitchen, took the stable-key from its peg, unbarred the outer
door, and trembled as the bolt squeaked faintly. Outside he pulled
on his boots, sped across the grass to the stable-yard, and saddled
and led out the pony. Lorry was watching him all the time from his
kennel. He was too wise to bark, for Dick had impressed upon him
that barking at sunrise was a vain pastime, fit only to rouse ladies
from their dreams and bring them to their casements to suggest the
grass was yet too damp for boys and dogs to walk through, or that the
air was still too raw for delicate chests and coughs like Dick's.
When the pony was saddled Dick went over and kissed Lorry's nose.
"Take care of her, old fellow," he said. "And if I don't come back,
oh! make her understand 'tis neither fear nor faithlessness that
keeps me from her! You would if you could speak."
Then he mounted, and, keeping on the grass, rode down into the lane.
When Lorry realized that, in spite of Dick's kiss and his own good
behaviour, he was not to be taken too, he gave a great bay of
disappointment that brought Lady Dorothy to her window in time to see
Dick's last look at the old house before he turned out of sight. He
rode to the lane-head, and for the first time came out upon the
highroad. It was all uphill, and the fat pony's progress slow. On
the ridge of the hill, when they reached it, he looked down the long,
straight, dusty way he knew so well, where the travellers came out of
the clouds at one end and went into the trees on the other. There, a
speck in the haze, miles down, lay the inn of the Seven Thorns.
"Come up, Fairy," said Dick, whipping his pony to a canter, and they
went down the hill bravely in a cloud of dust.
The landlord was just opening his shutters at the Seven Thorns--Mr.
Tomlinson, the sleek and plausible, as plausible as ever, returned in
safety after his adventures. In Dick's nervous grip on the reins as
they passed, the pony read a command to stop, and he stopped, to
Dick's discomfort.
"A fine day, young gentleman," said the landlord, bowing. "Will your
honour stay and breakfast? Methinks the horse's shoe goes loose--on
the off hind-foot, my lord."
Dick struck in a spur. Fairy bounded forward. Without answering,
Dick galloped for the woods.
"He didn't know me, though," he said to himself. But he had shaken
in his saddle at the sound of his old master's voice. He wondered
if, behind in the inn-yard, some poor wretch of a bruised and hungry
boy was toiling through his work--the familiar weary work.
They had passed the forest-trees, Arncastor was in sight. Dick
caught sight of a wide river, a bridge with soldiers on it, meadows
dotted with tents, and the gray town behind, with dancing flags on
the church towers, and then Fairy lurched forward, recovered himself,
and stood still.
"What now, sir?" Dick demanded impatiently.
Fairy looked round with a gentle whinny, and Dick got down.
"Your shoe, you stupid little beast?"
Yes, that was it, and Fairy affected a pathetic and extreme lameness.
The shoe was left behind on the hill. A little way from the bridge,
on Dick's side of the water, was an inn--a large, comfortable,
happy-looking place--the Blue Boar--very different from the Seven
Thorns. Dick, leading his pony, walked to the inn, and whilst Fairy
was attended to he asked for breakfast. Lady Dorothy had given him
money from time to time, and as there was little to spend it on in
her surroundings, Dick had a purseful at his disposal now. He had a
good breakfast of trout and ham-and-eggs, and strawberries and new
milk. The landlady took him into especial care and favour from the
first. "As sweet a spoken little lord as ever stepped," she said.
"I'm not a lord," said Dick, nodding to her. "But you're very kind,
and I like you, and I wish you'd presently let me speak to you in
private."
Of course the good woman would do anything for such a pretty young
squire. The fact was, during breakfast Dick had heard talk amongst
the soldiers and others in the inn-parlour that had taken away what
little confidence in himself he had possessed. His ideas were of the
vaguest. He had meant to find Giles's master amongst the Cavaliers
at Arncastor, and to entreat him for help, for Giles's sake. After
that he had not dared to plan or think of anything. But he had
gathered, from the company breakfasting at the same time as himself,
that no one could get into the town without stating his name and
business to the officer at the bridge, who handed it on to his
superior, and he to a third; and then, if all seemed satisfactory,
the person would be admitted with a pass. Some of the gentlemen and
the officers and nobles passed unquestioned with whom they pleased.
But Dick had no satisfactory account of himself or his business to
offer, and to give his name, he thought, meant ruin at the outset.
If he had only learnt the name of Giles's master, and could have
asked to see him. Dick had not foreseen these difficulties. He was
very simple, but he had a way of placing implicit confidence in
anyone who was kind to him. In the present trouble he had an
inspiration to take the handsome, motherly landlady into the case,
and entreat for advice. She had an honest eye, and an air that meant
firm support if she deemed you worthy of regard. So Dick explained
to her, alone in her own room, that he was on urgent family business,
that he must see a gentleman of the court immediately, and would she
tell him how best he might get into the town. He could not give his
name, and his business could only be confided to the gentleman in
question.
"And his name?" asked she.
"I do not know his name," Dick said; "I have only seen him once."
The landlady shook her head.
"Where do you come from, sir?" she said.
Dick thought there was no harm in answering that question.
"I live with the Lady Dorothy Byng."
"Ah, then," she cried, "old Philip Wayland is my uncle that's butler
to her ladyship!"
"He'd have come on this errand if he could," said Dick, "but he
couldn't. He--that's just it."
"Is it her ladyship's business?"
"I've made it mine," said Dick. "'Tis mine."
"And you want to see this gentleman?"
"I must see him," said Dick.
"Is he about the court, then?"
"Always where the King is," Dick replied.
"One of his gentlemen? An Esquire-of-the-body, or that?"
Dick was doubtful.
"I think he was a great lord," he said. "He wore rich jewels, and
everyone bowed to him."
"Umph," she said, "there's a plenty of fine birds at court still.
But, now-- Bless the child! Don't look that piteous--eh, don't!
What you want is to get into Arncastor, and stand somewhere nigh
where the King lodges, and see the courtiers pass. When your
gentleman comes along--
"That's it!" Dick cried, embracing her. "You have it! Now, how to
get in?"
"Dear only knows, my chuck; but--mercy me! there's Lionel!"
"Who's Lionel?" asked Dick.
"He's my sister's son," she explained, "and a man of my Lord
Newcastle's."
She whisked out of the room, and returned in a minute with a handsome
young man in the Newcastle livery. To him she explained Dick's case,
whilst the boy stood anxiously by her side.
"Simple as swallowing," said Lionel cheerfully at the end of the
tale. "Supposing, of course, my young gentleman doesn't mind a bit
of masquerading?"
"I don't mind anything," Dick assured him hastily.
"What you want, sir," said the cheerful young man, "is to stand where
the courtiers do pass; but that, sir, mustn't be on the road. You'd
have no chance in the throng and amongst the soldiers. You should
see them one by one to recognize your friend, eh?"
"Go on! Go on!" Dick begged.
"Why, then," said Lionel, "to work that, sir, you must be got into
His Majesty's lodgings. Now, to-night I am on duty in a passage
looking into the hall that the King crosses on his way to Her
Majesty's supper-room. My Lord Newcastle sups with Their Majesties
to-night, with Prince Rupert, and the Earl of Lumley, and a number of
other peers and gentlemen. I'm to wait in this passage, taking with
me a lad with a torch, to attend my master home. Now, if the young
gentleman isn't above it, and will drop a cloak over his braveries
and carry a torch, I'll take him with me instead of one of my Lord's
pages. He can go into the town with me unmolested. Now, sir?"
"To-night?" said Dick sadly. "Not till to-night?"
"Why no," said Lionel. "I'm taking a holiday, you see, sir." He
winked at the landlady. "And Susan, you see, sir--Susan--"
"Susan's no daughter of me if she looks at you again," interposed the
landlady, "should you fail to see the young gentleman through!"
Lionel protested that he would. They might depend on him for that.
It was Dick's only chance of penetrating that net-work of formalities
and customs that surround a king. This was his only hope. He must
pass the intervening hours as best he might, and wait patiently for
evening. Lionel was a good-natured youth, and Dick's pale-faced
anxiety touched him.
"See you, sir," he said kindly, "I'll do my best. You shall have
every chance. We'll take our stand early, before the supper-hour.
We'll be there before His Majesty comes in from the gardens, where
he'll be walking if the evening's fine. If your friend's not with
him then, we'll hope he'll be there as he goes to supper, and if not
then, we'll trust he may be when the King returns. We'll find him,
never fear!"
"You're a good man, Lionel," said Dick, shaking hands with him
heartily. "I'll never forget you. If they--if I fail, you mustn't
think I still don't thank you, for I shall. There! There's my
purse. Take it all!"
He thrust his purse into the young man's hand. Lionel tossed it up
to the ceiling, caught it cleverly, and handed it back.
"Better keep it to the end of the day, sir," he said. "My aunt
there, she'll run you up a mighty bill, and want the money or the
life of you. She'll stand no nonsense, won't my aunt."
"That she won't, you naughty fellow!" cried his aunt.
"And oh, Lionel," Dick entreated, "don't forget me! Don't forget to
come."
"Beshrew me! Nay, sir, you may pin your faith to Lionel."
And the cheerful youth ran off to spend the day with Susan.
"There's no harm cometh to a man," quoth he, "by serving a young
gentleman who talks with his eyes--eh, my dear, pitiful!--and has a
purse of gold and a friend at court. Your good-hearted man, Susan,
ah! there are rewards and gold for your good-hearted man."
"But you haven't the gold," remarked Susan.
"Wait till the job's done, my shrewd one," said he.
CHAPTER XVIII
IN THEIR MAJESTIES' LODGINGS
"At least," Dick reflected as he and Lionel crossed the bridge and
went up the street into Arncastor. "At least, I have not been
recognized or stopped yet. And I might meet him now--any minute."
As he thought so, Lionel pulled him aside. Three gentlemen were
passing, and as Lionel bared his head Dick did also, and then turned
pale. He met well-remembered eyes fixed on him for a
second--indifferently, indeed, but he quailed.
"That was his highness Prince Rupert," said Lionel as they went on
again. "The tallest of the three."
Dick drew a long breath. It was the gentleman who had teased him at
Lumley.
Another hundred yards farther and Lionel's hat was off again. Again
Dick saw a familiar face and met the blank expression of eyes that
had once frowned on him severely.
"My master, my Lord Newcastle," said Lionel.
"My master, too, for the time," said Dick with another sigh of
relief. "How fortunate he did not stay you to ask why a strange lad
was with you as page."
Lionel laughed. "Od zooks, sir! His lordship scarce knows his page
from his bed-post. These great men heed their servants very little.
They know their falcon's peculiarities and their hounds' tempers,
but, save your innocence, their servants are as wood or stone."
Dick thought of Giles and his master.
"There's His Majesty, I grant you," Lionel observed. "They say he
knows his servants. He never forgets a face. But I know no one else
like that."
"I know one," said Dick.
"So? Well, here we are!"
They were in a side street having a long bare wall, with a door round
which stood a group of soldiers. Gentlemen's servants in livery,
calling their masters' names, were hurrying in and out. Pages in
silken suits were hustling about, chaffing the troopers and getting
in everyone's way.
"My Lord of Newcastle!" Lionel cried, and he and Dick were admitted.
They crossed a court to a door at the back of the house, a large
rambling mansion occupied now by the King and Queen. The guards here
knew Lionel, and he stayed to talk with them, whilst Dick, carrying
his unlit torch and holding his cloak about him, stood near,
shivering with excitement and suspense. At last Lionel turned to him.
"Come along. His Majesty has not come in yet from walking. We're in
luck, you see," he said as they threaded a crowded hall and a
corridor thronged with guards and servants. "For, after supper,
there is to be a masque--sort of play, sir--in the gardens by
torchlight, and every gentleman about the court will be present.
Such bravery! Such music and singing! Now the Queen's back all the
court's alive."
Dick followed him into a panelled gallery. There were benches along
the walls, and Lionel sat down on one near the farthest end. Close
to them four broad white stone steps led down into a great square
hall, with costly hangings, lounges, and pictures. Wide doors stood
open, and beyond, Dick caught a glimpse of a beautiful lawn, where
splendidly attired ladies and courtiers were strolling up and down.
In the hall were guards with gleaming cuirasses, and a group of young
gentlemen in the costliest dresses were lounging at a window,
chattering. As Dick watched, a page in the Royal livery ran in from
the garden and spoke to one of these. He parted from his companions
and came up the steps by Dick.
"Will His Majesty be coming in soon, sir?" asked Lionel, bowing
respectfully.
"He has just gone in by the Queen's entrance," said the gentleman,
and hurried on.
"That is one of His Majesty's Gentlemen of the Bedchamber," said
Lionel. "We shall have to wait now an hour or more, till he passes
to the supper."
"Oh, this waiting!" Dick sighed. "If only I knew his name!"
"Patience!" urged Lionel. "Sit down here, and kick your heels."
"But he might go through the hall!" Dick cried. "I must keep
looking."
"Point him out to me," said Lionel yawning. "Then I'll learn his
name and be after him like a flash."
The minutes passed heavily enough. The hall was getting dusky now.
Suppose he passed down there, and Dick did not recognize him? Or,
suppose he came, and did not know the boy again, and would not hear
his story. He might hand Dick over to the guards without a word of
explanation. Ah, how slow the time went! Yet, how fast! It would
be to-morrow very soon, and nothing done yet.
But there was movement in the hall. The guard was changed. A
delicious sound of harps and violins came from the Queen's apartments
on the left. Servants were bringing lights--thousands of lights, it
seemed to Dick. The hall glowed with a soft radiance, and the
soldiers' equipments winked like silver. Dick stole out on the top
step. The lights from below shone on his pale face.
"Stand back, there!" called an officer irritably. "Whose are you?"
"My Lord Newcastle's!" cried Lionel, coming to Dick's assistance.
"What are you doing?"
"What you should be doing," Lionel retorted; "minding our own
business."
There was a very hurriedly-suppressed laugh. The officer had only
just time to spring back to his place, saluting, as Prince Rupert
sauntered past on his way to the Queen's rooms--a perfect dream of
scarlet and gold, with his tall fair head, and superb, easy grace.
His page, carrying his cloak and plumed hat, followed him as far as
the steps, where he bowed sedately to his master's back, and then
came up to join Lionel in the gallery. He would have proceeded to
quiz Dick, but Dick was far too intent upon his own affairs to heed
questions, or answer them.
"New to his place?" said the scented page scornfully.
"Not so new but he can keep others in theirs," Lionel responded.
They kept up a lively bickering, for the servants were rivals as much
as their masters, whilst Dick, all eyes, watched the brilliant scene
below. The unhurried movements, the decorous laughter, the soft
lights were very enthralling. But what now? A gentleman darted down
the steps, brushing past him, spoke to the guard, and came back.
"What's the news, friend?" asked the page.
"His Majesty," the gentleman replied, sitting down by them. "He goes
to speak to the Prince before supper."
"Hey, big eyes!" cried the page, "step out and see thy King!" He
gave Dick a push which unintentionally sent him flying out upon the
top step. His torch flew from his hand, clattering into the hall
below. The King's gentleman cuffed the page. Lionel sprang to his
feet. The guardsman at the foot of the steps wheeled with a growl of
anger. The rest saluted. A gentleman passing stopped and looked up.
Dick gave a cry, plunged down the steps, and was pinioned by the
guardsman.
"Let me go!" he cried. "Sir!--for pity's sake!"
"Let him go," said the gentleman. "He is a friend of mine. Stand
back!"
Dick had contracted an odd habit at the inn of clasping and wringing
his hands, whilst his eyes looked up in such a way that no one less
than a brute could have denied him anything. As the guard,
astonished, fell back, he stood before Giles's master in this
pathetic way, saying: "Sir, help me for Giles's sake!"
The gentleman, somewhat moved, stretched out his hand. Dick took it
in both his own and shook it heartily.
"Great powers!" murmured Lionel, staggering back.
"Well I--never--did!" gasped the appalled and tittering page.
"What help do you need, Sir Richard Chester?" asked Giles's master,
stroking his moustache to hide a smile. "Is it another castle to
relieve?"
"No, sir," said Dick, conscious of the staring eyes about him. "'Tis
about my cousin Dorothy--the Lady Dorothy Byng."
"What of her?" demanded the gentleman, waving back a brilliant
creature with a white wand, who was bearing down upon them.
"We--we must stop her marrying--" Dick began.
"Stop her marrying?" the gentleman said with a lift of the eyebrows.
"We mustn't meddle with ladies' marriages, must we? They never thank
us. When did you last see Giles? Eh? What now?" Dick had hidden
his face in his hands. The gentleman was laughing at him. All round
him people were smiling. The page in the gallery above was giggling.
No one would listen to him then. Giles's master touched him gently.
"Answer me. When did you last see Giles?"
"Giles is dead," said Dick, raising his head. "You must know that,
sir, or I would have gone to him instead of you. He wouldn't have
given me up! I know what will happen to me. But do--do help my
cousin! She saved my life yesterday. Oh, sir! I do not care--you
may do what you like with me."
"Thanks, Dick." And Giles's master took his hand, with a swift,
rather stern glance at the amazed guards, the tittering page above,
the official with the white wand, waiting with a kind of protesting,
yet patient air, behind. "That being so, you shall come with me a
little. Excuse me to His Highness, my lord. I shall be with him
presently." He walked away with Dick, the noble lord bowing
profoundly.
"What think you of that?" gasped Lionel, looking after them.
"Death," answered the page gloomily, shaking his head. "Do you often
bring lunatics to court, sirrah?"
CHAPTER XIX
GILES'S MASTER AGAIN
Giles's master took Dick into a small panelled room, lighted by the
setting sun only, and seating himself in a carved arm-chair, motioned
Dick to a stool at his side.
"And who told you Giles was dead?" he asked, after speaking in French
for some moments to a gentleman at the door.
This meant the telling of Dick's disappearance from Lumley, saved
from disgrace by Master Purvis, as he thought. He had scarcely begun
the recital before a door at the far end of the room opened, and a
gentleman in a white velvet suit stood on the threshold, bowing.
Dick stopped.
"Go on," said Giles's master. "The gentleman is a friend of mine.
My lord, will you have the goodness to wait in the window yonder?
Thanks. Well, Dick. They told you there was an order out for your
arrest and so forth?"
Dick went on again. His confidence in the gentleman's kindness was
restored, and as he had spoken to him at Lumley so he spoke now, and
told him all about the Seven Thorns, and of his flight across the
fields, and how the Lady Dorothy Byng befriended him, and then turned
out to be his cousin. But there the gentleman stayed him.
"The Lady Dorothy Byng was your father's first wife's niece," he
said. "She was your step-brother's cousin, not yours, Dick."
Dick sighed. "That's a pity," he said. "She asked me to have her
for a cousin. I was very glad to. Anyone would, I think."
Giles's master laughed, and the gentleman in the window half-turned
round.
"So they told you Giles was dead?" said his master. "Were you
grieved then?"
Dick did not answer. He bit his lips, but the tears would come.
"Sorrow no longer," said the gentleman quickly. "Giles is alive!"
"Alive!" Dick cried, so loud and so joyously that the man in the
window took a step into the room, quite startled.
"Alive and well," said Giles's master quietly. "Why did you never
try to find out? Why, if we may enquire, did you never find your way
back to your friends and learn the truth?"
"I dare not, sir," said Dick, hanging his head.
"Ha! the bogey of a proclamation? All a make-believe, my child.
There was never anything but kindness waiting for you with Giles and
his--master."
"But I didn't know," said Dick. "Cousin Dorothy said it could not be
true, indeed, but I did not believe her. She--she said my idea of my
own importance was sadly exaggerated." He imitated her manner a
little.
"Nay, if you'd had the least idea of your own importance you'd have
got back to us in spite of John Dent's trickery. 'Twas all John
Dent, Dick. Why, Giles--he broke his heart when we failed to find
you. And I--why," he said, touching his high forehead, with a smile,
"I fancy a new wrinkle came here with puzzling about your so sudden
disappearance. Yes, indeed!"
Dick laughed.
"So the Lady Dorothy did not believe the proclamation story?" resumed
the gentleman.
"No," said Dick, blushing. "She would have had me come to Arncastor
weeks ago, but I would not. She said I was a coward--" He stopped
abruptly, but went on in a second: "I must have been, too. If I'd
come--but I dare not be taken, and--and disgraced before you and--and
the others."
"Yet you came to-day?"
"To try and save her," Dick said.
"She should not have called you a coward, I think," Giles's master
observed. "But, come. Why does she want saving? We will have that
part now."
"She has promised to marry John Dent," Dick began; and whilst he told
of his cousin's goodness, and John Dent's cruelty, the gentleman in
white drew nearer, unobserved.
"Sir, you will help me, won't you?" Dick entreated.
The gentleman in white took a step forward, but Giles's master begged
him to have patience a little longer, and he returned to his window
in silence.
"I will help you to the best of my ability," said Giles's master,
taking Dick's hand kindly, "and for your sake. The lady herself
seems of a variable temper. As I said before, she should not have
called you a coward."
"Ah, sir," Dick cried, "she's all goodness--all kindness! She never
meant to hurt me, and she begged my pardon--she, a great lady. I
love her very much, more than anyone, except Giles. We agreed on
everything in the world, I think--except Giles," he added.
"Ha!" said the gentleman. "And what ailed her Ladyship of Giles?"
Dick explained as well as he could that it appeared that great ladies
could not appreciate courage and virtue when they went in rags. And
he felt the gentleman upon whose knee he leant shake with laughter.
"Ay," he said, "that's it, Dick. These great ladies! They will send
their slaves to the ends of the earth to fetch them a bodkin. Call
them cowards, yet expect their hearts to be laid at their feet with a
'Do me the honour to tread here, madam'! And you are bent upon
serving this fastidious dame, Dick? And upon making me serve her
too?"
"For me," said Dick, "I would die for her. I have said what she hath
done for me. And there is another reason, if I have not shown you,
sir, why I must help her."
"And the other reason?"
Dick looked round. The light was very dim now, but he could see the
gentleman in white impatiently tapping his leg with his
rapier-sheath, his face turned to the window.
"'Tis about my brother, who is dead," said Dick in a low voice.
"'Tis her story, told me in--in confidence. But I think, sir, no one
should hear it but you, and you because you will help."
"Quite right," said Giles's master, with a swift glance towards the
window. "You may whisper." He bent his head, and Dick, slipping his
arm round his neck, whispered his tale.
The gentleman in white stood so strangely still he might have been
fairly accused of holding his breath to hear the whisper.
"Well," said Giles's master at the close, "I hold you're right, Dick.
Your very life is hers so long as she needs it. Should she ever find
anyone else to make her happy, will you come to me? I confess I
should like you about me. True, I have Giles; but Giles, you may
have noticed, Giles is a very remarkable person."
"Ay, indeed!" was Dick's hearty response.
"And to be trusted," continued his master, "with great matters. I
have to send him from me; and then--well, Dick--I have no one near me
quite so faithful as Giles. I don't know whether I am called a good
master or not. It seems to me I bring my servants nothing but
misfortune and privation--sometimes death." He sighed.
Dick laid his hand on his friend's affectionately. "I'd never care
for that, sir," he said earnestly. "I've been near death. It
doesn't matter. If I could be with you, and sometimes see dear
Giles, I'd be quite happy, if Cousin Dorothy was happy too. Why,
sir, I've been beaten and been hungered by those I served. Do you
think mere privation with you and Giles would be hard?"
Just then the door opened softly, a curtain was drawn back, and a
servant appeared with lights.
"If you would have the goodness to say we do not need them," said
Giles's master to the gentleman in white. "Thanks."
The servant retreated, bowing; but Dick had seen the lights fall on
the gentleman in white--a figure as superb as Prince Rupert's and a
dress beautiful and rich. A jewel had flashed in his sword-hilt, and
a "George" hung from a blue ribbon at his neck. What a thing to be a
courtier!
As the gentleman came back he shot a piercing glance at the two
figures in the dusk, and, pointing especially at Dick, he said
something in a voice so low that Dick only caught the last
words--"The audacity!" The boy resented it, and Giles's master
seemed to disagree with the sentiment also, for he put his arm round
the boy's shoulder, with a slight laugh, and, stooping, kissed him
lightly on the brow.
"No audacity!" he said. "Are you jealous, my lord? Dick once told
me he loved Giles with all his heart because there was no one else to
love--no father and no mother. And his brother, whilst he lived, I
suppose, had never even looked at him. Yet Dick knows how to love,
and should not lack a return of it. No doubt, my lord, you have
heard something of the tale he's been telling me. Perchance you
found it somewhat interesting?"
The gentleman in white bowed.
"As to that which we took care you should not hear," proceeded
Giles's master, "suffice it, for the completion of the story, that
the Lady Dorothy Byng once had a fancy for my friend, Dick's brother.
And, we might add--might we not, Dick?--that she cherishes his memory
still--more or less."
Dick said gravely: "She loves him still."
"Therefore Dick is bound to help her now. And I have bound myself to
help Dick. And I must beg you, my lord, to see Giles helps us all.
We'll place the matter, Dick, in the hands of Giles--a delicate
revenge for her scorn of him, eh? He shall order all he needs, and
take this traitor, John Dent, if he can catch him, send him hither
for trial, and have done with him. He shall scatter John Dent's
friends, if he hath any, to the winds. He shall take you home to the
Lady Dorothy Byng, with my greetings. And our dear, good Giles shall
ask her if she cannot--it will be hard if she cannot--find some other
companion and give you to me. There! Have we marked the part of
each player and disposed of the villain of the piece?"
The gentleman in white bowed, whilst Dick enthusiastically thanked
his friend. Giles's master made as if to rise, so Dick stood up.
"Where shall I find dear Giles?" he asked excitedly.
"Dear Giles, eh? Oh, he will be with you as soon as I am gone!" He
held Dick's hand a moment, looking down at him half with amusement
half with tenderness, glanced up at the other gentleman, and moved
towards the door. There, stopping suddenly, he looked back.
"I have recalled one person for whom no part is assigned," he said.
"The parson, Dick; be sure he is treated well, sir. I could wish
Giles would find some use for him. Maybe he will."
The gentleman in white drew back the curtain and opened the door.
"Sir!" cried Dick, springing after him, "one moment! Will you tell
me your name?"
"Charles," said Giles's master.
"Charles?" Dick repeated. "Charles what?"
"Stuart," the gentleman answered. And the door shut.
CHAPTER XX
GILES
"The King?" Dick cried, half-incredulously. "The King!" He grew
hot, then cold, as he stood there, half-expecting some awful
retribution to follow on his audacities. But then the King had not
been angry; he had not seemed displeased. "The King!" he cried again.
"The King!" echoed a voice behind him--a voice that carried him back
to the leads of Dent. "Have you no word for Giles after all these
months?"
"Giles!" Dick cried, spinning round. But there was only the
gentleman in white, whom the King had addressed as "My lord".
"Don't you know me, little Captain?" The gentleman moved to the
window, where the last glow from the evening sky was lingering still.
"See!" he said.
Dick searched the face. Yes, there were the eyes, the gray, kind
eyes of Giles; but the hair cut square across the brow, and falling
in curls on the shoulders, was not like Giles's. The long beard was
gone, too, and under the upturned moustaches was a mouth Dick did not
know. But there were the eyes, and as his own scanned more closely
the costly dress, he saw his own little dagger in its worn red
leather sheath, hanging by the courtier's rapier at his side.
"Giles!" he said softly, and flung himself into his friend's arms.
Some time later Giles said: "But, come! We have affairs, Dick. To
business, with what appetite we may!"
"Well, I'm hungry enough," said Dick simply.
There was a tap at the door, and a magnificent gentleman entered.
"Her Majesty holds you excused from supping with her, my lord," he
said, bowing. "And His Majesty requests me to add he will not expect
to see you these three days, with his farewells to you, and," said
the gentleman, almost choking over the words, as if they outraged his
sense of propriety, "his love to Sir Richard Chester of Dent."
"Convey my most profound thanks to Her Majesty, sir, for her
graciousness," said Giles calmly. "And my humble thanks to His
Majesty, also, if you please."
"And my humble thanks also," Dick stammered. "And my love, sir,
please say, all Dick Chester's love."
The gentleman visibly shuddered as he bowed.
"Dick! Dick!" Giles said, laughing, "I should never wonder if that
gentleman had a fit. What do you mean by sending messages like that,
sir? Ah, but you're fickle! First me, then my master, then the--the
Lady Dorothy is it? Then again my master. All your love, you pygmy!
Cæsar's ghost! Where do you keep it all?"
Dick laughed.
"Don't you love people, then, Giles? You do His Majesty, and--and--"
"And who, prithee?" demanded Giles.
"Why, and me, Giles dear," said Dick serenely.
"Come along," said Giles laughing again. "We've made free with His
Majesty's rooms long enough. We will go and hunt up some officer who
will take his troop over to your place to-night. 'Twould never do
for us to sleep and let John Dent steal a march on us, eh? I know my
man! As like as not he'll hear of your coming hither and do his best
to outwit us."
"But shall we not go to-night, Giles? Her Ladyship will be so
disturbed by my absence."
"Your arrival would disturb her more at this hour, surely, Dick? The
officers I send will keep her--her household safe until morning, and
one of them, when he has seen that all is well, shall ride back even
to-night and report to us."
They were going down the passage that led from the King's rooms to
the hall. In the hall the guard saluted Giles, and looked somewhat
sourly at Dick.
"Giles," said Dick, pulling his friend back as he was turning towards
the door, "there's Lionel! I have but just recalled him."
"Who and what--" began Giles.
"He brought me here," Dick hurriedly explained. "He's a man of my
Lord Newcastle's. I want to thank him now." He had dragged Giles to
the foot of the steps. "I'd never have got here but for him. Will
you come, Giles? He's up here."
"I'll thank him myself, do you leave me breath enough," said Giles
good-humouredly.
The corridor above was crowded with noblemen's and ladies' servants
and pages, some playing cards, some sitting, some standing, but all,
it seemed to Dick, talking at once. He could not see Lionel
anywhere. He would have pressed through the throng to seek him, but
that, it appeared, was not Giles's way. Drawing Dick back he said
quietly, but in a voice that stilled the tumult, and travelled down
the corridor and into the passage beyond: "Is there here a man of my
Lord Newcastle's--one Lionel?"
In the silence, Lionel, on a bench in a corner, whispered to Prince
Rupert's page: "There! Farewell, sir! I'm
dead!--dismissed!--undone!"
"Serves you right," said the page sweetly. "Don't mind my toes--a
dead man has his privileges."
"There he is," said Dick, as Lionel, looking by no means cheerful,
came out of the listening and looking crowd. Dick darted forward,
shook hands with him, and overwhelmed him with thanks. Then Giles
stretched his hand to the embarrassed youth.
"There are my thanks, too, my friend," he said. "This is Sir Richard
Chester, and we are all right glad to have him here."
"And I'm in no trouble, my lord?" Lionel gasped, turning the gold
pieces Giles had left in his palm.
"Not a breath," said Giles.
"Who'll bear the torch?" Dick asked. "What will my Lord Newcastle
say when he finds no boy at all with you, Lionel?"
"Eh?" Giles said, "what torch?"
Dick explained, and Lionel looked a little doubtful and distressed.
"Oh, say to his lordship I stole his torchbearer!" Giles said coolly.
"Say it was Sir Richard Chester, my man. He will hold you without
blame. Good-night!"
"What think you to those?" Lionel asked, as, having pushed his way
through the curious crowd, he sat down again by the page, and spread
out his gold pieces.
"Bribes," said the page, sniffing. "Who is the child?"
"The child who held Dent Castle, and disappeared from Lumley."
The page whistled.
"Oh, Lionel! a perfect gold-mine! I wish that I'd discovered and
recovered the pretty treasure."
The "pretty treasure" and Giles were by this time out in the streets
of Arncastor, which were thronged with merry people going across the
river to view from the meadows the masque in the Queen's gardens.
They stopped at a house whence came a sound of singing, where the
light from an unshuttered upper window shone out into the street. By
this light Dick, chancing to look up at Giles, saw a subtle change in
him. A minute since he had been laughing and kindly, now he was
grave, unapproachable. As they climbed the stairs a high, clear
voice was singing a song, and as Giles opened the door of the festal
chamber out rolled a rollicking chorus, with a clinking of glasses
and stamping of feet that almost deafened Dick. About twenty
gentlemen were gathered about a table, with doublets undone, belts on
the floor, sashes untied, and making clamour enough for a town.
Giles waited, surveying them, till the end of the song, and then
asked, in his well-modulated voice and a tone of ice:
"Is Captain Slingsby here?"
"My lord," cried one of the company, "a health! a health! The King!"
"God save the King!" cried another.
"God save the King, with all my heart!" said Giles, taking the glass
pushed towards him, and drinking, hat in hand.
"Confusion to his foes!" cried another voice.
"Ah!" said Giles, "I see enough and to spare amongst his friends,
gentlemen. Is Captain Slingsby here?"
"Be not too hard on us, my lord," said a young man at the end of the
table, rising and bowing. "Gentlemen, I give you my lord, his
health!"
"Your health, my lord!" they all cried together, and the glasses
clinked again.
Giles bowed gracefully, and asked in exactly the same tone as before:
"Is Captain Slingsby here?"
A tall young man, very flushed, with a handsome face and fair
love-locks, came forward unwillingly. Giles slowly looked him over
from head to foot.
"I was about to apologize, sir, for coming in the middle of supper.
I am too late. I perceive you are long past the end," he said.
The young man's face darkened.
"'Tis not for you to say if I have had enough," he observed sulkily.
"Enough?" Giles replied, with a lift of the eyebrow. "I doubt that
word would not have occurred to me, sir, to describe
the--er--quantity in question. I will not trouble you, sir.
Good-night."
But in the meantime the other gentlemen had demanded Dick's name, and
having learnt it, had drunk his health noisily. The boy, imitating
Giles, bowed when they had finished.
"We have all heard of Sir Richard Chester," said the gentleman at the
head of the table. "How is it, Sir Richard, that you are not amongst
us?"
"I live with my cousin," said simple Dick, somehow feeling an excuse
was needed for his not appearing amongst the King's friends. "She
lives alone. She cannot spare me yet."
"She?" cried another gentleman. "Is she fair, Sir Richard?"
"Is she young?" questioned a second.
"Hath she eyes like yours?" another asked eagerly.
"Ay, doth that melting orb run in the family?" enquired another.
"A health!" shouted the one at the head of the table. "Give us her
health, Sir Richard," and he pushed Dick a glass of wine.
"My cousin!" said Dick bravely, lifting the brimming glass.
"Nay, her name! Her name! Give us her name!" they cried.
Dick looked along the table at the flushed faces, the unsteady hands.
Either the thought of his cousin's name on those lips awoke a
delicacy in him, or the expression on Giles's face had warned him,
but suddenly their mirth and their manners repelled him.
"You're none of you fit to speak her name," he said, "and your
glasses have had a score of healths drunk out of them to-night."
He was unprepared for the explosion of wrath that followed. Someone
else was, though. Giles laid his hand on his shoulder, and took the
glass out of his hand.
"He is right," he said, "though he cuts us, gentlemen. We are not
fit--there is no company fit--for her name to be called in. So I
give you 'Dick's Cousin!' her health! and not another out of the
glass."
He tossed off the wine, and flung the glass over his shoulder. With
a shout the gentlemen sprang to their feet and followed his
lordship's lead. The crash of glass made Dick's ears tingle.
"And there is my purse to pay the host's bill," cried Giles.
A cheer followed them downstairs and into the street.
"When you don't want your head broken, Dick," Giles remarked, "and
yet want to express disapproval, say 'we'. It hath a pleasant sound,
and puts your hearers on your side, keeping out ill-blood."
"What now, Giles?" Dick asked, as they once again halted before a
house with lighted casements and sounds of life within.
"To find an officer sober enough for our work, Dick. Slingsby
promised me to keep clear of that set of ribald idiots, and there he
is with them again. Let's try this man, Captain Harland."
He left the boy in a parlour below, for he saw he was tired out by
this time, and in a few minutes returned.
"We'll sup here now, Dick," he said cheerfully, "and then, what say
you to spending the night over the river at your friends' of the Blue
Boar? My man shall take my things over. Three days' absence! Dick,
lad, what if her Ladyship won't take me in, even for one?"
Dick smiled sleepily.
"She will, Giles, when she sees you," he said.
After supper Giles took Dick out to see Captain Harland and his
troopers start. The sight roused him for the moment. He caught
sight of young Captain Slingsby casting wistful eyes at Giles.
"Why are you here, sir?" Giles demanded, when he saw the young
officer.
"I--I ran after you to ask pardon," Slingsby stammered. "I'm quite
sober. I--I got them to pump on my head."
He moved his neck uneasily under his damp yellow curls.
"Captain Harland is commanding for me, sir," said Giles.
"I can ride to serve you, my lord, if I may not command," said the
young man quietly, "and I will, unless you forbid me. God knows I'm
a fool!"
"Harland," Giles called to the man at the head of the troop, "you
know what I said of sending someone back to-night with news?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Be good enough to return to me yourself, and leave the command to
Slingsby."
"Very good, my lord," said the officer, smiling.
Young Slingsby leant from the saddle and wrung Giles's hand. The
troop clattered off down the narrow street, out of sight.
"Now, we'll go and find my man, and over the water to bed, Dick,"
said Giles.
"Giles," said Dick, "I like what you did for that man. He's a nice
man, too. But, I say, Giles, when you're angry you cut."
"I am rather a bad brute when I'm rubbed the wrong way, Dick. Hold
up!"
Dick stumbled.
"I'm that sleepy, Giles," he explained apologetically, "I can
scarcely walk."
"My lord," said a man, running up to them at this moment, "I followed
you from the inn."
"Oh, good!" said Giles, stopping. "I shall be away for three days.
Bring my things to the Blue Boar, over the river. Run, there's a
good lad."
The servant ran off.
"That's my man, Dick," said Giles. "We need go no farther that way."
Dick had a very vague idea of what followed after that. He thought
they were stopped on the bridge, and he heard Giles call out
"Lumley!" and someone said, laughing: "Pardon! I did not see--did
not recognize your lordship"; and Giles called "Good-night!" as they
went on again. It appeared to Dick that he was not walking, and he
wondered what Giles was doing, and why both he and the officer had
laughed when the latter said he had not recognized him. It was
curious, also, that he could see nothing but stars.
"Where am I, Giles?" he murmured, moving his limbs uneasily.
"In the arms of Morpheus, my dear fellow," said Giles. "And do not
kick him in the wind, I beg of you, or he will probably let you fall."
CHAPTER XXI
THE END OF JOHN DENT
Dick slept very heavily that night. He woke once, and found Giles
bending over him, smiled comfortably, and fell asleep again; and the
very next minute, as it seemed to him, Giles was shaking him by the
shoulder, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and his friend
impatient.
"Wake up, you dog in a blanket!" Giles cried. "If you don't wake up,
I swear I'll go without you."
"Giles!" Dick cried, as if he had never seen him the night before,
and he was out of bed in a second. Giles was dressed already, and
Dick's toilet was scrambled through, with frequent breaks for bursts
of confidence and conversation. At last he was complete--collar and
sash, and decorously combed-out curls--in his rose-coloured silk and
his riding-boots. Giles lounged up and stood beside him, in silk of
the same colour and a collar of superb point-lace.
"Who told you to wear that colour?" he demanded.
"My Cousin Dorothy gave it me--this suit--to wear on her birthday,"
Dick explained. "'Rose-colour suits your dark man', she said." And
he gave a comical little glance at himself in the mirror. "'Tis her
favourite colour, moreover, and a gay, pretty hue, I think."
Giles walked to the window and looked out.
"And you wear the same," said Dick, following. "Why, we might be
brothers, Giles."
Giles bowed. "You flatter me, sir! Or is it only with my clothes
you'd be akin?"
"I wish we were brothers, Giles," said Dick, sighing. "I have no one
of my own, not even Cousin Dorothy now, since His Majesty saith we
are not truly related. Wait a moment, Giles; I haven't said my
prayers yet. Have you?"
"Long since," said Giles; but he waited for Dick with a good-humoured
smile.
"You can have me for as much your own as you like," he observed, as
Dick rose from his knees.
"But you're such a very--splendid person now, Giles," said Dick,
rather shyly. "And, Giles, I remember they called you a lord last
night. Were you a lord when we were at Dent?"
"No, a simple gentleman like yourself, by chance serving as
stableman, as by chance Sir Richard Chester served as boy at the inn."
"What is your name then, Giles?"
"Lumley--the Earl of Lumley, at your service." He drew himself up
and saluted. Then he cried: "Beshrew me, Dick, I'd forgotten!" He
hunted amongst his things, and in a minute said: "Here, Dick, in
exchange for the dagger you gave me."
He laid in the boy's hands a little rapier, a perfect miniature of a
man's, with hilts of steel inlaid with silver, in a dainty sheath of
blue velvet, hung with little silver chains to an embroidered
baldric. Dick's eyes danced, his cheeks flushed, and embracing the
gift with one arm he embraced the giver with the other. Then he drew
the sword, and Giles told him it had been given to him years ago,
that it was made in Toledo, and that the Spanish words on its shining
surface might be translated as--"A trusty blade for a trusty blade".
"Which last is Richard Chester," he observed.
They then started down to find breakfast; and Dick, dashing on
before, dashed back again to say, with a rapturous sniff: "Come on,
Giles, 'tis trout!"
It was trout, and more ham-and-eggs, and strawberries and new milk
for Dick. Giles, it seemed, preferred chocolate, "like my Cousin
Dorothy," said Dick; and Giles, setting down the dish, said: "If you
drink any more milk 'twill go to your head, Dick. Come, sirrah!
Enough! Time flies!"
"But I haven't half-finished the pitcher," Dick grumbled.
"Pest!" said Giles impatiently. "'Twill churn as you ride, Dick. My
faith! but those strawberries are fine! 'Tis scarce six yet."
Laughing, he sat down and fell to on the fruit.
Then they must call the landlady, and Dick must needs embrace her.
"Was ever a lad so fond of kissing!" Giles observed.
"And you found your friend, my pretty sir?" asked the landlady,
beaming upon them.
"Ay," answered Dick, laughing and blushing hotly. "And, would you
believe it, 'twas the King!"
The landlady lifted her hands in amazement.
"Eh!" she cried, as Dick proceeded to tell his adventures, "but my
Lionel will have trouble for this."
"No," put in Giles reassuringly. "My Lord Newcastle will not have a
word to say. And if your Lionel loses his place ever, send him to
me, mistress. But no heads will fall for Sir Richard Chester. He
shakes his Sovereign by the hand--"
"Giles, I didn't know," interrupted Dick.
"'Tis all one to him," Giles proceeded. "He knows he's bound to be
every man's favourite, and every lady's also, it seems," and he
smiled at the landlady.
Then he paid her bill several times over, with a trifle also for
Susan, did she ever care to set up house-keeping, as, from something
Sir Richard had said, seemed likely. Dick laughed, and the landlady
bobbed curtsies and blessed his lordship's good heart.
"And won't the young gentleman tell us his name?" she asked; "that we
may remember him always."
She looked at Dick, who thought she meant his generous companion.
"This is Gi--the Earl of Lumley," he said. She curtsied again.
"I recognized my lord," she said. "'Twas yourself, I meant, sir."
"This is Sir Richard Chester," said Giles, as he turned Dick to the
door, since he seemed unable to tear himself away. "He held a castle
for His Majesty last year--"
"'Twas you, Giles!" Dick interrupted.
"For a week," Giles continued calmly. "And then he was lost, and we
find him again now, facing a great danger for a lady's sake."
"There was no danger, really," Dick said, with a flush of pride and
pleasure.
"You thought there was, which, I take it, amounts to the same thing."
The landlady did not quite understand this speech, but as they stood
together she thought they made a very pretty picture, so she held up
her hands again, and said: "Bless us and save us, now, just to look
at that!"
Outside, Dick found Fairy; and as the pony whinnied to him, and
rubbed its nose against his shoulder, the boy's conscience pricked
him.
"Oh, Giles," he said, wringing his hands, "I'm forgetting Cousin
Dorothy! She'll be wondering, and--and--can't we start?"
"Don't do that!" said Giles hurriedly, catching his hands and drawing
them apart. "Here! we're all ready! Get up!"
He held Dick's stirrup, and then swung himself into his own saddle.
As they rode out of the yard, followed by the earl's servants, he
laid his hand suddenly on the boy's.
"Did they murder you often at that inn, Dickie?" he asked, in a voice
that made Dick start.
"Yes--I mean--no, Giles! Do you care?"
Giles nodded.
"Then they didn't," said Dick firmly. "And if they did, I don't care
now--I don't care,--not a rush!"
"Well," said Giles grimly, "you used to work your hands so when they
did it; and if we pass the miserable pig-sty I'm going to break the
man's neck."
Dick laughed rather unsteadily.
"No, Giles, don't let us stay. And I'm sorry I annoyed you. Cousin
Dorothy can't bear me to do it. I didn't know. I forgot."
Giles, smiling, suggested that the Lady Dorothy Byng would be
wringing her hands all this time over Dick, may be. Her name
loosened Dick's tongue, and he began to talk of her, and her goodness
and beauty, and all she had done for him even before she had given
that terrible promise, and to save his life had given her word to
marry John Dent.
"John Dent!" said Giles, frowning. And his horse reared, as if the
bridle had been jerked suddenly, as indeed it had.
"And how do you account for all this kindness being lavished upon
you, sir?" he asked, "seeing, as His Majesty saith, you are not
related."
Dick looked at his friend with a shade of regret or apology.
"I didn't know it was you behind His Majesty's chair last night,
Giles, or I need not have whispered. But I thought 'twas her story,
and I--"
"Don't tell me her story, if you know it," Giles interrupted. "But,
in one word, Dick, how would you account for it to the world?"
"'Tis her way to be good to everyone," Dick answered thoughtfully.
"And methinks she loves me--nay, I know she doth. But mainly, I
think, 'tis because of my brother, who is dead."
"A brother, who is dead?" Giles questioned.
"Yes," said Dick. "But--but she knew him, and she hath never
forgotten him, Giles."
They rode on, and though Giles was silent he listened to Dick's talk,
still of his Cousin Dorothy, and of his life with her, and of Philip,
and Bridget, and Lorry, and everything else. They passed the Seven
Thorns without Giles noticing it. His eyes were fixed on the
horizon, where road and sky were meeting. Dick was glad he did not
stay, for he was in haste to be home now. Who knew what might be
happening? Things might have occurred since Captain Harland reported
all well hours ago. When they reached the brow of the hill Giles
struck in his spurs, and his horse bounded forward. Dick's pony put
out all its strength and stretched its diminutive legs, but it was
quite useless; in spite of Dick's admonitions the bay shot ahead in a
few minutes, and Giles vanished round the first bend of the lane.
"It's too bad!" Dick cried. "He'll be there first. His horse might
want to see her as badly as I do. Get up, Fairy! Go on!"
Fairy did his best, and he was panting and foaming when, where the
lane broadened out before the gates, they came upon Giles talking
from his saddle to Slingsby on foot.
"Just as well, maybe," Giles was saying as they cantered up. "John
Dent arrived before his time, Dick; and before his time has gone to
his account."
"Is he dead?" Dick gasped.
"Yes," said Giles. "Hold my reins, Dick, will you? I'll see him,
Slingsby." Dismounting, he strode away with his officer, climbed the
steep bank, and disappeared.
Dick sat still, holding the reins, whilst the horses drooped their
heads and lashed at the flies with their tails. Giles was soon back.
He sprang down into the lane lightly with a pleasant jingle of spurs
and chains and scabbard.
"There was a skirmish, Dick, which we've missed," he said. "They
took one of his troopers, who says Dent had spies here, who saw you
ride off yesterday. He turned up at dawn, and Slingsby caught him in
the fields over yonder. He was killed the first of the lot.
The--the household down there seem to have heard, or seen, nothing."
"Oh, Giles, what a good thing you sent a troop overnight! But I'm
sorry we missed the fighting," said Dick.
Giles stood thoughtfully twisting his moustache.
"But have we done all His Majesty directed, Dick?" he said at length.
"His friends have fled--they were not numerous. He is dead; we
cannot, therefore, send him to trial."
"Is there a clergyman there? We were to look after him, Giles, as
His Majesty particularly mentioned. You were to find him something
to do, weren't you? What? My cousin once said she would try and
find a parson as tutor for me. Giles, dear, send him away, quickly!
She might keep him for that, if not."
Giles laughed a little.
"Come along," he said absently, taking his bridle over his arm and
moving slowly towards the gate. But he stopped when they reached the
door of the house. "My part in the game's played, Dick. Go you in
and tell all the news to her Ladyship. Ask her hospitality for
Slingsby and his men. I'll wait here."
"You'll not!" said Dick. "You'll come in, Giles, and help tell her."
Giles shook his head gently.
"Go you in, Dickie, and tell her your tale--'tis your tale, and I
want her to hear what her waif has done for her, from himself.
Believe me, she'll like it better so. And if you've a mind to please
me, Dick, you will say nothing of the Earl of Lumley; but you may
tell her that Giles was sent to help you--you, mind,--and that this
same Giles, stable-helper and what-not, awaits her Ladyship's
permission to enter."
"A rare jest!" said Dick, laughing. "She will call me a little
blockhead ever to have thought you a stableman when she sees you."
"Maybe," said Giles curtly.
CHAPTER XXII
DICK'S RETURN
The Lady Dorothy Byng was in her chamber upstairs, pacing the floor,
with bent head, restlessly, and very pale indeed. Lorry lay on the
broad step in the window-place, watching her with pathetic,
uncomprehending eyes. She was certainly unhappy. But why? Was it
because, for a whole day, she had missed that frolicking Dick? Or
was she unwell? Oppressed by the air of misfortune around him,
whereunder no one laughed, or ran, or had their regular meals, Lorry
lifted his black nose and gave a piteous, half-strangled whine. But
even that, he found, did not draw his lady's eyes from the oaken
floor, nor stay her pacing feet, nor bring a word from her closed
lips. So she walked, and Lorry watched, for hours, till the sun came
hot and hotter on the dog's back and threw the devices of the
casement glass upon her Ladyship's white dress as she passed him,
splashing her with colour one minute, and leaving her to go cold and
gray into the shadow the next.
Suddenly she stopped with a start. Lorry, growling, bounded up to
the casement and laid his nose on the sill. How foolishly men built
their houses, he thought, for here, strain as he might, the casement
was too high for him to see round into the yard, and yet he knew it
was full of horses and men, strangers all.
"He is come!" cried her ladyship. "Too soon. He shall not have me
till the time!" She was trembling now.
Lorry was too much occupied in barking, with anger and menace, to
heed her. There were steps, running steps, in the corridor. Someone
tried the latch. Lorry, changing his tone with bewildering
suddenness, leapt across to the door, over-turning a stool on his
way. He then set up such a scratching and pawing, with such frantic
leaps and such joyous, echoing barks as made her Ladyship's brain
whirl. Above the clamour she caught Dick's shrill cries.
"Cousin Dorothy! Open! Open, Cousin Dorothy! Be quick!"
Be quick! She flew, like Lorry, unbolted her door, and, catching
Dick in her arms, went near smothering him with kisses. Lorry's wild
efforts to be kissed also were unnoticed, and he could only find
Dick's hair and the tip of one ear, which he industriously worked at,
leaping, barking, and wagging his tail.
"He's come, Dick," her ladyship murmured.
But Dick, drawing back, and holding Lorry's head down by main force,
so that he could speak without having his mouth licked, said: "You're
safe, Cousin Dorothy--safe."
"There are men in the yard, Dick!" she said quickly.
"Our men," he said proudly. "And--oh, dear Cousin Dorothy,--where
shall I begin?"
"Here," she said, drawing him down on the floor as she sank into a
chair. "And you shall tell me first, Dick, you are safe--unhurt.
That you have really come back. Lorry and I--we may as well confess
it--"
"You thought I'd run away?"
She looked down at him remorsefully.
"You must try and forgive us," she said.
"I'll forgive you," Dick cried. "I'd forgive you anything. And what
might you expect of a coward like me?"
She stopped him with a kiss.
"But I'll never forgive Lorry!" said Dick in a minute. "Never! No,
sir! Go down! I pointedly told you about it. I relied on you, sir,
to make her understand,--that I did."
Lorry sighed, with every show of contrition, thrusting his nose into
his mistress's hand.
"You must pardon us both, Dick dear. And what said you?" she asked
eagerly. "That I was safe?"
"Yes, yes, Cousin Dorothy. Why, John Dent is dead, and--"
And the story of his adventure followed, with many wondering,
incredulous questions from her Ladyship. Indeed, Dick read something
more than mere amazement in her face as he related his freedoms with
the King. She half expressed a fear that Dick had been deceived
again in some way. But Dick patiently assured her it was true, every
word of it, and passed on to the arrangements His Majesty made, and
how he then placed the matter in the hands of Giles--Giles, who was
alive, who was there with his master,--Giles, who had come all the
way with Dick, and had managed everything so excellent well.
"Oh, don't sing me his praises!" her ladyship said, lifting her hand.
"Every particle of my appreciation is keeping for you."
"But I could have done nothing without Giles and His Majesty."
"Oh, I give you the King, Dick, and welcome!" she said. "But I take
it as singular His Majesty should have given the affair--my affair,
when you come to reflect, Dick, and I am a lady, into the hands of a
groom. But you say you have officers with the troops--in command of
them? Giles, I suppose, was to wait upon you."
Dick hid his face in her dress, and shook with laughter. The Earl of
Lumley to wait on him!
"Oh, Cousin Dorothy!" he bubbled. He clapped his hands to his mouth
to keep himself from telling all about dear Giles.
"Why do you laugh so, Dick?" she demanded. "Where is the occasion?
You're over-excited, my brave little knight." She bent over him.
"Where did His Majesty kiss you, Dick? We must keep the place
sacred, I think."
Dick raised his face with the most exasperating chuckle.
"'Tis too late for that, Cousin Dorothy. Giles has been over the
ground several times."
Her Ladyship made a slight, laughing gesture of contempt or
annoyance, and he did not receive the proffered kiss.
Dick stood up.
"Well, Cousin Dorothy," he said slyly. "There is that Giles, you
know, standing out there in the sun, very tired, maybe, and very hot,
and--"
"And very thirsty, no doubt," she said. "Why did he not go in with
the rest? You said you'd given Philip his orders to wait on them?"
"Yes, Cousin Dorothy, but Giles said he would wait outside till he
had your Ladyship's permission to enter."
"Very proper," observed her Ladyship coolly. "Let him wait, Dick. I
want your tale all over again. And then my thanks are to be made,
Dickie."
But Dick looked positively frightened.
"Oh, Cousin!" he gasped, "I doubt we had better leave him no
longer,--he--he--"
"You have much too soft a heart, Dick," she said. "Your stableman,
now--There! Don't look so distressed. I will do anything you wish,
Dick. I will even go and thank this worthy man for what he has done.
And when he and the rest have all gone, and we are once more alone, I
will thank you for what you have done, Dick--for the rest of my life."
"I want no thanks," said the boy, his face growing merry again as
they went out together.
Lorry descended the first flight of shallow steps quite sedately
behind them, but with a sniff he suddenly pushed past, fell
precipitately down the next flight into the hall, and stood, stark
and stiff, glaring out at the door.
"Man on the steps!" he barked viciously. "Strange man! One of these
men who are hanging about here." He raced out in a quiver of fury.
"Farewell to your Giles, Dick!" said her ladyship. "Lorry will
devour him ere we arrive."
But when they came in sight of the steps, they beheld that eccentric
dog, Lorry, crouched and fawning at the stranger's feet. And the
stranger was calling him a "good old lad" in an indifferent,
good-humoured way, flicking his head with his glove, which mark of
approval Lorry received with a meek thankfulness never accorded to
his lady's demanded caresses or Dick's boisterously-received
attentions. The Cavalier had had more pity for his horse than for
himself; the bay had been sent out of the hot glaring sun, though
Giles still waited her Ladyship's permission to enter. She halted at
the top of the steps, and her eye ran over the man, his attitude, and
his rose-coloured dress.
"Where is your Giles, Dick?" she demanded.
Before Dick had time to answer, the gentleman started and looked up.
Baring his head with one hand, and pushing Lorry out of the way with
the other, he advanced a step.
"May I come in, madam?" he asked.
Dick felt the hand he held tremble. He glanced from one to the
other. What was happening? Her Ladyship caught away her hand, and
swept down the steps to Giles with a cry. She gave him her hand and
drew him in across the hall to the parlour. They went in, and Giles
shut the door. Dick and Lorry looked at each other. The boy rubbed
his eyes. The dog pattered to the door, and pressed his nose against
the crack. Then, looking impatiently at Dick, he said with his eyes:
"Come and open it; you know how." But Dick shook his head doubtfully.
"Better not, old fellow," he said. "'Tis queer; but they don't want
us."
Lorry grunted and fidgeted about, nosing the hall-floor till he came
on the glove which Giles had dropped. Then he gave a satisfied sigh,
and lay down with his treasure between his paws, and his nose on it.
By some instinct he gathered that Giles was a person to be courted, a
man not given to caressing, but a man who would love a dog, and whom
a dog must love and obey.
Dick stood irresolute, his hand playing with his sword-hilt.
"Ah, it's Giles! 'Tis all right," he said at last, and ran off to
find Philip. Instead, he came upon young Captain Slingsby in the
dining-room, finishing a stately repast, whilst opposite sat the
clergyman who should have married her Ladyship to John Dent. Dick
stayed to drink the King's health with them, and then coaxed Slingsby
into the garden to ask for tales about Giles. He got what he wanted
there, for Slingsby loved no theme so well as the praises of the Earl
of Lumley, his goodness and his generosity, and his own lamentable
folly in going against his excellent advice. They visited the
soldiers, and Dick rushed about amongst them, forgetful of everything
else, questioning, wondering, inspecting arms and accoutrements, and
thinking how fine a thing it was to be a soldier and fight for the
King. He had no notion how time was flying until he became aware
that he was very hungry. Slingsby had fallen asleep under a tree in
the garden, and to Dick's suggestion that he should come in and have
dinner, returned a decided negative, punctuated with yawns.
"But if you were to place a delicate dish or two under my nose, Sir
Richard," he said, just as Dick was departing, "I don't know that the
smell, were it a well-chosen smell, would absolutely turn me."
"Right you are," said Dick. "I'll find something."
He ran off, and came back presently, staggering under a tray.
"Cold duck, sir," he observed, "with a cream and a compôte and a
bottle of something Philip calls prime."
Slingsby sat up.
"Good fortune!" he said briskly, and set to work.
"I did not find my cousin anywhere," said Dick.
"Ah!" said Slingsby, with half-closed eyes, "and where is my lord?"
"I don't know," said Dick.
He was going down the passage to Philip's room, just after dinner,
when he observed that the chapel-door was open, and that Philip and
Bridget were whispering within. He went up to them. There were a
great many flowers on the altar, and the clergyman was laying out his
service-books and vestments.
"What is he doing?" Dick whispered. "There will be no service
to-day."
To his confusion, Bridget burst into tears, and unceremoniously
embraced him.
"Yes, yes, my little sir," the good woman said, wiping her eyes.
"And it's yourself will wait on the groom. And the young captain to
give her Ladyship away--God bless her! And all to end happily after
all!"
Dick stared! Then turned on Philip.
"She's mad," he said judicially.
"Ay," Philip agreed, laughing. "I uphold you, sir. But a wedding,
sir, I may tell you, will unhinge any woman's reason for the time.
And we've you, sir, to thank for it all. 'He's a hero, Philip,'
saith her Ladyship but a minute since. And--'Yes, my Lady,' say I.
That being so, sir, may I make so bold as to ask your honour to shake
hands with me, and may we be the first very heartily to congratulate
your honour?"
"You're mad, too," said Dick, his eyes round with amazement.
"Where's my Lady?" He darted away.
Bridget said: "God bless him, the pretty lamb!"
"Lamb!" said Philip contemptuously. "Lamb, quotha? Lion, more
likely--brave little lion, I tell thee. Away with you! You an' your
lambs!"
CHAPTER XXIII
HER LADYSHIP FINISHES HER STORY
Dick, racing down the passage, ran up against Giles.
"Where's my cousin?" he cried. "Everybody's mad!"
"Are you bitten?" Giles enquired. "Your cousin is asking for you,
and I have been hunting you this half-hour."
He pushed Dick into the oak parlour, and sauntered away himself.
"Oh, Dick, dear," cried her Ladyship, "what a hot, tangled,
dishevelled young gallant! Come here to me at once, sir! I've
something to say."
The sight of his cousin, sitting by the casement in her white dress,
calmed Dick. He had thought her on her birthday night most
beautiful, but her loveliness at this moment filled him with a kind
of awe.
He flung himself down on the window-seat.
"Bridget said--" he began.
"Oh, never mind Bridget!" said her Ladyship. "I have a great deal to
say, Dick. Do you know this?"
She laid in his hand two halves of a gold coin, each attached to a
silken cord.
"Giles's token!" Dick cried. "The one I gave His Majesty at Lumley."
"Yes, and 'tis a coin, Dick, of Scotland, and called a
'bonnet-piece'."
Dick was in no mood to be interested in coins.
"'Twas Giles's," he observed; "and Bridget--"
"Listen, Dick," she entreated. "This piece once belonged to a boy I
knew. 'Twas his chief treasure, and he broke it in two to give half
to a little maid for a keepsake. When they were older she gave it
him back, but in anger, Dick, and misunderstanding. And then he
wanted to-- He was a very foolish man, Dick; he thought no one was
like her, and that she hated him, so he would destroy himself. But
he had a master who loved him, and he took from him the half that had
belonged to the maid, and he bound the man to him by an oath, to
live, and go away and forget the woman if he could; but for his sake
to keep his oath and live. A year after 'twas said the man was dead.
But he was only in prison, Dick, and he escaped. His master knew he
was living, but no one besides, till, his master having need of him,
he came home."
Dick was sitting before her, attentive, grave, wide-eyed.
"His master made him an earl, Dick, on condition that another title
he possessed should go to his younger brother, who had used it
believing 'twas his of right. His Majesty said: 'As Sir Richard
Chester he held Dent, and as Sir Richard Chester he shall be known.'"
But Dick stopped her, catching her hand.
"Cousin Dorothy! No matter for that title. Was it Giles?"
She nodded.
"Who was it your Dorothy insulted in her father's hall years ago,
Dick, thinking he'd killed her brother?"
"Was it--was it Giles?"
"Giles!" she said. "Ah, Dick! how could you be so deceived? A
stableman! How could you, Dick? And how could you let me leave him
at my door like that? Your brother Reginald, and--and he has never
forgotten, Dick."
But Dick was scarcely heeding now.
"There is so much to think of," she went on rapidly. "But Reginald
will have us wedded to-day. And why should I keep him waiting? We
have wasted so many years." A tear fell on her hand, but she wiped
it hastily away. "Will you have me for a sister, Dick," she said.
Dick did not answer. He was experiencing a real difficulty in
sorting and understanding his own feelings. Giles! Giles whom he
had lorded over, flouted, struck, at Dent, his brother! That he
should be a great lord had seemed sufficiently astounding yesterday.
Giles the stableman, Giles the courtier, the unapproachable presence
amongst roisterers and revellers, the man to be obeyed, the friend,
the companion--his brother! A quite strange conviction of his own
unworthiness came over Dick. He turned his eyes solemnly on her
Ladyship, and sighed.
"Dick!" she cried. "What is it? Are you not glad, proud, to be his
brother?"
"All that," said Dick shortly. "What of him?"
"What of him?"
"Ay. Is he glad? Is he proud?" the boy demanded, with a strong
likeness to his brother in his manner.
She kissed him.
"Go and ask him," she said, smiling. "He's in the garden waiting.
To be sure, he's glad."
"But he never told me," Dick said doubtfully. "Why not, then?
Because he was ashamed of me." His cheeks burned. "Think of me by
him! Think how I treated him at Dent! And what I was at the inn!"
"Dick!" she exclaimed. Then, laughing a little, very softly: "Oh,
you amazing creatures!" she said. "Why, think you, did Reginald
never let me know he lived? Ah, because he thought I did not care!
Why did he not tell you he was your brother? Because he thought you
would not love him, forsooth! Why cannot you believe him glad to
have you? Lest he deem you unworthy. Your audacities shock terribly
one moment, and these sudden attacks of modesty are, let me tell you,
confusing. Dick, go and find him. You are indeed just worthy of
each other--a pair of stiff-necked, provoking, adorable beings!"
Dick moved to the door, hesitating still. Could it be true? Was
Giles really his brother, and was he to claim affection by right, and
be no longer a waif and a stray? Her Ladyship followed him, and
stood at the foot of the stairs, swinging the gold tokens by their
silken cords.
"You might have said 'Yes', when I was bold enough to offer myself as
your sister," she said. "Reginald tells me 'twas His Majesty's wish.
You would not question his wish, Dickie. You are going to him day
after to-morrow, I may tell you. But what must I do if you will not
have me for--"
But he flew at her, and the sentence was never completed. Then he
ran down the steps, murmuring busily:
"My brother Reginald! My brother Reginald! But 'tis sad to say
Giles no more!"
The Earl of Lumley was sitting on the grass where it sloped steeply
to the banks of a little stream in the garden. Lorry lay by his
side, beating the turf with his tail. They both heard Dick coming,
and got up.
"A body," Giles observed, "launched down an inclined plane, Lorry,
will gather force as it travels. The steeper the plane the greater
the impact when such a body, so travelling, comes home.
Therefore"--he set his feet apart, and extended his arms--"My boy!"
Dick had come home with impact sufficient, it seemed, to shake the
earl slightly, and to make his eyes dim for a moment, and his voice
break.
"Well," he said at last, "hath she told you all, Dickie?"
"Yes--Reginald."
"Not that, sir," said the earl, frowning.
"My--my lord?" Dick questioned, faltering a little.
"Heavens, no! I thank you, brother."
"Then Giles!" Dick cried, with a triumphant and comfortable sense of
previous acquaintanceship and security.
"That's it, little Captain," said Giles, when his breath returned
after Dick's second onset, and Lorry's wild efforts to be received
also. "Giles for you, if for no one else, Dick. And now shall we
find--"
"My sister Dorothy," said Dick.
"By all means," said Giles.
And together, followed by Lorry, they went back to the house.
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