Читать книгу The Splendid Spur - Arthur Quiller-Couch - Страница 8

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The bearer has left my servise, and his helth conserus me nott. Soe kik him if he tarrie.

This last advice I had no time to carry out with any thoroughness: but being put in a great dread by this change of hour, pelted off toward the Corn Market as fast as legs could take me, which was the undoing of a little round citizen into whom I ran full tilt at the corner of Balliol College: who, before I could see his face in the darkness, was tipp'd on his back in the gutter and using the most dismal expressions. So I left him, considering that my excuses would be unsatisfying to his present demands, and to his cooler judgment a superfluity.

The windows of the “Crown” were cheerfully lit behind their red blinds. A few straddling grooms and troopers talked and spat in the brightness of the entrance, and outside in the street was a servant leading up and down a beautiful sorrel mare, ready saddled, that was mark'd on the near hind leg with a high white stocking. In the passage, I met the host of the “Crown,” Master John Davenant, and sure (I thought) in what odd corners will the Muse pick up her favorites! For this slow, loose-cheek'd vintner was no less than father to Will Davenant, our Laureate, and had belike read no other verse in his life but those at the bottom of his own pint-pots.

“Top of the stairs,” says he, indicating my way, “and open the door ahead of you, if y'are the young gentleman Master Killigrew spoke of.”

I had my foot on the bottom step, when from the room above comes the crash of a table upsetting, with a noise of broken glass, chairs thrust back, and a racket of outcries. Next moment, the door was burst open, letting out a flood of light and curses; and down flies a drawer, three steps at a time, with a red stain of wine trickling down his white face.

“Murder!” he gasped out; and sitting down on a stair, fell to mopping his face, all sick and trembling.

I was dashing past him, with the landlord at my heels, when three men came tumbling out at the door, and downstairs. I squeezed myself against the wall to let them pass: but Master Davenant was pitch'd to the very foot of the stairs. And then he picked himself up and ran out into the Corn Market, the drawer after him, and both shouting “Watch! Watch!” at the top of their lungs; and so left the three fellows to push by the women already gathered in the passage, and gain the street at their ease. All this happen'd while a man could count twenty; and in half a minute I heard the ring of steel and was standing in the doorway.

There was now no light within but what was shed by the fire and two tallow candles that gutter'd on the mantelshelf. The remaining candlesticks lay in a pool of wine on the floor, amid broken glasses, bottles, scattered coins, dice boxes and pewter pots. In the corner to my right cower'd a potboy, with tankard dangling in his hand, and the contents spilling into his shoes. His wide terrified eyes were fix'd on the far end of the room, where Anthony and the brute Settle stood, with a shattered chair between them. Their swords were cross'd in tierce, and grating together as each sought occasion for a lunge: which might have been fair enough but for a dog-fac'd trooper in a frowsy black periwig, who, as I enter'd, was gathering a handful of coins from under the fallen table, and now ran across, sword in hand, to the Captain's aid.

'Twas Anthony that fac'd me, with his heel against the wainscoting, and, catching my cry of alarm, he call'd out cheerfully over the Captain's shoulder, but without lifting his eyes—

“Just in time, Jack! Take off the second cur, that's a sweet boy!”

Now I carried no sword; but seizing the tankard from the potboy's hand, I hurl'd it at the dog-fac'd trooper. It struck him fair between the shoulder blades; and with a yell of pain he spun round and came toward me, his point glittering in a way that turn'd me cold. I gave back a pace, snatch'd up a chair (that luckily had a wooden seat) and with my back against the door, waited his charge.

'Twas in this posture that, flinging a glance across the room, I saw the Captain's sword describe a small circle of light, and next moment, with a sharp cry, Anthony caught at the blade, and stagger'd against the wall, pinn'd through the chest to the wainscoting.

“Out with the lights, Dick!” bawl'd Settle, tugging out his point. “Quick, fool—the window!”

Dick, with a back sweep of his hand, sent the candles flying off the shelf; and, save for the flicker of the hearth, we were in darkness. I felt, rather than saw, his rush toward me; leap'd aside; and brought down my chair with a crash on his skull. He went down like a ninepin, but scrambled up in a trice, and was running for the window.

There was a shout below as the Captain thrust the lattice open: another, and the two dark forms had clambered through the purple square of the casement, and dropped into the bowling-green below.

By this, I had made my way across the room, and found Anthony sunk against the wall, with his feet outstretched. There was something he held out toward me, groping for my hand and at the same time whispering in a thick, choking voice—

“Here, Jack, here: pocket it quick!”

'Twas a letter, and as my fingers closed on it they met a damp smear, the meaning of which was but too plain.

“Button it—sharp—in thy breast: now feel for my sword.”

“First let me tend thy hurt, dear lad.”

“Nay—quickly, my sword! 'Tis pretty, Jack, to hear thee say 'dear lad.' A cheat to die like this—could have laugh'd for years yet. The dice were cogg'd—hast found it?”

I groped beside him, found the hilt, and held it up.

“So—'tis thine, Jack: and my mare, Molly, and the letter to take. Say to Delia—Hark! they are on the stairs. Say to—”

With a shout the door was flung wide, and on the threshold stood the Watch, their lanterns held high and shining in Anthony's white face, and on the black stain where his doublet was thrown open.

In numbers they were six or eight, led by a small, wrynecked man that held a long staff, and wore a gilt chain over his furr'd collar. Behind, in the doorway, were huddled half a dozen women, peering: and Master Davenant at the back of all, his great face looming over their shoulders like a moon.

“Now, speak up, Master Short!”

“Aye, that I will—that I will: but my head is considering of affairs,” answered Master Short—he of the wryneck. “One, two, three—” He look'd round the room, and finding but one capable of resisting (for the potboy was by this time in a fit), clear'd his throat, and spoke up—

“In the king's name, I arrest you all—so help me God! Now what's the matter?”

“Murder,” said I, looking up from my work of staunching Anthony's wound.

“Then forbear, and don't do it.”

“Why, Master Short, they've been forbearin' these ten minutes,” a woman's voice put in.

“Hush, and hear Master Short: he knows the law, an' all the dubious maxims of the same.”

“Aye, aye: he says forbear i' the King's name, which is to say, that other forbearing is neither law nor grace. Now then, Master Short!”

Thus exhorted, the man of law continued—

“I charge ye as honest men to disperse!”

“Odds truth, Master Short, why you've just laid 'em under arrest!”

“H'm, true: then let 'em stay so—in the king's name—and have done with it.”

Master Short, in fact, was growing testy: but now the women push'd by him, and, by screaming at the sight of blood, put him out of all patience. Dragging them back by the skirts, he told me he must take the depositions, and pull'd out pen and ink horn.

“Sirs,” said I, laying poor Anthony's head softly back, “you are too late: whilst ye were cackling my friend is dead.”

“Then, young man, thou must come along.”

“Come along?”

“The charge is homocidium, or manslaying, with or without malice prepense—”

“But—” I look'd round. The potboy was insensible, and my eyes fell on Master Davenant, who slowly shook his head.

“I'll say not a word,” said he, stolidly: “lost twenty pound, one time, by a lawsuit.”

“Pack of fools!” I cried, driven beyond endurance. “The guilty ones have escap'd these ten minutes. Now stop me who dares!”

And dashing my left fist on the nose of a watchman who would have seized me, I clear'd a space with Anthony's sword, made a run for the casement, and dropp'd out upon the bowling-green.

A pretty shout went up as I pick'd myself off the turf and rush'd for the back door. 'Twas unbarr'd, and in a moment I found myself tearing down the passage and out into the Corn Market, with a score or so tumbling downstairs at my heels, and yelling to stop me. Turning sharp to my right, I flew up Ship Street, and through the Turl, and doubled back up the High Street, sword in hand. The people I pass'd were too far taken aback, as I suppose, to interfere. But a many must have join'd in the chase: for presently the street behind me was thick with the clatter of footsteps and cries of “A thief—a thief! Stop him!”

At Quater Voies I turn'd again, and sped down toward St. Aldate's, thence to the left by Wild Boar Street, and into St. Mary's Lane. By this, the shouts had grown fainter, but were still following. Now I knew there was no possibility to get past the city gates, which were well guarded at night. My hope reach'd no further than the chance of outwitting the pursuit for a while longer. In the end I was sure the potboy's evidence would clear me, and therefore began to enjoy the fun. Even my certain expulsion from College on the morrow seem'd of a piece with the rest of events and (prospectively) a matter for laughter. For the struggle at the “Crown” had unhinged my wits, as I must suppose and you must believe, if you would understand my behavior in the next half hour.

A bright thought had struck me: and taking a fresh wind, I set off again round the corner of Oriel College, and down Merton Street toward Master Timothy Carter's house, my mother's cousin. This gentleman—who was town clerk to the Mayor and Corporation of Oxford—was also in a sense my guardian, holding it trust about £200 (which was all my inheritance), and spending the same jealously on my education. He was a very small, precise lawyer, about sixty years old, shaped like a pear, with a prodigious self-important manner that came of associating with great men: and all the knowledge I had of him was pick'd up on the rare occasions (about twice a year) that I din'd at his table. He had early married and lost an aged shrew, whose money had been the making of him: and had more respect for law and authority than any three men in Oxford. So that I reflected, with a kind of desperate hilarity, on the greeting he was like to give me.

This kinsman of mine had a fine house at the east end of Merton Street as you turn into Logic Lane: and I was ten yards from the front door, and running my fastest, when suddenly I tripp'd and fell headlong.

Before I could rise, a hand was on my shoulder, and a voice speaking in my ear—

“Pardon, comrade. We are two of a trade, I see.”

'Twas a fellow that had been lurking at the corner of the lane, and had thrust out a leg as I pass'd. He was pricking up his ears now to the cries of “Thief—thief!” that had already reach'd the head of the street, and were drawing near.

“I am no thief,” said I. — “Quick!” He dragged me into the shadow of the lane. “Hast a crown in thy pocket?”

“Why?”

“Why, for a good turn. I'll fog these gentry for thee. Many thanks, comrade,” as I pull'd out the last few shillings of my pocket money. “Now pitch thy sword over the wall here, and set thy foot on my hand. 'Tis a rich man's garden, t'other side, that I was meaning to explore myself; but another night will serve.”

“'Tis Master Carter's,” said I; “and he's my kinsman.”

“The devil!—but never mind, up with thee! Now mark a pretty piece of play. 'Tis pity thou shouldst be across the wall and unable to see.”

He gave a great hoist: catching at the coping of the wall, I pull'd myself up and sat astride of it.

“Good turf below—ta-ta, comrade!”

By now, the crowd was almost at the corner. Dropping about eight feet on to good turf, as the fellow had said, I pick'd myself up and listen'd.

“Which way went he?” call'd one, as they came near.

“Down the street!” “No: up the lane!'” “Hush!” “Up the lane, I'll be sworn.” “Here, hand the lantern!” &c., &c.

While they debated, my friend stood close on the other side of the wall: but now I heard him dash suddenly out, and up the lane for his life. “There he goes!” “Stop him!” the cries broke out afresh. “Stop him, i' the king's name!” The whole pack went pelting by, shouting, stumbling, swearing.

For two minutes or more the stragglers continued to hurry past by ones and twos. As soon as their shouts died away, I drew freer breath and look'd around.

I was in a small, turfed garden, well stock'd with evergreen shrubs, at the back of a tall house that I knew for Master Carter's. But what puzzled me was a window in the first floor, very brightly lit, and certain sounds issuing therefrom that had no correspondence with my kinsman's reputation.

“It was a frog leap'd into a pool—

Fol—de—riddle, went souse in the middle!

Says he, This is better than moping in school.

With a—”

“—Your Royal Highness, have some pity! What hideous folly! Oh, dear, dear—”

“With a fa-la-tweedle-tweedle,

Tiddifol-iddifol-ido!”

“—Your Royal Highness, I cannot sing the dreadful stuff! Think of my grey hairs!”

“Tush! Master Carter—nonsense; 'tis choicely well sung. Come, brother, the chorus!”

“With a fa-la—”

And the chorus was roar'd forth, with shouts of laughter and clinking of glasses. Then came an interval of mournful appeal, and my kinsman's voice was again lifted——

“He scattered the tadpoles, and set 'em agog,

Hey! nod-noddy-all head and no body!

Oh, mammy! Oh, minky!—”

“—O, mercy, mercy! it makes me sweat for shame.”

Now meantime I had been searching about the garden, and was lucky enough to find a tool shed, and inside of this a ladder hanging, which now I carried across and planted beneath the window. I had a shrewd notion of what I should find at the top, remembering now to have heard that the Princes Rupert and Maurice were lodging with Master Carter: but the truth beat all my fancies.

For climbing softly up and looking in, I beheld my poor kinsman perch'd on his chair a-top of the table, in the midst of glasses, decanters, and desserts: his wig askew, his face white, save where, between the eyes, a medlar had hit and broken, and his glance shifting wildly between the two princes, who in easy postures, loose and tipsy, lounged on either side of him, and beat with their glasses on the board.

“Bravissimo! More, Master Carter—more!”

“O mammy, O nunky, here's cousin Jack Frog—

With a fa-la—”

I lifted my knuckles and tapp'd on the pane; whereon Prince Maurice starts up with an oath, and coming to the window, flings it open.

“Pardon, your Highness,” said I, and pull'd myself past him into the room, as cool as you please.

'Twas worth while to see their surprise. Prince Maurice ran back to the table for his sword: his brother (being more thoroughly drunk) dropped a decanter on the floor, and lay back staring in his chair. While as for my kinsman, he sat with mouth wide and eyes starting, as tho' I were a very ghost. In the which embarrassment I took occasion to say, very politely—

“Good evening, nunky!”

“Who the devil is this?” gasps Prince Rupert.

“Why the fact is, your Highnesses,” answered I, stepping up and laying my sword on the table, while I pour'd out a glass, “Master Timothy Carter here is my guardian, and has the small sum of £200 in his possession for my use, of which I happen to-night to stand in immediate need. So you see—” I finished the sentence by tossing off a glass. “This is rare stuff!” I said.

“Blood and fury!” burst out Prince Rupert, fumbling for his sword, and then gazing, drunk and helpless.

“Two hundred pound! Thou jackanapes—” began Master Carter.

“I'll let you off with fifty to-night,” said I. — “Ten thousand—!”

“No, fifty. Indeed, nunky,” I went on, “'tis very simple. I was at the 'Crown' tavern—”

“At a tavern!”

“Aye, at a game of dice—”

“Dice!”

“Aye, and a young man was killed—”

“Thou shameless puppy! A man murder'd!”

“Aye, nunky; and the worst is they say 'twas I that kill'd him.”

“He's mad. The boy's stark raving mad!” exclaim'd my kinsman. “To come here in this trim!”

“Why, truly, nunky, thou art a strange one to talk of appearances. Oh, dear!” and I burst into a wild fit of laughing, for the wine had warm'd me up to play the comedy out. “To hear thee sing

“'With a fa—la—tweedle—tweedle!'

and—Oh, nunky, that medlar on thy face is so funny!”

“In Heaven's name, stop!” broke in the Prince Maurice. “Am I mad, or only drunk? Rupert, if you love me, say I am no worse than drunk.”

“Lord knows,” answer'd his brother. “I for one was never this way before.”

“Indeed, your Highnesses be only drunk,” said I, “and able at that to sign the order that I shall ask you for.”

“An order!”

“To pass the city gates to-night.”

“Oh, stop him somebody,” groan'd Prince Rupert: “my head is whirling.”

“With your leave,” I explain'd, pouring out another glassful: “tis the simplest matter, and one that a child could understand. You see, this young man was kill'd, and they charg'd me with it; so away I ran, and the Watch after me; and therefore I wish to pass the city gates. And as I may have far to travel, and gave my last groat to a thief for hoisting me over Master Carter's wall—”

“A thief—my wall!” repeated Master Carter. “Oh well is thy poor mother in her grave!”

“—Why, therefore I came for money,” I wound up, sipping the wine, and nodding to all present.

'Twas at this moment that, catching my eye, the Prince Maurice slapp'd his leg, and leaning back, broke into peal after peal of laughter. And in a moment his brother took the jest also; and there we three sat and shook, and roar'd unquenchably round Master Carter, who, staring blankly from one to another, sat gaping, as though the last alarm were sounding in his ears.

“Oh! oh! oh! Hit me on the back, Maurice!”

“Oh! oh! I cannot—'tis killing me—Master Carter, for pity's sake, look not so; but pay the lad his money.”

“Your Highness——”

“Pay it I say; pay it: 'tis fairly won.”

“Fifty pounds!”

“Every doit,” said I: “I'm sick of schooling.”

“Be hang'd if I do!” snapp'd Master Carter.

“Then be hang'd, sir, but all the town shall hear to-morrow of the frog and the pool! No, sir: I am off to see the world——

“'Says he: “This is better than moping in school!”'”

“Your Highnesses,” pleaded the unhappy man, “if, to please you, I sang that idiocy, which, for fifty years now, I had forgotten——”

“Exc'll'nt shong,” says Prince Rupert, waking up; “less have't again!”

To be short, ten o'clock was striking from St. Mary's spire when, with a prince on either side of me, and thirty guineas in my pocket (which was all the loose gold he had), I walked forth from Master Carter's door. To make up the deficiency, their highnesses had insisted on furnishing me with a suit made up from the simplest in their joint wardrobes—riding-boots, breeches, buff-coat, sash, pistols, cloak, and feather'd hat, all of which fitted me excellently well. By the doors of Christ Church, before we came to the south gate, Prince Rupert, who had been staggering in his walk, suddenly pull'd up, and leaned against the wall.

“Why—odd's my life—we've forgot a horse for him!” he cried.

“Indeed, your Highness,” I answered, “if my luck holds the same, I shall find one by the road.” (How true this turned out you shall presently hear.)

There was no difficulty at the gate, where the sentry recogniz'd the two princes and open'd the wicket at once. Long after it had clos'd behind me, and I stood looking back at Oxford towers, all bath'd in the winter moonlight, I heard the two voices roaring away up the street:

“It was a frog leap'd into a pool—”

At length they died into silence; and, hugging the king's letter in my breast, I stepped briskly forward on my travels.