Читать книгу The Jade of Destiny - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 10

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Quoth Jocelyn, gazing after old Robina’s bowed form:

“Dost know yon poor creature, I think?”

“Indeed, for wicked hag and black witch!”

“Sayst thou?”

“Ay, I do, sir! She is notorious these many years for damned sorceress.”

“Hum!”

“Never dare hum at me, sir! I say she is vile hag and yet you must name her ‘mother’ forsooth! Ah, fie shame on you!”

“Shame?” mused Jocelyn, rubbing shaven chin. “She spoke of shame and, moreover, of death—of destruction and of those that ride by night. Now whom should these be, I’m wondering? Ay and what——”

“ ’Tis ... ’tis wild creature! A mad creature ... a frantic wretch——” gasped Ione, and he wondered to see her deep bosom so tempestuous and rich colour all fled.

“Why it seems they tortured her,” he answered gently; “racked and maimed her, poor soul, and this is apt to set reason and sanity tottering, I’ve known it so in bloody Flanders in Alva’s time.... Yet prithee why should poor, mad creature’s raving drive the colour from your ladyship’s cheek, set those pretty hands ashake? Thou art the proud Ione lady Fane, of great and noble family, what may touch thee?”

“Nothing!” she cried, lovely head up-thrown. “Ah—nothing!” But, speaking, she turned her back on him and coming to a tree, leaned there while Jocelyn viewed that shapely, drooping back with looks of anxious perplexity. Then she turned and taking off the rustic hat she wore, fanned herself therewith.

“The sun’s so hot!” she sighed. “And plagues me vilely. And now let us go, Richard waits you.”

“But then, madam, I wait here for my comrade Florian. And I had liefer bid my lord farewell by proxy. I beg your ladyship therefore tell him I——”

“Now what idle talk is this of farewell? You babble, sir! And Richard shall be in fury of impatience,—come!”

“But your ladyship must be pleased to remember how——”

“Oh, Captain Dinwiddie—tush!”

“How your ladyship hath discovered me for something of a menace——”

“Enough, sir!”

“As indeed I truly am, ’twould seem. And thus I would but remove this peril according to your ladyship’s will.”

“Then my ladyship wills ye remain, sir. And what’s more, my ladyship commands——”

The imperious words ended in a gasp and she stood gazing at his stained left hand with expression of such fearful amazement that he glanced at it also.

“The Red Hand!” whispered Ione. “So this—this is what she meant! Said she ... did old Robina tell you aught of the Aldrington legend?”

“Madam,” he answered, shaking his head, “here’s riddlesome talk beyond my wit. This hand o’ mine showeth red for that, being mere human, an steel insinuate I must needs bleed.”

“So then you were hurt? Show me! Come you and have it tended.... How, sir, do you hesitate? Will you gainsay me? What then, must I be humble to beg, sue, plead, supplicate and entreat your High Mightiness not to be gone? Must I kneel and implore you remain here at Aldrington? So then, behold me, sir!” And speaking she was on her knees before him, had caught his stained hand, folding it between her soft palms as one who swore the ancient fealty-oath; then, while he stood amazed beyond all speech, she rose, viewing him with her stateliest air:

“Well, sir, is’t enough?” she demanded. “Is your stubborn pride sufficient soothed?”

“ ’Slife Madam, I’m all bewildered!” he answered shaking his head in frowning perplexity. “I grope for the wherefore of such unnatural humility! What magic is there in all creation to bring such arrogant lady to her proud knees?”

“Her own will, sir, mayhap.”

“So I am very fain to know this legend of Aldrington, this tale of a Red Hand, for of a truth——” he paused and turned as towards them through the little wood rode a handsome, smiling personage, nobly-mounted, gaily-clad, a gentleman rubicund and jovial, whose comely features were adorned by a small moustachio and little dainty beard trimmed in the latest mode and so youthfully golden as made his heavy brows and deep-set eyes the older by contrasts (or, at least, so thought the Captain).

Beholding Ione, this gay and sprightly gentleman was off his horse, had doffed plumed bonnet, bowed, caught her hand, kissed it, all in as many moments.

“Sweet coz,” cried he in aggressive ecstasy, “by Venus her downy doves I swear the passing days but perfect thee, thou’rt a delight to the eyes, a vision delectable, a very joy!”

“And thou’rt merry and fulsome as ever, cousin!” she laughed, freeing her hand from his lingering clasp. “Captain Dinwiddie, here stands Richard’s and my only living relative and kinsman—our Cousin Roland Fane.”

“Your servant, Mr. Fane!” said the Captain and bowed, keeping his stained hand out of sight.

“Yours devotedly, sir!” cried Mr. Fane and flourished. “You are strange to Aldrington I think, Captain?”

“I am, sir.”

“But here to bide a while, I trust, sir?”

“Indeed, cousin,” answered Ione, “the Captain is Rick’s friend and is with us for as long as he will.”

“Oh, excellent, i’ faith! Captain, I shall ha’ the joy to know you ever better, I hope.”

Again the Captain bowed to Mr. Fane’s smiling flourish.

“Ione, fair coz, I saw good friend o’ thine but yester night, poor Robin Netherby, to wit.”

“And wherefore ‘poor’, Roland?”

“Why ha’n’t you heard, child? Marry, now I thought ’twas common bruit. The reckless fellow hath affronted the whole bench o’ magistrates i’ the matter of Robina Shaw, the curst witch. ’Sbody, he hath set all the neighbourhood gentry by the ears, he hath so ’i faith! He proffered to fight each or all on her behalf, this black beldam! Gad’s my life! Tom Vincent would ha’ taken him up but for his green wound.”

“Dost tell me Sir Thomas is wounded? Why how came this?”

“The tale is he was beset by divers rogues and swinged ’em roundly, I hear. But for thy Robin, coz, ’tis a bull-headed lad, poor Robin that must someday be thine own Robin—eh, my Ione?”

“Here’s idle gossip, Roland.”

“Nay but, sweet soul, are ye not good as contracted each to other? Did not your several fathers agree the match, you to wed Robin and Robin you—ha?”

“This was years agone and we but children.”

“Yet I’ll be sworn Robin yearns to hold thee to’t, ay he hankers for thee, coz, sighs for thy beauties e’en among his pigs and cows, a fervent swain though bucolic,—and determined.”

“Nay I’ll vow Robin is true a gentleman as any and a comely.”

“Ha verily, verily, my Ione, a rustical Apollo he, yet fearful wooer, poor laggard lover that would yet dare not ... and thyself such peerless creature conformed of such warm lovelihood that by Venus her girdle I vow and swear myself thy veriest slave adoring and——”

“Fiddle-de-dee!” she mocked. “Sure ’twas not to prate me such folly you rode hither.”

“Sweet coz, upon my life it was to drink me in eyedraughts of thy beauty, to quaff thee till my senses reeled.”

“And quaff wine with Richard between whiles—eh, Roland?”

“This too!” he laughed, kissing his hand to her. “All the neighbourhood shall flock to greet him anon and I’d be first. Come, prithee let’s to the dear lad forthright.”

So, bridle on arm and full of jovial talk and laughter, this cheery gentleman strolled between them.

And presently, coming forth of the wood, they beheld across broad, undulating park and far-flung blooming gardens the great house of Aldrington throned majestic on its three terraces,—gable and chimney, battlement, turret and the age-old, war-scarred tower, this house that had grown with succeeding generations from grim stronghold to stately home.

Mr. Fane halted and reached out a long arm:

“Aldrington Chase!” he murmured.

“And yonder is Richard in the bowling-alley with Mr. Ferndale,” said Ione. “Come, let us join them.”

So they went on again, Mr. Fane very joyfully eager for a game:

“And what think you of Aldrington, sir Captain?” he enquired gaily.

“That ’tis right noble heritage, sir,” answered Jocelyn, looking from this splendour to his questioner’s so youthful-seeming, smiling face, “indeed, so rich, so glorious that to possess it some men might peril their very souls.”

“God’s life!” exclaimed Mr. Fane, staring back at him beneath lifted brows; then he laughed and caressed his little, golden beard with long, white fingers, but the eyes of him, glancing askew, seemed older than ever (or so thought Jocelyn).