Читать книгу Over the Hills - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 16

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Evening was upon us as we came in sight of a small, desolate inn standing upon that lonely coast-road which shall bring the traveller to the little hamlet of Seaford. A remote house this, perched hard beside the pebbly foreshore that stretched, bleak and deserted, away to the vague white cliffs beyond the Cuckmere, and nothing of life to be seen or heard save the gulls, that wheeled against darkening sky, uttering their harsh and dismal cries. As we approached I saw this inn was very solid-built, with narrow casements and stout, deep-set door, above whose lowering arch swung a battered sign-board whereon I made out:

The Mariner's Joy.

B. Venus.

Reaching this door, Sir Hector dismounted and knocked, whistling, as he did so, a merry, lilting air I instantly recognized, and drew back from him, wondering, and very shocked that he should thus whistle the air of that fugitive gentleman, Mr. McLeod.

All at once the door opened, and a square, sailorly man appeared, who instantly made a leg and butted his head at Sir Hector in salutation.

"Why, be this yourself, Mr. Weir?" said he hoarsely, "Step in, sir, step in an' welcome—though, to be sure Cap'n Sharkey be gone, sir——"

"Ha, gone?" exclaimed Sir Hector, frowning. "D'ye tell me Sharkey Nye is gone?"

"Ay, sir, 'e be, arl along o' they Preventives, dang 'em! Slipped 'is cable hours agone, sir, being so obleeged d'ye see—Ay, Sharkey's away, sir, but—she ain't!"

"Why, very well, Ben. You may lay supper above for this gentleman at once."

"But soap and water first, sir," I pleaded, whereupon they brought me where I might wash and brush me, the which I did as thoroughly as I might, and to my great refreshment. Then, bidding me follow, Sir Hector led the way up an exceeding narrow pair of stairs (like one well used to the place) and brought me into a small yet cosy chamber with the picture of a grim-faced lady upon one panelled wall, and a prodigious wide chimney where burned a small fire.

And now what with the warmth of this room, the security of roof and walls after my so many terrors and wanderings, I became all at once so oppressed by fatigue that I sank into the chair Sir Hector indicated and mighty thankful.

"Boy," says he, "I must leave you awhile yet first must we find a name for you something better sorted to your gallantry o' garments, than Adam Thursday, such name might damn the boldest ruffler or the most gallant hero, and thou'rt neither, my poor boy."

"No, sir," I answered drowsily.

"No," says he, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Faith there's nothing heroical about you, Adam, so what you lack to the eye we must make up to the ear, yourself being somewhat small and meek, we must fit you with name like a clarion-blast."

"As you will, sir," I murmured, blinking sleepily whiles he looked down on me, clicking white teeth with thumb-nail, profoundly musing.

"Bellenger?" said he at last. "No! Bellcaster?—Hum! Bellcastonborough? Ha, this should serve. My lord Bellcastonborough—a sonorous mouthful, rolling upon the tongue—'tis very well——"

"But, sir," says I, struggling against my drowsiness, "why must I be a lord? I am no fine gentleman."

"Therefore you should make a right excellent lord."

"Nay," says I, uneasily, "how may I play such part, sir?"

"By being thyself, oaf. Your lord may be meek or arrogant, fool or rogue, the crass world shall fawn upon his title—so be yourself, Adam. And now I'll away, sup meanwhile and bide here until I return."

"And what then, sir? What will you with me?"

"Save ye from the soldiers, fool—if you obey! And so, for a short while, farewell, my lord Bellcastonborough." Then downstairs he jingled, and I heard his voice beneath the open casement, the clatter of his horse's hoofs, that broke into a gallop and died rapidly away.

Now, being too weary to trouble for myself, the present or future, I lay back in the chair watching the flickering fire until my eyes closed, and I was upon the brink of slumber when, feeling a touch, I glanced up to see the landlord, Ben, butting at me with his bullet head and touching hoary eyebrow at almost every word.

"Supper, if y'please, m'lord, an' the best we can do, m'lord. If your lordship lacks for aught ha' the kindness to stamp on the floor, m'lord."

So, having thanked him, I drew to the table and a goodly supper it proved, noble beef and nappy ale, such as had seldom or never come my way, whereof I ate and drank like the famished creature I was, until, finding the pistol irked me, I unbuttoned silken waistcoat and laid the useless weapon by. At length, my bodily needs satisfied, I turned back to the comfort of the fire. Sitting thus, my drowsy glance came upon the battered picture on the opposite wall, the portrait of a grim, fierce-eyed, sharp-nosed lady in ruff and farthingale, and I wondered idly who she might be and, so wondering, slipped gently into slumber.

How long I slept I know not, but this sharp-nosed lady somehow got into my dreams, I thought she was leaning out from canvas and frame to peer at me angrily with her fierce eyes, insomuch that I awoke, and, glancing towards this picture, caught my breath and stared (and no wonder) for, by some magic, the sharp-nosed lady had become marvellously transfigured, glorious with youth and vivid beauty—deep eyes gazing at me beneath low, sweet-curving brows, and set in an oval face whose delicate pallor was off-set by ruddy, full-lipped mouth; a young face, indeed, and yet in these wide eyes and the wistful droop of vivid, generous mouth, I thought to read trouble.

"Sir, is it yourself will help one sore dismayed?"

A voice, soft yet wonderfully clear, such as I had never heard. Mute and unmoving I stared, half fearing she might vanish even while she thus gazed back at me, then I rose, mumbling I know not what.

"I fear I startled you," said she, and stepping down lightly into the room discovered a narrow opening in the wall over which she slid the picture. "Sir, you behold one in sorry, woeful pickle!" says she with strange, pretty gravity, and advanced to the hearth; and now (to my further discomfiture) I saw that, despite my high heels, she topped me by fully an inch.

"Sir," says she again, viewing me with her grave, beautiful eyes, "myself, I am here to meet wi' one—a gentleman I hae never seen—I am wondering if you are he?"

"No—alas, no, madam!" I stammered.

"My grief!" she sighed. "Then am I still lost and so far frae my bonny Scotland!" Here she turned to glance down sadly into the fire whiles I stared at her, the proud poise of her head with its glossy hair (for hat she wore none) her close-fitting, travel-stained velvet habit that clung about her shapeliness as though it loved her, the elegant riding-boots, so pitifully mired and worn; from these, my glance stole up to her face, again to see her regarding me sideways and watchful.

"Yourself will tell me you are a fugitive Jacobite, sir?" she questioned.

"Why, madam, I—I—indeed——"

"O nay, nay," said she, a little disdainfully. "Keep your ain counsel then, sir—though ye need nae fear to trust me, I am Barbara MacGregor, and my race is royal!" Here she threw back her head and looked at me with air so proud and stately that I stood abashed.

"Indeed I—I do trust you," I stammered. "I would trust you with my life, I think—yes, I am a fugitive also."

"But an Englishman, I think, sir?"

"Yes, madam."

"Aweel, whatever o't, sir, God made English as well as Scots, they tell me." Here she smiled suddenly, and was as suddenly grave again. "Are ye from Preston fight, sir?"

"No," I answered, wishing I might have said "yes."

"An ill day for 'The Cause' sir, yon—a sad, black day for King James, forbye there are many brave gentlemen died there—chiefly MacGregors. Indeed we MacGregors are children o' Misfortune, people o' the mist and mountains, pain and sorrow is our portion, alas for Clan Alpine! How and ever, sir, hae ye chanced o' late to hear word of an English gentleman by name Eustace Ancaster?"

Now at this sudden question I turned and stared into the fire.

"Is he the—the friend, the gentleman you would meet here?" I enquired.

"The same, sir."

"And you have never seen him?"

"Never, 'tis this makes my situation so——" she stopped and glanced quickly towards the open lattice, for upon the road was sound of hoof-beats coming at wild gallop, and then Sir Hector's voice rang loud and imperious:

"Oho, house—house ho!"

"O God o' Grace!" exclaimed Mistress Barbara, and turned towards the secret panel, but espying my pistol on the table, caught it up and stood with it tight grasped, staring towards the casement with eyes very bright and fierce.

"Lady do not fear——" I began.

"Sir," she answered proudly, "a MacGregor never fears! But there is evil out yon—a very fiend."

"Indeed," I nodded, "'tis Sir Hector——"

"MacFarlane!" she whispered. "And for us he means prison—death belike. Yet I would not have his blood on my hands—I'm sweir to use this pistol on him—open the panel, sir."

My hand was on it or ever she spoke, but try how I would it refused to budge, whereupon she came to help only to find her efforts equally vain, the panel stood fast.

"Indeed, then it must be the pistol!" said she, and crossing swiftly to the window, crouched there to peer forth, and thither also went I and beheld Sir Hector dismounted, in close talk with the landlord; then, all at once, he glanced up and beholding my companion, swept off his hat with a flourish, whereupon she instantly levelled the pistol at him across the window-sill.

"Away, Hector Keith MacFarlane!" said she, her voice low, yet mighty determined; "Away sir, or die for the traitor you are!"

"Nay, sweet Barbara, do not shoot me," he answered lightly. "You'd burn powder to your own danger, for yonder come the soldiers! Hark to 'em, child; but for me you are lost and his lordship also!" And sure enough upon the dusk rose a sound distant yet very dreadful to hear, the muffled tramp of oncoming, marching feet. Instinctively I shrank back into the room, and, sinking upon a chair, covered my face, overwhelmed anew with fear of capture and most ghastly death.

I was conscious of excited voices below stairs, a quick, masterful tread, and Sir Hector stood before us.

"So then you've met? You've found each other?" says he glancing from the lady to me and back again. "Faith 'tis excellent well! And on my life, Barbara, thou'rt grown more beautiful even with this last year. E'gad the world is threatened with another lovely woman!"

"Threatened, sir?"

"Faith yes, Bab, thou'lt bring bitter strife 'twixt man and man yet, lass. Ye promise marvellous well—I marvel Tearlach could bear to part wi' ye!"

"My father himself couldna' come, sir, as ye ken unco' well, so I marched wi' the clans in his stead."

"Ay, you were at Solway Moss, I think."

"And Preston, sir."

"A braw, wild, bonny maid!" said he. "But forgive me, Barbara—and yet I presume you will know this young gentleman who honours us with his presence?"

"Not I, sir."

"Then suffer me to present the justly notorious, or I should rather say, celebrated Lord Bellcastonborough, the hero of divers desperate affrays."

Hereupon, seeing the lady looking at me, I flushed and rose (feeling myself most shameful fool) and bowed as well as I might, while she favoured me with profound and gracious curtsey.

"My Lord Bellcastonborough hath himself endured much for The Cause," said Sir Hector, seeing I stood before her mumchance, abashed and with head shamefully bowed.

"And himself so young!" sighed she, gently. "I honour you the more, my lord."

"Nay, madam," I began, "I—I indeed—I——" here, as I thus pitifully floundered, Sir Hector came to my rescue, his strangly beautiful voice seeming, to my ears, full of hateful mockery.

"Indeed, Barbara, his lordship's cruel sufferings should win the kind sympathy of anyone—especially a woman. But now, of yourself, Bab, you were unwise to adventure so far south o' the Border."

"I gang where I will, sir!"

"Ay, a wilful maid ever, I mind. 'Twas to meet young Ancaster ye came hither, I think?"

"Enough, sir!" she answered in sudden anger. "Call up your soldiers, Hector Macfarlane that names yoursel' Keith and Weir to your so vile purposes; you that are Scot that all true Scots cry shame on; you that are traitor to your King, call in your English soldiers and ha' done!"

Sir Hector laughed, and when he spoke his voice was mocking:

"Softly, Bab! Curb your pretty tongue, sweet shrew, bewitching besom, for my wing is over thee, rebel though thou art, the soldiers shall not harm thee, Barbara."

"And I tell ye, Hector, I had rather be taken than owe my liberty to the Macfarlane! So call your soldiers, sir."

"Nay, they are coming, child, yet are you safe. For though your father is my avowed and most bitter enemy—or one of them, I do not war with maids, Bab. Indeed, you are safe with me. Nay, my lord, keep from the casement, I beg, the soldiers cannot reach here yet awhile!—Barbara, was't not your father's set purpose to wed ye with young Eustace Ancaster? Come, answer me, Bab, for we were unco' loving friends once, thou and I, lang years syne when you were a wee bit lass and I—young and full of hope and faith in my fellows—'twas Tearlach's will to mate ye with young Ancaster?"

"Ay, 'twas my father's will. Hector."

"Yet, never having seen this gilded youth, you could not love him, Barbara?"

"Sir 'twas my father's will."

"Ay!" he nodded, "Tearlach was aye a tyrant! And the Ancasters, save one, are a thrice-accursed brood, and to mingle thy sweet blood wi' theirs—'twere desecration! Well, this have I saved ye from, child, for Eustace Ancaster lies dead."

"Dead?" she repeated in awed tones, and then again: "Dead? O, are you sure, Hector, sure?"

"Very sure!" he answered with complacent nod. "I killed him this afternoon!"

"You—killed him!"

"Happily!" answered Sir Hector with his gentle smile. "But shalt not lack for spouse, sweet Bab, and one far worthier than he—how say you to this noble gentleman, my lord Bellcastonborough?"

At this she stared from him to me, then frowned disdainfully, and I saw her cheek aflame with painful colour; as for me I stood dumb with stark amaze.

"Devil!" cried a voice that, wondering, I knew for mine. "Devil!" and then, as to the manner born, I clapped hand to sword, but as I drew it my wrist was caught in iron clutch that gripped until my hand unclenched and the sword fell clattering.

"Rash, my lord, most rash!" said he in gentle reproach and, stooping, picked up the weapon and put it into my hand. "But your lordship is young, full of desperate, high spirit——"

"Devil!" I repeated, staring up into his eyes that now held a demon of mockery. "I am no lord as you are well aware, I am——"

"Tush, my lord!" said he serenely. "Your extremity of caution is needless, here are none to betray you; this is my lady Barbara MacGregor, brave as any man, more discreet than any woman, and with proud father who troubles for no man beneath a lord, so i'faith, my lord, what better escort should my lady have back to her father's hall but your lordship's noble and gallant self?"

"And, MacFarlane, outbye I hear your soldiers!" said she. "Away to them, sir, and earn your blood money!"

At this, he glanced at her, frowning a little, and from her to me, where I stood listening to the tramp of the soldiers now so dreadfully loud and near.

"My lord," says Sir Hector with mocking bow, "though the mere thought of wedlock with this lovely termagent, this surpassing shrew, frights you, 'twould seem, yet may you freely trust her. And now, would you stay trouble from her—keep her from yon lattice awhile."

And so, with another smiling bow, he went from the room.