CHAPTER IV
TWO TO ONE
Henrietta, high-spirited and thoughtless, was more prone to anger thanto fear, to resentment than to patience. But all find somethingformidable in the unknown; and the presence of this man who spoke withso much aplomb, and referred to her lover as if he had some concern inhim, was enough to inspire her with fear and set her on her guard.Nevertheless, she could not quite check the first impulse toresentment; the man's very presence was a liberty, and her tone whenshe spoke betrayed her sense of this.
"I have no doubt," she said, "that Mr. Stewart can be found if youwish to see him." She turned to Mrs. Gilson. "Be good enough," shesaid, "to send some one in search of him."
"I have done that already," the man Bishop answered.
The landlady, who did not move, seemed tongue-tied. But she did nottake her eyes off the girl.
Henrietta frowned. She threw her bonnet and shawl on a side-table.
"Be good enough to send again, then," she said, turning and speakingin the indifferent tone of one who was wont to have her orders obeyed."He is probably within call. The chaise is ordered for ten."
Bishop advanced a step and tapped the palm of one hand with thefingers of the other.
"That is the point, miss!" he said impressively. "You've hit it. Thechaise is ordered for ten. It is nine now, within a minute--and thegentleman cannot be found."
"Cannot be found?" she echoed, in astonishment at his familiarity."Cannot be found?" She turned imperiously to Mrs. Gilson. "What doesthis person mean?" she said. And her tone was brave. But the colourcame and went in her cheeks, and the first flutter of alarm darkenedher eyes.
The landlady found her voice.
"He means," she said bluntly, "that he did not sleep in his bed lastnight."
"Mr. Stewart?"
"The gentleman who came with you."
"Oh, but," Henrietta cried, "you must be jesting?" She would not, shecould not, give way to the doubt that assailed her.
"It is no jest," Bishop answered gravely, and with something like pityin his voice. For the girl looked very fair and very young, and woreher dignity prettily. "It is no jest, miss, believe me. But perhaps wecould read the riddle--we should know more, at any rate--if you wereto tell us from what part you came yesterday."
But she had her wits about her, and she was not going to tell themthat! No, no! Moreover, on the instant she had a thought--that thiswas no jest, but a trick, a cruel, cowardly trick, to draw from herthe knowledge which they wanted, and which she must not give! Beyonddoubt that was it; she snatched thankfully at the notion. This odiouswoman, taking advantage of Stewart's momentary absence, had called inthe man, and thought to bully her, a young girl in a strange place,out of the information which she had wished to get the night before.
The impertinents! But she would be a match for them.
"That is my affair," she said.
"But----"
"And will remain so!" she continued warmly. "For the rest, I aminclined to think that this is a trap of some sort! If so, you may besure that Mr. Stewart will know how to resent it, and any impertinenceoffered to me. You"--she turned suddenly upon Mrs. Gilson--"you oughtto be ashamed of yourself!"
Mrs. Gilson nodded oracularly.
"I am ashamed of somebody," she said.
The girl thought that she was gaining the advantage.
"Then at once," she said, "let Mr. Stewart know that I am waiting forhim. Do you hear, madam?" she stamped the floor with her foot, andlooked the pretty fury to the life. "And see that this person leavesthe room. Good-morning, sir. You will hear from Mr. Stewart what Ithink of your intrusion."
Bishop opened his mouth to reply. But he caught Mrs. Gilson's eye; andby a look, such a look as appalled even the Bow Street runner's stoutheart, she indicated the door. After a second of hesitation he passedout meekly.
When he was gone, "Very good, miss," the landlady said in the tone ofone who restrained her temper with difficulty--"very good. But ifyou're to be ready you'd best eat your breakfast--if, that is, it isgood enough for you!" she added. And with a very grim face she sweptfrom the room and left Henrietta in possession of the field.
The girl sprang to the window and looked up and down the road. She hadthe same view of the mild autumn morning, of the grey lake and distantrange of hills which had calmed her thoughts an hour earlier. But thebeauty of the scene availed nothing now. She was flushed withvexation--impatient, resentful. Where was he? He was not in sight.Then where could he be? And why did he leave her? Did he think that heneed no longer press his suit, that the need for _pettis soins_ andattentions was over? Oh, but she would show him! And in a moment allthe feelings of the petted, spoiled girl were up in arms.
"They are horrid!" she cried, angry tears in her eyes. "It's anoutrage--a perfect outrage! And he is no better. How dare he leave me,this morning of all mornings?"
On which there might have stolen into her mind--so monstrous did hisneglect seem--a doubt, a suspicion; the doubt and the suspicion whichshe repelled a few minutes earlier. But, as she turned, her eyes fellon the breakfast-table; and vexation was not proof against a healthyappetite.
"I will show him," she thought resentfully, "that I am not sodependent on him as he thinks. I shall not wait--I shall take mybreakfast. That odious woman was right for once."
And she sat down in the seat placed for her. But as quickly she was upagain, and at the oval glass over the mantel--where Samuel Rogers hadoften viewed his cadaverous face--to inspect herself and be sure thatshe was looking her best, so that _his_ despair, when he came andfound her cold and distant, would be the deeper. Soon satisfied, shereturned, smiling dangerously, to her seat; and this time she fell-toupon the eggs and girdle-cakes, and the home-cured ham, and the tea atten shillings a pound. The room had a window to the lake and a secondwindow which looked to the south and was not far from the first.Though low-ceiled, it was of a fair size, with a sunk cupboard, withglazed upper doors, on each side of the fireplace, and cushioned seatsin the window-places. In a recess near the door--the room was full ofcorners--were book-shelves; and on the other side of the door stood atall clock with a very pale face. The furniture was covered with somewarm red stuff, well worn; and an air of that snug comfort which wasvalued by Englishmen of the day pervaded all, and went well with thescent of the China tea.
But neither tea nor comfort, nor the cheerful blaze on the hearth,could long hold Henrietta's thoughts; nor resentment repress heranxiety. Presently she began to listen after every mouthful: her forkwas as often suspended as at work. Her pretty face grew troubled andher brow more deeply puckered, until her wandering eye fell on theclock, and she saw that the slowly jerking hand was on the verge ofthe half-hour.
Then she sprang up, honestly frightened. She flew to the window thatlooked on the lake and peered out anxiously; thence to the sidewindow, but she got no glimpse of him. She came back distracted to thetable and stood pressing her hands to her eyes. What if they wereright, and he had not slept in his bed? What if something had happenedto him? But that was impossible! Impossible! Things did not happen onsuch mornings as this! On wedding mornings! Yet if that were the case,and they had sent for her that they might break it to her--and thentheir hearts, even that woman's heart, had failed them? What--whatthen?
She was trying to repel the thought when she fancied that she heard asound at the door, and with a gasp of relief she looked up. If he hadentered at that moment, she would have flung herself into his arms andforgiven all and forgotten all. But he did not enter, and her heartsank again, and lower. She went slowly to the door and listened, andfound that the sound which she had heard was caused by the whisperingof persons outside.
She summoned her pride to her aid then. She opened the door to itsfull extent and walked back to the table, and turning, waitedhaughtily for them to enter. But to speak, to command her voice, washarder, and it was all she could do to murmur,
"Something has happened to h
im"--her lip fluttered ominously--"and youhave come to tell me?"
"Nothing that I know of," Bishop answered cheerfully. He and thelandlady had walked in and closed the door behind them. "Nothing atall."
"No?" She could hardly believe him.
"Not the least thing in life, miss," he repeated. "He's alive and wellfor what I know--alive and well!"
She sat down on a chair that stood beside her, and the colour flowedback to her cheeks. She laughed weakly.
"I was afraid that something had happened," she murmured.
"No," Mr. Bishop answered, more seriously, "it's not that. It's notthat, miss. But all the same it's trouble. Now if you were to tellme," he continued, leaning forward persuasively, "where you come from,I need have hardly a word with you. I can see you're a lady; yourfriends will come; and, s'help me, in six months you'll have yourmatie again, and not know it happened!
"I shall not tell you," she said.
The officer shook his head, surprised by her firmness.
"Come now, miss--be advised," he urged. "Be reasonable. Just thinkfor once that others may know better than you, and save me thetrouble--that's a good young lady."
But the wheedling appeal, the familiar tone, grated on her. Herfingers, tapping on the table, betrayed impatience as well as alarm.
"I do not understand you," she said, with some return of her formerdistance. "If nothing has happened to Mr. Stewart, I do not understandwhat you can have to say to me, nor why you are here."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, miss," he said, "if you must have it, you must. I'm bound tosay you are not a young lady to take a hint."
That frightened her.
"If nothing has happened to him----" she murmured, and looked from oneto the other; from Mr. Bishop's smug face to the landlady's stolidvisage.
"It's not what has happened to him," the runner answered bluntly. "Itis what is likely to happen to him."
He drew from his pocket as he spoke a large leather case, unstrappedit, and put the strap, which would have handily spliced a cart-traceof these days, between his teeth. Then he carefully selected from themass of papers which the case contained a single letter. It waswritten, as the letters of that day were written, on three sidesof a square sheet of coarsish paper. The fourth side served forenvelope--that is, it bore the address and seal. But Bishop wascareful to fold the letter in such a way that these and the greaterpart of the writing were hidden. He proffered the paper, so arranged,to Henrietta.
"D'you know the handwriting," he asked, "of that letter, miss?"
She had watched his actions with fascinated eyes, and could not think,could not imagine, whither they tended. She was really frightened now.But her mettle was high; she had the nerves of youth, and she hid herdismay. The hand with which she took the letter was steady as a rock,the manner with which she looked at it composed; but no sooner had hereyes fallen on the writing than she uttered an exclamation, and thecolour rose to her cheeks.
"How did you get this?" she cried.
"No, miss, no," the runner answered. "One at a time. The question is,Do you know the fist? The handwriting, I mean. But I see you do."
"It is Mr. Stewart's," she answered.
He glanced at Mrs. Gilson as if to bespeak her attention.
"Just so," he said. "It is Mr. Stewart's. And I warrant you haveothers like it, and could prove the fact if it were needed. No--don'tread it, miss, if you please," he continued. "You can tell me withoutthat whether the gentleman has any friends in these parts."
"None."
"That you know of?"
"I never heard of any," she answered. Her astonishment was so greatthat she did not now think of refusing to answer. And besides, herewas his handwriting. And why did he not come? The clock was on thepoint of striking; at this hour, at this minute, they should have beenleaving the door of the inn.
"No, miss," Bishop answered, exchanging a look with the landlady."Just so, you've never heard of any. Then one more question, if youplease. You are going north, to Scotland, to be married to-day? Nowwhich way, I wonder?"
She frowned at him in silence. She began to see his drift.
"By Keswick and Carlisle?" he continued, watching her face. "Or byKendal and Penrith? Or by Cockermouth and Whitehaven? But no. There'sonly the Isle of Man packet out of Whitehaven."
"It goes on to Dumfries," she said. The words escaped her in spite ofherself.
He smiled as he shook his head.
"No," he said; "it'd be a very long way round if it did. But Mr.Stewart told you that, did he? I see he did. Well, you've had anescape, miss. That's all I can say."
The colour rose to her very brow, but her eyes met his boldly.
"How?" she said. "What do you mean?"
"How?" he repeated. "If you knew, miss, who the man was--your Mr.Stewart--you'd know how--and what you have escaped!"
"Who he was?" she muttered.
"Ay, who he was!" he retorted. "I can tell you this at least,young lady," he added bluntly, "he's the man that's very badlywanted--uncommonly badly wanted!"--with a grin--"in more places thanone, but nowhere more than where he came from."
"Wanted?" she said, the colour fading in her cheek. "For what? What doyou mean?"
"For what?"
"That is what I asked."
His face was a picture of importance and solemnity. He looked at thelandlady as much as to say, "See how I will prostrate her!" Butnothing indicated his sense of the avowal he was going to make so muchas the fact that instead of raising his voice he lowered it.
"You shall have the answer, miss, though I thought to spare you," hesaid. "He's wanted for being an uncommon desperate villain, I am sorryto say. For treason, and misprision of treason, and conspiracy. Ay,but that's the man you've come away with," shaking his head solemnly."He's wanted for bloody conspiracy--ay, it is so indeed--equal to anyGuy Fawkes, against my lord the King, his crown and dignity! Sevenindictments--and not mere counts, miss--have been found against him,and those who were with him, and him the worst! And when he's taken,as he's sure to be taken by-and-by, he'll suffer!" And Mr. Bishopnodded portentously.
Her face was quite white now.
"Mr. Stewart?" she gasped.
"You call him Stewart," the runner replied coolly. "I call himWalterson--Walterson the younger. But he has passed by a capful ofnames. Anyway, he's wanted for the business in Spa Fields in '16, andhalf a dozen things besides!"
The colour returned to Henrietta's cheeks with a rush. Her fine eyesglowed, her lips parted.
"A conspirator!" she murmured. "A conspirator!" She fondled the wordas if it had been "love" or "kisses." "I suppose, then," she continued,with a sidelong look at Bishop, "if he were taken he would lose hislife?"
"Sure as eggs!"
Henrietta drew a deep breath; and with the same sidelong look:
"He would be beheaded--in the Tower?"
The runner laughed with much enjoyment.
"Lord save your innocent heart, miss," he said--"no! He would justhang outside Newgate."
She shuddered violently at that. The glow of eye and cheek faded, andtears rose instead. She walked to a window, and with her back to themdabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Then she turned.
"Is that all?" she said.
"Good God!" Bishop cried. He stared, nonplussed. "Is that all?" hesaid. "Would you have more?"
"Neither more nor less," she answered--between tears and smiles, ifhis astonished eyes did not deceive him. "For now I know--I know whyhe left me, why he is not here."
"Good lord!"
"If you thought, sir," she continued, drawing herself up and speakingwith indignation, "that because he was in danger, because he wasproscribed, because a price was set on his head, I should desert him,and betray him, and sell his secrets to you--I, his wife--you wereindeed mistaken!"
"But damme!" Mr. Bishop cried in amazement almost too great for words,"you are not his wife!"
"In the sight of Heaven," she answered firmly, "I am!" She wa
s shakingwith excitement. "In the sight of Heaven I am!" she repeated solemnly.And so real was the feeling that she forgot for the moment thesituation in which her lover's flight had left her. She forgotherself, forgot all but the danger that menaced him, and theresolution that never, never, never should it part her from him.
Mr. Bishop would fain have answered fittingly, and to that end soughtwords. But he found none strong enough.
"Well, I am dashed!" was all he could find to say. "I _am_ dashed!"Then--the thing was too much for one--he sought support in Mrs.Gilson's eye. "There, ma'am," he said vehemently, extending one hand,"I ask you! You are a woman of sense! I ask you! Did you ever? Did youever, out of London or in London?"
The landlady's answer was as downright as it was unwelcome.
"I never see such a fool!" she said, "if that's what you mean. Andyou"--with scorn--"to call yourself a Bow Street man! Bow Street?Bah!"
Mr. Bishop opened his mouth.
"A parish constable's a Solomon to you!" she continued, before hecould speak.
His face was purple, his surprise ludicrous.
"To me?" he ejaculated incredulously. "S'help me, ma'am, you are mad,or I am! What have I done?"
"It's not what you've done!" Mrs. Gilson answered grimly. "It's whatyou've left undone! Oh, you gaby!" she continued, with unction. "Youpoor creature! You bag of goose-feathers! D'you know no more of womenthan that? Why, I've kept my mouth shut the last ten blessed minutesfor nothing else but to see what a fool you'd make of yourself! Andfor certain it was not for nothing!"
Henrietta tapped the table.
"Perhaps when you've done," she said, with tragic dignity, "you willboth be good enough to leave the room. I desire to be alone."
Her eyes were like stars. In her voice was an odd mixture of elationand alarm.
Mrs. Gilson turned on the instant and engaged her.
"Don't talk nonsense!" she said. "Desire to be alone indeed! Youdeserve to be alone, miss, with bread and water, and the lock on thedoor! Oh, you may stare! But do you do now what he should have madeyou do a half-hour ago! And then you'll feel a little less like a playactress! Alone indeed! Read that letter and tell me then what youthink of yourself!"
Henrietta's eyes sparkled with anger, but she fought hard for herdignity.
"I am not used to impertinence," she said. "You forget yourself!"
"Bead," Mrs. Gilson retorted, "and say what you like then. You'll havelittle stomach for saying anything," she added in an undertone, "orI'm a Dutchman!"
Henrietta saw nothing for it but to read under protest, and she did sowith a smile of contempt. In the circumstances it seemed the easiercourse. But alas! as she read, her pretty, angry face changed. She hadthat extreme delicacy of complexion which betrays the least ebb andflow of feeling: and in turn perplexity, wonder, resentment, all werepainted there, and vividly. She looked up.
"To whom was this written?" she asked, her voice unsteady.
Mrs. Gilson was pitiless.
"Look at the beginning!" she answered.
The girl turned back mechanically, and read that which she had readbefore. But then with surprise; now with dread.
"Who is--Sally?" she muttered.
Despite herself, her voice seemed to fail her on the word. And shedared not meet their eyes.
"Who's Sally?" Mrs. Gilson repeated briskly. "Why, his wife, to besure! Who should she be?"
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