Читать книгу Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 6, July 1905 - Various - Страница 5

The Lady Barbara’s coach was wobbling slowly along the moonlit road that led to The Jolly Grig. Fast enough it traveled, however, according to Lady Barbara’s way of thinking, in spite of the fact that, at the tavern, she would find a lover and love awaiting her; the lover, Lord Percy Farquhart, to whom she was betrothed, to whom she would, indeed, be married in a fortnight’s time, and love in the person of Harry Ashley, who had loved her long, and whom she thought she loved. Under her gauntlet Lord Percy’s betrothal ring chafed her finger. On her breast lay the red rose she wore always, for no other reason than that Ashley had asked her so to do.

Querulous to the ancient dame who traveled with her she had been from the start, and more than querulous to the two black-eyed maids whose sole apparent duties were to divine my lady’s wishes before they could be expressed in words.

“Absurd; I say it is absurd that I should be dragged up to London in all this mire,” Lady Barbara cried, in a petulant, plaintive voice. “What do I want with the latest fallals and fripperies to catch my Lord Farquhart’s fancy when he never so much as looks at me? I know full as well as he that his Mistress Sylvia in rags would be more to him than I would be if I were decked in the gayest gauds the town could offer.”

“Sylvia!” gasped her attendant dame.

“Ay, Sylvia, I said,” answered the Lady Barbara. “Don’t think that I’m deaf to London gossip, and don’t imagine that I’m the unsophisticated child my father thinks me, merely because I acquiesce in this brutal plan to marry me to a man I hate. I know how my Lord Farquhart entertains himself. Not that I’d have his love, either. I’d hate him offering love more than I hate him denying it.”

The petulant voice ran on and on, its only vehemence induced by the muddy ruts in the road. Mistress Benton, using every force to keep awake, interjected monosyllabic exclamations and questions. The two maids, exerting all their powers to fall asleep, gave little heed to their mistress’ railings.

The outriders, lured onward by an imagined maltiness in the air, had permitted an ever-increasing distance between themselves and their lady’s coach. It was certainly some several moments after they had passed a moon-shadowed corner that the lumbering coach horses stumbled, wavered and stopped short. Sleepy Drennins recovered his seat with difficulty, the sleepy coach boys sprang to the horses’ heads, Mistress Benton squawked, and the young maids squeaked with terror. Only the Lady Barbara was quite calm. But it must be remembered that the Lady Barbara would welcome delay in any form. But even she drew back in some alarm from the masked face that appeared at the coach door.

“Aaaaay! God help us!” screamed Mistress Benton. “’Tis the Black Devil himself.”

The two maids clung to each other and scurried into an anguished unconsciousness.

The mask had opened the coach door, and his face was close to the Lady Barbara’s.

“A word in your ear, sweet cousin Babs,” he whispered. “But first order your men, on pain of death, to stand each where they are.”

The Lady Barbara recognized dimly a familiar tone in the voice. She saw Lord Farquhart’s coat.

“Lord Farquhart! Percy!” The cry was faint enough in itself, but it was muffled, too, by the gauntleted hand of the highwayman.

“Only for your eyes, my cousin,” he answered. “Only for your ears.”

“What prank is this?” she demanded, haughtily, and yet she had, indeed, given her orders to her men to stand each in his place on pain of death.

“A lover’s prank, perhaps, my sweetheart,” the mask answered. “A prank to have a word alone with you. Come, step down upon my cloak and walk with me out into the moonlight. I would see by it your daffodil hair, your violet eyes, your poppy lips, your lily cheeks.”

A mocking, rippling laugh crossed the Lady Barbara’s lips. At once she gave her hand to her strange cavalier.

“I thought my eyes and ears were not mistaken,” she said. “Now I know in very truth that you are my cousin Percy, for that is the only lover-like speech that ever came from his lips to me. You believe in repetition, it seems.”

In spite of old Mistress Benton’s commands and prayers, the Lady Barbara had stepped from the coach and the stranger had slammed the door upon the gibbering dame.

“Ripening corn in a wanton breeze, I should call the hair to-night,” he said. “Bits of heaven’s own blue, the eyes; roses red and white, the cheeks, and ripe pomegranate the lips. Does that suit you better, Lady Babs?”

The Lady Barbara’s laughter rang back to Mistress Benton’s frenzied ears.

“The moonlight seems to infuse your love with warmth, my cousin.” The lady leaned with coquettish heaviness upon the arm that supported her hand.

“The icicle that holds your heart has chilled my love till now, my sweet,” the mask answered.

“But why did you stop me in this fashion?” The Lady Barbara had drawn back from the ardor in her escort’s voice. “What means this silly masquerade? What words would you speak to me here? In this fashion?”

“’Tis but a lover’s prank, as you said,” he answered, lightly. Then, singing softly Lord Farquhart’s song to Sylvia, he swung her lightly from him, and bowed low before her as though she were his partner in a dance.

She, falling in with his humor, dropped him an answering courtesy, and, drawing off her gauntlet, gave him her bare hand. He fell on his knee before her, and lightly touched the hand with his lips.

“Give me the glove, sweetheart,” he cried, “and the rose you wear on your heart and – and all these rings that mar your sweet, white hand with their gaudy reds and blues. Leave only mine to prove that you are only mine.”

He drew the jewels from her hand, and, suddenly, she started from him.

“Take off your mask, Percy, and lift your hat,” she cried, impulsively.

“You ask too much, sweet cousin.” Still he answered lightly. He was still on his knees before her. “My mask and my hat proclaim my trade, if not to you, at least to your servants.”

The roses in her cheeks faded, then blossomed once again. Again she laughed, but this time the rippling music held a tremor. Her hand caught her heart.

“For an instant,” she gasped – “oh! for an instant I thought – I was afraid that you might indeed be – ”

“And for once you thought the truth, sweet cousin. But you’ve naught to fear.” The mask’s voice had grown serious. He was on his feet and holding both her hands in his. “I am he; I am he in dread of whom all London shivers, and it was to tell you that – that I stopped you, Barbara. To tell you and to test, if not your love, at least your good intentions as my wife. The world tells me that I cannot win your love, that it has been given irretrievably to another. But your fidelity I must prove before you wear my name. I am placing my life, my safety, my honor, in the sweet jeopardy of your hands. My life is forfeit, as you know. My life is henceforth in your hands.” She was shrinking away from him, but he held her fast. “My friends – your lover – await us at The Jolly Grig. I shall be with them before you arrive. You will face them and me in ten minutes or less. If you intend to keep faith with me as my wife, you will meet me as your betrothed. You will give no sign of this new knowledge of me.”

“But – but – ” she stammered.

“There are no buts, sweet cousin, sweetheart.” Already he was leading her back to the coach. “You may cry out, if you will, when you see us, that you were held up by the black highwayman. In truth, there will be no need for you to tell the tale. Your servants will save you the trouble. In proof of the story, the fellow has stolen your rose and your glove and your rings. In ransom of your life, you swore that he should not be followed. We’ll hurry you on to town. We’ll give the alarm, and the constables and their men will have a mad and a merry chase. But from now on, this is our secret. We are one in that already.”

Courteously and slowly he drew her to the coach, pressing her forward as she held reluctantly back. Denying her all chance to answer, he handed her into the coach and disappeared.