The White Horses

by Halliwell Sutcliffe

  *CHAPTER XXI.*

  *SIR REGINALD'S WIDOW.*

  There is nothing so astounding, so muddled by cross-issues andunexpected happenings, as civil war. Not long ago Marston Moor hadheard the groans of Cavaliers as they lay naked to the night-wind, andprayed for death in Wilstrop Wood. York had surrendered. The garrisonsof Knaresborough and Ripley, met together on the dusty highroad here,were weak with famine and privation. Yet they stood chatting--theladies of both garrisons passing laughter and light badinage with themen--as if they were gathered for a hunting-party or falconry. Theintolerable pressure of the past months was ended for a while, if onlyby disaster; and from sheer relief they jested.

  Joan Grant, in the middle of the chatter, edged her mare near to asprightly horse-woman who had just dismissed Michael with a playful tapof her whip across his cheek.

  "You are Miss Bingham? Ah, I guessed it."

  "By what token?"

  "By your beauty, shall we say? Gossip has so much to tell about it, andabout the Vicarage garden, with Nidd River swirling past theferry-steps."

  They eyed each other with the wariness of duellists. "The good Vicar isfortunate in his garden," assented Miss Bingham, with the most charmingcourtesy.

  "And in his water-nymphs, 'twould seem. I think you would be like somecomely dream--on an April evening, say, with the young leafage of thetrees for halo."

  "Oh, it is pleasant to be flattered! But why this praise of me? Wewere strangers not an hour ago."

  "I have heard so much of you. You were so kind to the men who sortiedfrom Knaresborough and returned with wounds. You sat by theferry-steps--all like a good angel--and bound their hurts afresh whenthey smarted. Oh, indeed, we have heard of your pleasant skill inhealing."

  While they faced each other, there came the thud and racket ofhorse-hoofs down the road. The rider drew rein amid a swirl of dust,cleared his eyes with a hand that trembled, and looked from one face toanother. His tired face lit up when at last he saw the Governor ofKnaresborough.

  "Give you good-day, sir. I was riding to seek aid from you."

  "The devil you were," growled the other. "The man sups lean who truststo my help, Graham. Knaresborough's in other hands since--sinceMarston."

  "It would be. I had forgotten that. But you're here."

  "What is your need, lad?"

  "A few men to help me, over at Norton Conyers. I rode to ask if youcould lend them me."

  "All of us, if we're needed. We were jesting on the road here, for lackof other occupation. What is it? But, first, is your uncle safe--toughReginald Graham? I love him as I love the steep rock-face ofKnaresborough."

  "It was this way. My uncle would have me near him at Marston. We werewith Rupert on the right wing, and were close behind one of the RidingMetcalfs--I know not which, for they're all big men and as like as twopeas in a pod--and saw him cut Cromwell through the throat. We weretogether when we broke the Roundheads and pursued too far. It was whenwe came to the ditch again, and found Leslie there with his Scots, thatI lost Sir Reginald. I took a wound or two in the stampede thatfollowed, and was laid by in a little farmstead near Wilstrop Wood. Thegood-wife was kind to me--said she had lost a bairn of her own not longsince, trampled down by flying horsemen at the gate."

  "Ay, lad; but why d'ye not get forward with your news of Sir Reginald?"

  "Because I cannot trust myself to speak of him without some folly in mythroat. Give me time, sir--give me time. I got about again in a day ortwo, and stumbled home somehow to Norton Conyers. And I--I met a blackprocession--all like a nightmare, it was--journeying to the kirkyard.So I joined them; and one man nudged another, and asked who this wascoming in his tatters to the burial without mourning-gear. And Ipointed to my wounds and laughed. 'Mourning-gear enough,' said I.'Mourners go in blood and tatters since Marston.' And then, they tellme, I fell, and lay where I fell. That was all I knew, till I got upnext day with all my limbs on fire."

  There was silence among those looking on--a deep and reverent silence.This youngster, out of battle and great pain, had captured someright-of-way to the attention of strong men.

  "When I was about again, they told me how it chanced. Sir Reginald tooka mortal hurt at Marston, but rode with the best of his strength toNorton Conyers. He found Lady Graham at the gate, waiting for news ofhim; and he stooped from saddle, so they say, and kissed her. 'I couldnot die away from you, wife,' he said."

  "Ay," growled the Governor, "he was like that--a hard fighter, and alover so devout that his wife had reason to be proud."

  "She tried to help him get from horse; but he shook his head. 'Thestairs are wide enough,' was all his explanation. Then he rode in atthe main door and up the stair, and bent his head low to enter the bigbed-chamber. He got from the saddle to the bed, lay with his eyes onfire with happiness, and so died."

  "A good ending," said the Squire of Nappa roughly, because he dared notgive his feelings play. "What I should call a gentleman's ending--lealto King and wife. Oh, you young fool, no need to make a tragedy aboutit!"

  Graham answered gamely to the taunt that braced him. "As for that, sir,tragedy is in the making, if no help comes to Norton Conyers. We hadword this morning that a company of Roundheads was marching on theHall--the worst of the whole brood--those who robbed the dead and dyingin Wilstrop Wood."

  It was not the Governor of Knaresborough who took command. Withoutpause for thought of precedence, Squire Metcalf lifted his voice.

  "A Mecca for the King, and bustle about the business, lads!"

  The road no longer showed like a meeting-place where idle gentryforegathered to pass the time of day. The Governor, with some envyunderlying all his admiration, saw the Metcalfs swing into line behindtheir leader.

  "Our horses are fresh," explained the Squire over shoulder, with atwinge of punctilio. "Do you follow, sir, and guard the women-folk."

  "I shall guard them," said the Governor, laughing quietly.

  Miss Bingham saw Joan watching the dust swirl and eddy in the wake ofthe Riding Metcalfs, saw that the girl's face was petulant and wistful."He did not pause to say good-bye," she said, with gentlest sympathy.

  "I did not ask him to."

  "But, indeed, men are fashioned in that mould. I am older than you,child."

  "So much is granted," said Joan sharply.

  "And women are fashioned in their mould, too, with feet of velvet andthe hidden claws. Yes, I am older. You drew blood there."

  "Miss Bingham, I am in no mood for petty warfare of our sort. Our menhave done enough, and they are riding out again. We women should keepstill tongues, I think, and pray for better guidance."

  "How does one pray? You're country-bred and I am not." The voice wasgentle, but the sideways glance had venom in it. "It comes so easily toyou, no doubt--scent of hay, and church bells ringing you across thefields, and perhaps _he_ will meet you at the stile, to share theself-same book--is that what prayer means?"

  "No," said the Governor, interposing bluntly. "Ask Lady Derby whatprayer means--she who has made Lathom House a beacon for all time. AskIngilby's wife, who held Ripley for the King's wounded--ask Rupert----"

  "The Prince--is he, too, among the listeners to church bells?" askedMiss Bingham airily.

  "To be precise, he is. I talked yesterday with one who was at York whenRupert came to raise the siege. The Prince was spent with forcedmarches, dead-weary, soul and body. He had earned his praise, you wouldhave thought; but, when they cheered him like folk gone mad, he justwaited till the uproar ceased, and bared his head. 'The faith that isin me did it, friends, not I,' he said, and the next moment he laughed,asking for a stoup of wine."

  "He cared for his body, too, 'twould seem," murmured Miss Bingham.

  "A soldier does, unless by birth and habit he's an incorrigible fool.I've even less acquaintance than you with prayer; but I've seen thefruits of it too often, child, to sneer at it."

  "To be
named child--believe me, sir, it's incense to me. Miss Granthere was persuading me that I was old enough to be her mother. I wasprepared to kneel at the next wayside pool and search there for greyhairs."

  "Search in twenty years or so--time enough for that. Meanwhile, we haveto follow these hot-headed Metcalfs, and discipline begins, MissBingham."

  "Oh, discipline--it is as tedious as prayer."

  The Governor cut short her whimsies. "The tedium begins. This is noballroom, I would have you understand."

  Miss Bingham sighed as their company got into order. "Why are not allmen of that fashion?" she asked languidly. "It is so simple to obeywhen one hears the whip, instead of flattery, singing round one's ears."

  Joan glanced at her in simple wonderment. She had no key that unlockedthe tired, wayward meaning of this woman who had played many games ofchess with the thing she named her heart.

  The Metcalfs, meanwhile, had gone forward at a heady pace. As of old,one purpose guided them, and one rough master-mind had leadership oftheir hot zeal. They encountered many piteous sights by thewayside--stragglers from Marston, Knaresborough, York--but the oldSquire checked his pity.

  "It's forrard, lads, forrard!" he would roar from time to time, as theywere tempted to halt for succour of the fallen.

  His instinct guided him aright. When they came through the dust ofthirsty roads and the dead heat of a thunderstorm that was brewingoverhead, to the high lands overlooking Norton Conyers, they caught aglint below them of keen sunlight shining on keen steel.

  "It's always my luck to be just in time, with little to spare," saidBlake, the messenger, who was riding at the Squire's bridle-hand. "D'yesee them yonder?"

  Metcalf saw a gently-falling slope of pasture between the Roundheads andthemselves, with low hedges separating one field from another."Tally-ho, my lads!" he laughed. "I'll give you a lead at the fences--aYoredale sort of lead."

  The Parliament men checked their horses, gaped up at the sudden uproar,and had scarce braced themselves for the encounter when the Metcalfswere down and into them. The weight of horseflesh, backed by speed,crashed through their bulk, lessening the odds a little. Then it washack, and counter, and thrust, till the storm broke overhead, as it haddone at Marston, but with a livelier fury. They did not heed it. Timeand again the yell of "A Mecca for the King!" was met by the roar of"God and the Parliament!" And Squire Metcalf, in a lull of the eddyingbattle, found the tart humour that was his help in need.

  "Nay, I'd leave half of it out, if I were ye, after what chanced inWilstrop Wood. Fight for Parliament alone, and all its devilries."

  That brought another swinging fight to a head; and the issue shiftedconstantly. The lightning danced about the men's armour. The thundernever ceased, and the rain lashed them as if every sluice-gate of theclouds were opened.

  Very stubborn it was, and the din of oaths and battle-cries leaped outacross the thunder-roar, stifling it at times.

  "The last shock, Meccas!" cried the Squire. "Remember Wilstrop Wood."

  In the harsh middle of the conflict, the Squire aimed a blow at theforemost of the Roundheads who rode at him. His pike dinted the man'sbody-armour, and the haft snapped in two. Little Blake rode forward tohis aid, knowing it was useless; and, with a brutish laugh, theRoundhead swung his sword up.

  And then, out of the yellow murk of the sky, a friend rode down to theSquire's aid--rode faster than even Blake had done on the maddest of hisescapades. Kit, unpressed for the moment after killing his immediateadversary, saw a blue fork of flame touch the uplifted sword and rundown its length. The Roundhead's arm fell like a stone dropped from agreat height, and lightning played about horse and rider till bothseemed on fire. They dropped where they stood, and lay there; and for amoment no man stirred. It was as if God's hand was heavy on them all.

  The Squire was the first to recover. "D'ye need any further battle, yerobbers of the dead?" he asked.

  Without further parley they broke and fled. Panic was among them, andmany who had been honest once in the grim faith they held saw wrath andjudgment in this intervention.

  The Metcalfs were hot for pursuit, but their leader checked them. "Nay,lads. Leave the devil to follow his own. For our part, we're pledgedto get to Norton Conyers as soon as may be."

  His kinsmen grumbled at the moment; but afterwards they recalled howRupert, by the same kind of pursuit, had lost Marston Field, and theybegan to understand how wise their headstrong leader was.

  The sun was setting in a red mist--of rain to come--when they reachedNorton Conyers; and an hour later the Governor of Knaresborough rode inwith the mixed company he guarded. The men of his own garrison, thewomen-folk of Knaresborough and Ripley, odds and ends of camp followers,made up a band of Royalists tattered enough for the dourest Puritan'sapproval.

  "Where is li'le Elizabeth?" asked Michael plaintively. "For my sins, Iforgot her when the Squire told us we were hunting the foxes who raidedWilstrop Wood."

  "Who is Elizabeth?" snapped the Governor, in no good temper.

  "Oh, a lady to her hoof-tips, sir--loyal, debonair, a bairn in yourhands when she loves you, and a devil to intruders." He turned, withthe smile that brimmed out and over his Irish mouth. "Meccas all, theGovernor asks who Elizabeth is. They knew in Oxford, and praised hergrace of bearing."

  A lusty braying sounded through the lessening thunder-claps, and a roarof laughter came from Michael's kinsmen.

  "Twins are never far apart, if they can help it," said Christopher. "Itis daft to worry about Elizabeth, so long as Michael's safe."

  From long siege on land there comes to men something of the look thatmanners have whose business is with besieging seas. The Governor's eyeswere steady and far away. He seemed bewildered by the ready laughter ofthese folk who had ridden in the open instead of sitting behind castlewalls. But even his gravity broke down when Elizabeth came trottingthrough the press, and look about her, and found Michael. She lickedhis hands and face. She brayed a triumph-song, its harmony known onlyto herself.

  "One has not lived amiss, when all is said," said Michael. "You willbear witness, sir, that I have captured a heart of gold."

  The Governor stopped to pat Elizabeth, and she became an untamed fury onthe sudden, for no reason that a man could guess.

  "I--I am sorry, sir," Michael protested.

  "Oh, no regrets! She is a lady to her hoof-tips, as you said, and myshins are only red-raw--not broken, as I feared."

  It was well they had their spell of laughter in between what had beenand what must follow. When they came to Norton Conyers, it was to findthe mistress dull with grief, and hopeless. All she cared for layburied, with pomp and ceremony enough, in the kirkyard below. She wasscarcely roused by the news that fire and rapine would have raided thedefenceless house if the Riding Metcalfs had not come on the stroke ofneed.

  "I thank you, gentlemen--oh, indeed, I thank you. But nothing mattersvery much. He waits for me, and that is all."

  She was past argument or quiet persuasion. They ate and drank theirfill that night, because they needed it--and their needs were the King'sjust now--and on the morrow, when they had cursed their wounds, andprayed for further sleep, and got up again for whatever chanced, theyfound Graham's widow still intractable. They told her that the safetyof many women-folk was in her hands.

  "I trust them to you," she said. "There's an old nurse of mine lives upin a fold of the hills yonder. They will not find me there, and I carelittle if they do. Meanwhile, I shall get down each night and morningto pray for the soul of a gallant gentleman who has unlocked theGate"--her eyes were luminous with a temperate fire--"unlocked it alittle ahead of me. He has left it on the latch."

  The Squire bent to her hand. "Madam," he said, his roughness broken up,as honest moorland soil is broken when it is asked to rear pleasantcrops--"madam, I've a wife in Yoredale, I. She carries your sort ofheart, I think. Of your charity, pray for her till I come."

  "I shall pray, sir."

&nb
sp; And so the Riding Metcalfs went from Norton Conyers, with an addedburden of women-folk, but with a sense of rosemary and starshine, as ifthey had tarried for a while in some wayside Calvary.