“She’d ha’ hanged that broken bugger, aye, would she!” says he, shaking his chops. “Aye, though she had a right wanton fancy to him, sure she did. Will ye read women to me, father? Nay, but who can? Straws i’ the wind, blaw here, blaw theer, and a pox on them a’!”
He was in and out, and I sat on by the fire, when in the mid-morn was a great bustle without, shouting and clatter of arms and horses, and Hodgson crying that he knew not and cared less, and then Master Carleton in a loud voice saying he should have care enough presently, aye, and more than he, my lady for one and that sleek ferret lawyer, too, and where was the varlet Noble?
They came, the Land Sergeant with a right February face and Yarrow at his heels, both booted and sworded for action, and Hodgson swearing he knew not of Noble that had ridden an hour past, at which Master Carleton gave him a long finger to his face and spake him roundly, “for sitha, Robin Hodgson, I will have him, with or without thy help, but better with, for thy sake!”
Hodgson cried that he could not tell what he did not know, and Master Lightfoot then coming in, the Land Sergeant breathed in his anger, and bade him and myself good morrow civilly enough, and told us his business was the instant apprehending “of a broken man Noble, called Wait-about-him, lately in this house and elsewhere in the employ of my Lady Dacre.”
At this Master Lightfoot raised a great cry that to speak of employment was more than he knew for, there being no bond or contract of service in lawful form, and Hodgson besought the Land Sergeant to bethink him was there not harm enough already that he must seek more, to which Master Carleton said we knew not what harm was, yet, and asked me did I know where Waitabout was gone?
I said I knew not, and he looking on me closely, asked most peremptorily how I had come by my hurt. Now this examination irked me, as did the man himself, and I told him the question exceeded his authority, at which he laughed right bleakly and said first my lady yesterday, and now myself today, would teach him his office, but might come to rue our teaching. Then bade Yarrow put a hound on the straw in the cellar where Noble had lain “so we shall have scent of him enough, and bid Christie light the Netherstane beacon and bring word if there is answer from the Waste or South Tyne.”
Hodgson and I looked wondering on each other at this, such heave and ho, what with Land Sergeant and deputy and a troop of watch at our door and bale fires (for such beacons were lighted only on great alarms) but Master Lightfoot, having ever the law and my lady’s interest in mind, protested that they might not make free of her cellar, and with great dogs, too, which might be well enough for a common man’s cottage, but not here without lawful leave.
Carleton showed him his teeth and said the bailiff would give him leave, “and if it is a point of law, why, I may put a turf on my lance and call ‘Hot trod!’ and that, you know, shall compel any man to come with me on the pursuit. How long since ye last rode thirty mile at a gallop, master lawyer?”
That put Lightfoot’s candle out soon enough, and Hodgson said he would not hinder them from the cellar, but that it was March madness to talk of trod for one poor fellow that had but served her ladyship, to which the Land Sergeant let loose his wrath.
“One poor fellow that hath hamstrung me four Nixons i’ the dark, by God, and the border like to burn for it! Now, look you, master lawyer and bailiff, and priest, I labour for patience, so mark me well. Here was a peaceful March, a quiet charge, give-a-bit-take-a-bit, and in one hour the policy of months is all undone by a slip of a girl that hath not been in the country long enough to fill the jordan! A masterless knave, that should have been crowbait lang syne, and shall be, by this hand, is set on by this madcap female over a nothing matter, in flat disregard o’ my counsel, and by her licence butchers me four o’ the first men of Liddesdale! No half-penny lifters, seest thou, but men of a name, cut up like buttered toast at a snap o’ my lady’s dainty fingers, God save me!”
We cried out together, Lightfoot vehement that my lady had given no licence thereto, myself that the blood was shed all against her will, and Hodgson boldly that if Carleton misliked it, he had himself to thank that bade my lady shift for herself.
The Land Sergeant threw up his hands, asking were we mad, and where our wits not to prevent her, “or had ye no thought of what might follow? Jesus, we have seen bloody war break on this border over a pair of spurs or one horse stolen, and here are four great thieves slaughtered like sheep, and their heads gone as a jeer to their kinsfolk that can have three thousand lances in the saddle in an hour, and south o’ the frontier in two? My God, where is this woman, that I may look on her again?”
We said she was gone to Triermain, and I, thinking what Waitabout had certified, said we had confident advice that they would not ride on Dacre land, having had such rough handling as should put them in awe of her who ruled in Askerton. He put his brows up and arms a-kenbo and laughed at me.
“And thou a priest that says it? By God, father, ye reason like a reiver! Aye, like enough they would let her be. What then? Is Askerton the whole frontier? No, Christ’s nails, nor a fiftieth part of it! And if Liddesdale, for vengeance of four namely men murdered in England, should ride red ruin elsewhere in England to slake their fury, would it content her ladyship that they left Askerton alone?”
We had naught to say, but stood mum until Hodgson asked what he would do, and the Land Sergeant cooling somewhat said it was done already, “for I have not been idle to mend the mischief done by your madcap mistress and her scabby champion. There shall be no riding on England, such as would ha’ been had I not sent my messages this morn to Buccleuch and Carmichael beseeking them hold the reins, aye, and a whisper to Hungry Jock Nixon’s ear, too, shall quiet him to his content. What, he is chief o’ his name now!”
We were encouraged to hear him so cock sure, and Hodgson said he had done well to mend it. The Land Sergeant answered negligently that mending was his profession, and read us a weighty lesson on the balance that he and others English and Scotch kept on the border, “being at all shifts and policies and quiet dealings day in year out to keep this pot of blood from boiling over. Aye, my masters, we make and mend on a great scale that hath the Queen’s Grace in one pan and the Scots King in t’other, and every borderer, lord, lady, tenant and outlaw, aye, every beast and sheaf on the beam between, and must not spill. So we come and go, and wink at small mischiefs, and if George Bell have his head broke for a penny blackmail, why, let it be.”
God knows it was a sorry speech, yet I knew it true enough, though had he taken as much pains yesterday there had been much sorrow spared. Having lessoned us, he was in better humour, and said to Master Lightfoot that while for pride and meddlesome ignorance he had never known my lady’s like, “yet you may advise her that Master Carleton whom she disdained and despited but yesterday, has naetheless been at labour to patch up her folly, aye, and has it all stitched but the last knot, which is called Noble.”
He said this last with such fell meaning that I was afeared, and would have asked him what he purposed, but then there came one of those foolish starts that distract from all business, for the maid Susan coming in, who was a bustling shrew that cared for no one, and hearing him miscall my lady, rebuked him right tartly, and he offended threw up his chin and bade her go rattle in the kitchen. She not abashed let fly on him a fine storm of abuse, calling him Captain Sournose and a mannerless Scotch baboon, which struck him dumb a moment to be taken for a Scot, but gritted his teeth and roared at Hodgson to take out that ranting gypsy.
“Gypsy!” says she. “Gypsy, quotha, thou lying beast! Gypsy in thy nasty beard, thou northling toad! Know that to the Earl of Essex I am Mistress Susan!” And there swept off, leaving him adrift and gnashing, but Master Lightfoot taking his arm quieted him with smooth words, saying he would advise my lady how well the Land Sergeant dealt, with all good will on her behalf, “and so without homily bring her to a good disposition, which shall make for amity between you.”
Carleton answered him curt enough, but now there was u
proar before the door, and Yarrow, that had been in the cellar, came in crying that one came with word that there was a smoke on the Black Rigg. Now at this the Land Sergeant straight forgot his sullens, clapping his hands, and stood with eyes closed while I might count to ten. Then calling for pen and ink wrote in haste, whiles instructing Yarrow.
“He is into Denton, he is fast! What, Anton, said I not his way must be ‘twixt South Tyne and Gelt, for the high fells? Nay, cast about, Waitabout, this hound has your trail! Carey’s men cover the Middle March bounds, and Salkeld by this should have a rider on every top from Hartleyburn to Talkin.” He gave his letter to Yarrow, saying to Lord Scroop by a sure hand, “and for thyself, south wi’ a hot spur, taking only two lances, Christie and Old Moffat were best, and when he is ta’en see to him yourself, and the token to Liddesdale. And, Anton, all discretion.”
Yarrow cried done, and was away. The Land Sergeant stretched himself like a great cat on a wall, well satisfied, and listened pleasantly when Master Lightfoot came murmuring again that all should be well so my lady stood clear, “for sure she is untouched by all this, Master Carleton, in point of law, as I have made clear, and indeed I have in mind precedents that shall content my Lord Scroop.”
Carleton smiled on him and took his shoulder. “Precedents. Nay, I like the word. A bonny word, i’ faith, and hath a fine hissing smack of advocacy about it. Precedents, I say!” And clapped his shoulder. “My lady is well served at law, go to. I look to our happier acquaintance, good Master Lightfoot. Now, sirs, I must to Carlisle. Health to you all, and a canny day.”
He went forth in high fettle with his rapier cocked behind, but I hasted after in fear and wonder at what I had heard, and plucking him by the sleeve asked what of Noble. He tying his cloak strings said lightly, why, what o’ him indeed?
I said that by his leave it were better let Waitabout alone, “for know, sir, that whatever Master Lightfoot may say of the law, truth it is that my lady bound herself to protect him from all claims or charges, and did acknowledge this in my hearing not an hour since. Now, if Master Yarrow bring him in, it may prove an ill service to her.”
“Amen to that,” says he, and we being now without and he by his horse, smiled at me askance and said I should fear not, “for my lady will be at no discomfort on that score or any other. Your long reiver will not trouble the March again.”
Now my wits that had been dull enough before came to my aid, and I saw at last what he purposed, Yarrow being gone to receive Waitabout from his takers, and murder him as a sop to the Liddesdales, who should have his head as a token. I cried out in anguish and laid hold of his bridle as he mounted, saying he should not do this thing. He shook me off right angrily.
“Are ye mad of your wound, priest? What have I to do with murder? I shall not even see him.”
Mad I was indeed, for I cried out “Murder!” again in a loud voice, saying it was an unlawful slaying without trial and he and Yarrow the Queen’s officers sworn to uphold the law, at which the folk there stared to hear me, and Hodgson coming out laid hands on me bidding me give over nor meddle in what concerned me not. I shouted still and would have dragged Carleton from the saddle, but my wound letting blood I was like to faint and so fell down, crying that he could not justify it. Hodgson helped me to a place by the wall, and I still calling out Master Carleton looked on me a while and then lighted down before me.
“Father Lewis, I am at pains to do my work, and you come howling at my lug to no purpose,” said he, and even in my distress I wondered to hear him so weary quiet. “Y’are not ignorant of this border. Ye know right well that whatever shifts I must be at to smooth this business, one thing skills over all. Ill Will must be paid for, and in one coin only. Thinkst thou his folk would be content wi’ less, or that I shall grudge ’em, wi’ the peace of the March at stake? Nay, man, be quiet and decent, for the folk look at you.”
I cried out was it decent one should die without jury or priest, for serving my lady on compulsion, “and if he did more than she knew, yet were she here she would maintain him. Will ye not wait upon her? Let her speak to his guilt or innocence, if he must answer at law.” He put this by with a wave of his hand, and getting to his saddle again looked on me with his long sheep face. “Law? Guilt? Innocence? Oh, sir, I have a frontier to keep.”
He rode away and his varlets with him, and I wept. The bailiff helped me indoors and looking to my wound bade me be quiet, “for bubblin’ will not mend Lang Archie’s neck, though sorry an’ a’ I am for him, and yet ‘tis none so hard, seest thou, father, for he’ll get nae mair than he gi’ed the Nixons. What, man, ’tis the border, ding up, ding doon, knocks go both ways.”
I lay nigh swooning in the great chair, and he called in the maid Susan to look to my wound, which she did right busily and well. But there was no peace, for in a moment came a great caterwauling, and this was the loon Wattie who, having heard somehow what was toward, had risen from his bed to bicker with the bailiff, and came after him into the hall. Hodgson swore at him to get gone, but Wattie gave him back curse for curse, vowing he would have the Land Sergeant’s blood, and Yarrow’s also, if they did harm to Waitabout. Hodgson stormed out of all patience, and the clown ran in a frenzy to the fireplace and snatched up the great iron, crying that he would do this and that upon them both though he died for it, and then his eyes started from his head, and I saw that my lady was come in unexpected from her riding, for she was still in her boy’s habit and drawing off her gloves and bonnet.
Seeing Wattie with the iron raised, she told him the fire was not a cuddy that would go the better for beating, and he dropped it straight and ran to her falling on his knees and crying that they were gone to slay the big reiver (for so he ever called Waitabout) and entreating her and pawing at her boots. She bade him sternly keep his muddy hands away and get him to the kitchen, and when he was clean and in his senses she would hear him if he spoke to be understood. He weeping and crying out that she must hear, she fetched him a sharp stroke of her switch to his shoulders, bidding him begone, but seeing him hobble as he went, asked what ailed him, and he stammered that it was a hurt to his leg that he had taken at Triermain.
Now at this she was all quick concern, bidding Hodgson help him to a bench, and had his wound been seen to or dressed, and did it pain, “for see, it bleeds, and what filthy clout is that to put upon it? Run, Susan, fetch hot water and a clean cloth! So, boy, be quiet and it shall be seen to!”
Wattie was in awe to find the great lady so earnest for his comfort, and hung his head to be so mothered after, and fearful too, but seeing her smile on him and call him a brave lad, would have made his plea again for Waitabout, but she frowned of a sudden, bidding him put up his face to be seen, “for foul though it be, I know it, surely! Hobbie, Johnnie, Gibbie, nay, but I have it, Wattie! Why, thou art that Wattie boy, and I knew thee not! Thou and the pony, what called you her? Aye, Daisy, pony Daisy!” She laughed, and asked did he mind the sugar plums, and what was the cordial called?
He said it was dandelion, and his face was like the noonday sun, to be so remembered by one that he esteemed nigh to worship. She snapped her fingers, crying dandelion it was, and called him boy Wattie, Wattie boy, shaking her head that he was a man grown now, and with a wound on her behalf, “and see, Susan, he is flushed o’ the cheek and hot, and would be better on the couch yonder, for methinks he is distressed and feverish.”
They put him on the couch where I had lain before, and I being got up from her great chair came to my lady and said indeed ’twas not for his own hurt he was distressed, but for the man Waitabout. She bade me gently back to my chair, “for indeed you look not well, and should have stayed abed, but Wattie is before you now, so must ye sit. Hey, our hall is no better than a hospital!”
Perforce I sat, and she turning to Hodgson told him there was little harm done at Triermain “save the ruin that I doubt not comes of your neglect, sirrah, and though the folk have small hurt of the fray, yet I never saw sorrier wretches in my life,
and for their habitations they are sties I would not kennel a dog in at home. And that I will not have on land of mine, master bailiff, so mark me, this is your charge, and shall be seen to right soon, or ye will hear from me!”
She bade Susan bring her a cup of Spanish and water, and ere I might speak called Hodgson back again, inquiring what bedding was in the house to send to Triermain, “for if there is a blanket whole in the place, or more than a rag to sleep the bairns, I am a right goose. And while I think on’t, we lack two or three cleanly maids about this house, fie! ’tis like a tavern at Christmas, and those draggles ye have can keep to the scullery, tallow-urchins! It were best ye send to Carlisle for some decent town girls, if such they have. Aye, and for a bed, too, the best down, for I’ll sleep in the strappado ere I trust again to that mouldy coffin abovestairs. Well, about it, man, stand not till ye put down roots! Go, go, shuffle and skip!”
She took the cup that Susan brought and drank deep, standing wide-legged before the fire like a captain at an inn, and when I made bold to address her, begging her pardon that it might not wait, stayed me with a finger, and asked Master Lightfoot, who attended upon her, was not that the Land Sergeant Carleton she had seen ride away as she came in from Triermain? He saying it was, she asked not what he had come for, but tapped her lip and bade him send word to Gilsland bidding him to dinner the next day, at two o’clock. This being much to the lawyer’s liking, she asked of Lord Scroop, the Warden, were it best she should await him, being new come to the country, or should she send to him in Carlisle, and he pondering this with much gravity, bade him consider well and turned to me at last, asking what it was that would not wait, and tossed her cup to Susan to be filled.
What with being put off while she talked of light matters, and Lightfoot being there, I was a moment aback, thinking what I must say.
“Come, sir,” says she, “what will not wait is waiting, and I am waiting, too.”
The Candlemass Road Page 13
