CHAPTER XXI.
THE CAPTAIN FORSWEARS SWAGGERING.
"My follies and my fancies have an end here."--_Wit without Money._
When Ravenshaw came to his senses, after losing them on the floorof the hall, he gazed around in wonder. He was in a soft bed, in ahandsome room which he had never seen before. Bright sunlight streamedthrough an open casement which let in also the music of birds. Besidehis bed lay his clothes, neatly arranged; his sword and dagger; andMaster Holyday's puppet-play, which he had carried in his doublet. Atsight of the manuscript, full remembrance rushed upon his mind. Thoughhis bodily craving was to sink back on his pillow, and a fierce achewas in his head, he leaped out of bed. There was too much to be learnedand done.
He pounced upon the ewer and basin he saw at hand, and speedily sousedhimself into a more live and less fevered state. While putting on hisclothes, wondering where on earth he was, he looked out of the windowupon a sweet prospect of green hills, fields, a few distant sun-touchedroofs, and a far-off steeple among trees. It was plain that he lookedfrom a house on a low hill, and that noontime had arrived.
A door opened, and in was thrust the head of a man whose blue coatbetokened a servant, and whose manner declared a rustic.
"Dod, then your worship be up!" said this fellow, awkwardly entering."Young mistress did vow she heard somewhat stirring. I ask yourworship's pardon. If your worship had called--" He set about trussingthe points of the captain's doublet and hose.
"Who art thou?" asked Ravenshaw.
"Your servant, sir. To tell truth, sir, Master Etheridge's servant,sir; but yours while you be here, your worship."
"Master Etheridge? Master Bartlemy Etheridge, meanest thou?"
"Yes, sir, by your leave, sir. He bade me attend in the gallery here,sir, to serve your worship an you called."
"This is his house, then?"
"Yes, sir; his country-seat, your worship,--not that he hath any townhouse, begging your pardon."
"How came I here?"
"Dod, upon a stable door we found loose at Marshleigh Grange lastnight. I'fecks, I'll never forget such rain; and to be roused out ofbed in the black o' the night, too! But as to fetching your worshiphither, the young mistress wouldn't come if you were left; so mastermust needs bid us seek somewhat to bear you hither upon. And never onceyou woke, e'en when me and Dick took off your clothes and put you tobed."
A strange warmth glowed in the captain's soul. Lost in his thoughts,he passed out to the gallery as soon as he was dressed. It was a wide,airy gallery, with doors along the sides, and a window at each end. Inone of the windows sat a figure, which rose the instant he appeared.It was Millicent. For a second he paused, fearing she would meet himwith her old scorn, or flee down the stairs. But she stood motionless,returning his look with some timidity, blushing and pensive.
"So," said he, quietly, "you would not come if I were left."
"I was much your debtor," she faltered.
"And you, watching here, heard me stirring, and sent the manservant?"
"Why, I was watching here," she replied, confusedly, "lest my fathershould come unawares. We were seen and followed, Master Holyday and I,and my uncle thinks my father would go first to Master Holyday's house,and then come hither. But let him come what way he will, I can see himafar from this window."
"And how if you see him?"
"There is an old chest in my aunt's chamber that my uncle hath madeready, with holes bored in it for air. They will lock me in, and feignthat the key is lost, and that the chest hath not been opened thisyear."
"Your uncle hath stood your friend indeed in this."
"Yes, he and--others,--more than I deserve. My uncle is no coward, intruth,--save to his wife, and when he is in London against her will andknowledge." She smiled faintly.
"He must have shown courage enough to Master Jerningham to fetch youoff safe--and me, too, when I was o'erthrown at last by their drug."
"Why, of a truth, my uncle came to that place with so many men--everyJack on the estate, and all that could be roused quickly in thevillage--that Master Jerningham would have done ill to contest. Theheart was taken out of him, I think; four of his men were killed, andof the rest, those that had come with me fled when they saw theirleader slain."
"Four men killed, troth!" said Ravenshaw, "of whom I shall be asked togive account."
"But you will not be asked," she replied, quickly. "'Twas inself-defence--and in defence of me. But there will be no question madeof the affair. Master Jerningham seemed as much to desire that as--asmy uncle. He hath his own reasons; he said he and his men would keepsilence. So my uncle agreed to say nothing; those drunken beggars andthe rascals that betrayed me will hold their tongues for their ownsake; and Master Jerningham said he would dispose of the slain."
"But the slain have friends,--that gentleman will surely be inquiredafter."
"Master Jerningham said he could explain his disappearance, and theother men's. I know not how, but I would warrant he spoke in goodfaith."
"More false dealing, belike. I'll go and see."
"Nay! whither would you go?" Her face showed alarm.
"Back to that house. I must see how matters stand there. I must seekout the knaves that betrayed you, and learn what hath befallen MasterHolyday. Where did they leave him?"
"Alas! I know not where 'twas. They beat him down in the wood, and lefthim,--tied to a tree, one said; and they robbed him of his clothes. Ishould not know where to look for the place."
"Be of good cheer. I'll find him, though I search the forest through;and, if he be alive, I'll not eat or sleep till you are wed."
"Then 'twas indeed your planning?" she queried, looking not too wellpleased. "I had begun to think as much, after last night."
"Why, troth, I--ah--did give the plan my countenance," admitted thecaptain. "But we durst not let you know I was privy to it; you thoughtso ill of me--and rightly. But the bringing you to Marshleigh Grangewas pure treason against us. I was too trustful; but I will undo myerror if Holyday be alive."
"I marvel why you should have plotted so for me."
"To save you from wedding Sir Peregrine Medway; and to put you out ofMaster Jerningham's ken, as well. You said any husband was better--"
"But why chose you Master Holyday?"
"Faith, is he not young, and a gentleman, and comely? And he willbe well provided for upon his marriage, e'en though he bring a wifewithout dowry. And then I was pleased at the chance of benefiting him,too. I could think of no better remedy than a husband, and no betterhusband than he."
Millicent was silent a moment, her brows a little bent as if she wouldsay something she knew not how to say; then seeing him move, as if todepart, she resumed:
"You spoke of Master Jerningham as well as Sir Peregrine."
"Yes; I knew of his intent toward you. What I said last night was true.He employed me to--what will you think of me?"
"But you did not," she said, holding his glance.
"No," he answered, in a low voice.
"Why did you not?"
"Faith, I cannot tell--I was formerly a gentleman--and you were--troth,when I talked with you in the garden, I could not. And when I cameagain, though I kept my false name, knowing how people held my trueone, 'twas indeed to plan your escape from that old knight."
"I know not how I can ever prove my gratitude,--and for last night."She paused, and dropped her eyes; her heart beat fast while she awaitedhis answer.
"You have put the debt on my side," he said. "You would not come fromthat place if I were left. And but now you were attentive to my waking."
Evidently the answer fell short of her hopes.
"Oh," she said, a little pettishly, "I am on the watch here lest myfather come, as I told you. As for your waking, yonder clodpate is astupid fool. My uncle thought, being drugged, you might sleep all dayand longer; but I said you were no ordinary man."
"Troth," said Ravenshaw, smiling, "I somewhat broke the drug's power byresisting till your uncle came. And
now that I am so soon awake, thesooner may I seek your husband that shall be." He turned toward thestair-head.
"But hear me, I pray! If you go back there, you hazard your life again."
He touched his sword and dagger, which he had girded on in thebedchamber. "I still carry these," quoth he; "and I must thank you forrecovering them."
"Nay," said she, blushing again; "the sword never left your hand. Therewas but your dagger to seek. But go not back there, I beg of you!" Shecould scarce conceal the depth of her solicitude.
"Why, why, mistress, fear not for me. There is no danger."
"I entreat you not to go."
"Nay, the more you concern yourself for my safety, the more am I boundto go and serve you."
"Take men with you, then."
"Nay, your uncle must keep his men here to protect you. But oneto show me the way,--the old beggar that summoned your uncle lastnight,--perchance he came hither with us."
"No, he stayed with his comrades; my uncle paid him for his service."
"I must e'en thank your uncle for that; and for his care of me."
"I will take you to him, and my aunt," she replied, eagerly, seeing achance of delaying his departure and gaining time for dissuasions.
But he seemed to read her thought; he took a sudden resolution, andsaid: "Nay, I'll thank him when I return. Farewell, and--"
"You will return--soon?" she said, with quivering lip.
"Ay, with Master Holyday--or news of him," he answered, and turned tothe servant: "Show me the way to Marshleigh Grange, and make haste."
Avoiding her glance, he hurried down the stairs ere she could frame afurther objection. The servant, wonder-eyed, followed him. When he wasout of the house, he shook his head, and said within himself: "Anotherminute in her presence, and 'twould have been she that bade me go, Ithat begged to stay."
He dared not look back; had he done so, as he hastened down thehillside, he might have seen that she had changed her window for onewhich looked toward his road. When he disappeared in the lane to whichhis man conducted him, she dropped her face upon her arms.
The lonely plain whereon the Grange stood was nearer than he hadsupposed. When he reached the house, there was no sign of life aboutit. He called and knocked; and finally was admitted to the hall byJeremy. The old man was its only occupant, living or dead. He wasengaged in washing out sundry stains that reddened the floor.
"Hath your master taken them away?" asked Ravenshaw, bluntly, noddingtoward the stained places.
"Ay, but a short while since," said the old man, unconcernedly. "I trowthey are to have sea burial. He came and had them carried aboard aship. He and they are e'en now bound seaward."
"That is strange. Where is the woman, Mistress Meg?"
"He hath ta'en her along on the ship. Troth, she swore she would notstay another night under this roof. There was much talk atwixt 'em. Sheis to be a queen on an island where 'tis always summer."
Wondering if the old man had lost his wits, the captain asked, "And youare alone here?"
"Ay, and well enough, too. I have no mind to go a-voyaging. I shallhave all the milk, now, and all the eggs; and no foolish woman pratingever of ghosts and witches. I'll have some peace and quiet now."
"The beggars have gone, then?"
"Ay; when they came sober, and saw slain men upon the floor, theyfled as if the hangman were after 'em. Ha! I knew enough to hide thechickens over night." The old man chuckled triumphantly.
From what further information he could draw, the captain made out thatJerningham's own men had embarked with him, and that Cutting Tom'sfollowers had gone their way unheeded. Not till days afterward was heassured that Jerningham had indeed set sail for some far country. Tothe bishop and others, the voyager had accounted for the absence ofErmsby and Gregory by a tale of their having preceded the vessel toGravesend, where they were to come aboard. He and his ship were neverheard of again.
The captain left the Grange, thinking next to inquire of Sir Nicholasthe vicar. If Holyday had not contrived to find his way to his oldfriend's abode, the parson would doubtless help search the woods forhim. Ravenshaw's attendant knew where Sir Nicholas lived. The waypassed near his master's house. The captain made him lead at a rapidpace. It was when they were emerging from a lane into the road thatRavenshaw came upon Master Holyday, attired in the loose-hanging garbof the keeper's wife.
The captain, after the briefest salutations, grasped the scholar'sarm, and ran with him up the hill toward Master Etheridge's house.Millicent, seeing them coming, and recognising only Ravenshaw, madehaste to join her aunt and uncle, who had gone to discuss her situationout of her presence. She found them in the orchard at the rear of thehouse.
To that place, having inquired of the first servant he met, the captaindragged the breathless and protesting scholar. Millicent's wonder, atsight of Holyday's distressed face, was almost equal to that of herportly uncle and his stately, angular spouse.
"Good-morrow, madam," said Ravenshaw, with a bow which at oncesurprised the dame's severity into fluttering graciousness. "And toyou, sir." He then turned to Millicent. "Know you not Master Holyday,mistress? I met him by chance; he was hastening hither for news of you."
But Millicent's astonishment at the poor scholar's appearance had givenplace to a look of decided disapproval. Holyday himself stood red-facedand sullen.
"You are welcome, sir," said Master Bartlemy Etheridge, in an uneasyvoice. His countenance was worked into a painful attempt to conveysomething to the captain's mind privately; in his concern upon thatscore, he paid no heed to Master Holyday, whom his wife greeted with acurtsey.
"I am much bounden to you, sir," said Ravenshaw. "For your care of me,and your hospitality, my gratitude shall balance my want of desert. Atour last meeting--"
"Meeting, sir?" broke in Uncle Bartlemy, in despair at the evidentfailure of his facial exertions. "I'll take oath I never met youbefore; it must have been some other gentleman of my appearance."
"Our meeting last night, sir, I meant," said Ravenshaw, with a smile;"though, indeed, 'twas a brief matter on my part."
"Oh, last night, forsooth; oh, yes, yes, yes," said the old gentleman,with a look of infinite relief. "Troth, yes, certainly, indeed. Andyou, Master Holyday, God save you. 'Tis long since I have seen you; youhave changed much."
As Uncle Bartlemy's gaze was upon the scholar's dress, Holyday'sassumption was that the remark was concerned therewith.
"Faith, sir," said he, resentfully, "'tis fine manners in you to jeer;my wearing this gown comes of my willingness to marry your niece."
"Oh, indeed!" quoth Millicent.
"Troth," went on the poet, miserably, "it hath been ill upon ill, e'ersince I ran away with her. If such a night be the beginning of ourmarriage, what shall be the end of it, in God's name?"
"There shall be no end of it," retorted Millicent; "and no beginning,either. Last night, say you? Ay, you showed bravely then. You are wellsuited in a woman's gown, I think. A fine husband you would be, toprotect a wife!"
The scholar's face cleared somewhat; turning to Ravenshaw, he said:
"Give me my puppet-play. I'll go back to London. You see she will nothave me."
"Softly, softly!" cried the captain. "Would you mar all at the last,mistress? Reflect, I pray; your only true safety lies in marriage ereyour father finds you. You will not bring all my plans to nothing? I doentreat you--"
He stopped at a sudden parting of her lips; he looked around to seewhat alarmed her. There, coming from the house to the orchard, wereMaster Etheridge the goldsmith, Sir Peregrine Medway, and a ruddy,irascible-looking country gentleman.
"Plague take it!" muttered Uncle Bartlemy to Millicent; "this comes ofnot watching."
As Sir Peregrine was the embodiment of lagging weariness, and thegoldsmith was himself well fagged, their companion was first withinspeaking distance. With scant greeting for the elderly couple, heturned fierce eyes on the scholar.
"How now?" he burst out. "Thou unthrift! thou ne'er-do
-well! thougood-for-naught! Wouldst run away with my old friend's daughter? I'llteach thee, knave!"
But the captain stepped between the elder Holyday and the son, for hefelt the quarrel to be his own, and saw his painfully reared structureof events ready to fall about him.
"Sir," he said, "he did it for your behoof; he marries to perpetuateyour stock."
"Sir," replied Holyday the father, "I can attend to that myself. I amtaking a wife next Thursday; my rascal son would not seek one when Ibade him; so I sent him packing; but now he shall come home and be keptout of mischief."
The goldsmith, coming up, ignored his brother, bowed stiffly to thelatter's wife, and stood before Millicent, his hands open as if hewould fain clutch her.
"Thou baggage, thou'rt caught in time! Thou shalt not sleep tillthou'rt tied in marriage to Sir Peregrine." He made to grasp her by thearm.
"Touch me not!" she cried, with a sudden thought. "You have no powerover me; I am married!"
Her father stared. Master Holyday, taken by surprise, said,emphatically:
"Not to me, that I'll take oath; so I am a free man, of a surety!"
Ravenshaw could have struck him down. But Millicent, after onecrestfallen moment, said, quietly:
"Not to Master Holyday, certainly; but to this gentleman." And she wentto the captain's side.
There was a moment's general silence, during which Sir Peregrine,overcome by his long exertion, leaned limply against a tree.
"To this villain?" cried the goldsmith; "this cozener, this notablerascal, this tavern-cheat. 'Tis not possible; there hath not been time;not even for a license."
Millicent looked up at Ravenshaw's face, whereby he knew she desiredhim to take up the ruse.
"Sir," quoth he, "there hath been more time than you wot of; we haveall been in the plot together for three days now."
"A pack of knaves!" shouted the goldsmith. "An there hath been amarriage, 'twill not hold. She was bound by pre-contract."
"'Tis not true," cried Millicent. "Sir Peregrine knows I would notreceive his tokens."
"Oh, good lack!" quoth the old knight, faint of voice; "'tis all aswell. I am glad your daughter hath released me, Master Etheridge. Sheis much inclined to jealousy, I see that; belike I should give hercause, too. I thank her for my liberty."
The goldsmith cast on the old knight a look of wrathful disgust, andwalked precipitately from the place, breathing out plagues, murrains,and poxes. Sir Peregrine laboriously followed him. But Holyday's fatherdragged the scholar aside to talk with him privily.
Ravenshaw turned to Millicent. "The device served well. But the truthmust out in time. Your father will have his revenge then."
"Alas, I have told a great falsehood," said she, braving her blushes."I know not how to clear my soul of it--unless you--" She hesitated.
"I, mistress? What can I do?"
"Make it the truth," she faltered, dropping her eyes.
For a time he could not speak.
"Oh, mistress!" he said, at last, with unsteady voice; "would to God Imight--But think you of my reputation."
"You will amend that; 'tis no great matter."
"I am no worthy mate for you."
"You have fought for me."
"You will learn to hate me again; you hated me but yesterday."
"'Twas because I had loved you the day before; else I should not haveheeded."
"You are a world too good for me."
"Troth, I am not good in all eyes. Sir Peregrine is glad to be rid ofme, and Master Holyday will not have me."
"I am penniless."
"My uncle hath said he would provide for me."
Ravenshaw looked at Uncle Bartlemy, who had been calming his wife'swonder. The old gentleman, with a fine attempt at hidden meaning, thusdelivered himself:
"Sir, I owe you much upon the score of our first meeting--whereof youspoke awhile ago. If you can be content here in the country, with awing of our poor house, while we live--'twill all be Millicent's whenwe are buried--"
Ravenshaw felt her hand steal into his; he turned and took her gentlyin his arms.
Master Holyday, having come to an adjustment with his father, callouslyinterrupted this embrace with the words, "Give me back my puppet-playnow, and I'll wish you joy, and pardon all my calamities, even thisdress."
Ravenshaw drew forth the manuscript from his doublet, saying: "If youreturn to your father's house, we are like to be your neighbours. Andyour friend Sir Nicholas shall earn a fee in spite of you."
"Troth, then, I'll write your nuptial hymn," said the poet, tenderlyhandling his puppet-play. "'Twill have a rare sound,--'Epithalamium tothe Beauteous Maid of Cheapside and the Roaring Captain.'"
"Nay, the roaring captain is no more," said Ravenshaw. "I am agentleman again. Believe it, sweet."
"I care not what you are only that you are mine," quoth Millicent.
THE END.
Works of
ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London Page 24
