Sir Ludar

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  HOW MASTER WALGRAVE FELL SHORT OF TYPE.

  What the poet had to tell might never have been known had he not chancedto hear me speak to the maiden one day of Turlogh Luinech O'Neill, herfather, and the Lady Cantire, her step-dame. He pricked up his ears atthe names.

  "Hath Fortuna then reserved it to her mortal favourite to discover in mymistress, my paragon of all virtue, the Lady Rose O'Neill? MyHollander, why this churlish secrecy? why told ye not as much before?"

  "Why," said I, "I supposed you knew the name of the lady you call yourmistress."

  "Groundling!" said he, "a poet needeth no name but Love and Beauty. Buthad I known this lady was she you say, I had relieved my mind of anotable piece of news for her ear."

  "Say on, Sir Poet," said the maiden, who had approached and heard theselast words.

  "Now then, mistress mine," said he, "and thank not this voicelessdabbler in ink for the mercy, that travelling not a week before Ireached London, I chanced into the company of a stranger, who fellcaptive to my wit, and displayed so lively a tooth for the sweets ofParnassus--to wit, my poesy--that, hearing I was about to issue the sameimprint, prayed me enrich him with a copy. The which I condescended topromise him. Being thus established in a brotherhood of poetic kinship,we opened our hearts one to another. And in our talk he confessed to methat he was an Irish gentleman in the service of one Turlogh LuinechO'Neill, a notable chieftain in the Isle of the Saints; and that hetravelled to London on an errand to no less a man than her Majesty'sSecretary of State to report to him the death and burial of one LadyCantire, an aged servant of her Majesty, and sometime wife to the saidTurlogh."

  This was news indeed; and the maiden's face flushed with many mingledemotions as she heard it.

  "Can it be true?" said she. "Sir Poet, tell me briefly what else thisgentleman had to tell of my father?"

  "Nay, mistress mine, I can remember little else; for I was thinking notof his master, but his poetic tooth; not of his defunct mistress, but ofmy living muse. Yet, stay, he told me the old man was desolate, hissons being all established elsewhere, and his one daughter lost. Bywhich I take it, he spoke of thy celestial self. And strange indeed ifthe loss of such a one were not as blindness itself to one who hathlooked in they resplendent face."

  "Humphrey," said the maiden, turning from the poet to me, and takingJeannette's little hand in hers, "this news means much to me. If it betrue, I must to my father."

  A cloud that sweeps over the April sun could scarce have cast the gloomwhich did this little speech on us who heard it. For the maiden, ladyas she was, had become a sister to us.

  Yet she was resolved; and hearing that the poet had remembered where hemight hear of this gentleman in London, to deliver to him his poem, shebegged me to go with the man of verse and find him out, and if possiblebring him to her.

  Which I did with no great difficulty. For the Irishman--who seemed asort of steward of Turlogh's household--was still in his lodgings,waiting an audience with the Secretary's secretary. And when he heardwho it was had sent me, he fell on his knees and thanked the saints forvouchsafing his master this great mercy; and, never looking twice at thepoet, he came with me joyfully to the maiden.

  It was all as the poet had reported. And the fellow had somewhat moreto say. Which was that when the lady Cantire, now six months ago, hadreturned home to die, she had confessed to her lord her wickedness withrespect to the maiden, whom she fully believed, despite her flight, tobe in the clutches of the wicked English captain, who had vowed to moveheaven and earth to find her, and (as had been reported), had been asgood as his word. Turlogh found it hard to forgive his lady this greatwrong, and, since her death, had longed for his child as he had neverlonged before. Furthermore, being now old and past fighting, he and hisold foe, Sorley Boy, had become friends, and all was quiet in thecountry of the Glynns.

  There was naught to be said to all this, and the maiden, though thetears stood in her eyes as she spoke, told us she must leave us and gohome to her father.

  It went hard with me then. For my duty to Ludar seemed to demand that Ishould see the maiden safe to her journey's end. Yet, while a shred ofhope remained that he still lived, how dare I quit the place I was in?Besides, my master every day had more need of my service for his secretprinting, and was indeed so restless and nervous concerning the work,that he even grudged my walking out of an evening, or stealing an hournow and again in the company of my sweet Jeannette.

  But one day the maiden called me to her, and said--

  "Humphrey, you have been a friend and a brother to me. I have twothings to ask of you now. One I even command, the other I beg as aprecious boon."

  "Before you ask," said I, "I will obey the command, for you have a rightto command anything; and I will grant the boon, for nothing I can giveyou can come up to what I would fain give you."

  She smiled gently at that and said--

  "Wait till you hear, Humphrey. My command is that you quit not Londonat present."

  "I understand," said I, "and had already resolved that only your commandshould move me hence."

  "That makes me happier," said she, with a sigh of relief. "Now for theboon. What if I asked you to spare me Jeannette for a season?"

  I think I looked so taken aback by that, that she had it on her lips totake back the request. But I recovered myself in time. "What saysshe?" I asked.

  "I have not asked her," said she.

  "I will ask her then," said I, and we went together to where Jeannettesat waiting for us.

  "Jeannette," said I, "this maiden asks me to lend her the most preciousthing I possess. Say, shall I do so?"

  "Yea, Humphrey, and with a willing heart."

  "Then, sweetheart," said I, kissing her, "I will even lend her thee."

  It surprised me that when it came to asking my master and mistress theygave their leave after but a short parley. For the two maids were sobound together, and the lot of the one was so pitiful and desolate, thatit seemed, after all, not too great a boon to ask. And when Jeannetteherself seconded the request, and I encouraged it, they yielded.

  In truth, my master was just then so full of his work and of the perilhe ran, that I think he was all the better disposed to see one of hisfamily thus provided for. Besides, he might safely reckon on the morework from me, when I should have naught to tempt me nightly from mycase. As for my mistress, she was already making ready to take heryounger children to visit a gossip of hers, one Mistress Crane; and iteased her of some little difficulty to find her party lightened by onefor a season.

  So all fell out well for the maiden, and sorrowfully for me. Yet, whenshe reproached herself for her selfishness in robbing me of mysweetheart, I had not the heart to show her all I felt. In sooth, thismaiden needed a friend and comforter sorely; and how was she to fare onthat long troublesome journey with no comrade but a rough man, andperchance a half-witted poet? For the poet, vowing that Aphroditeshould never need for a gallant, nor a maiden in distress for a knight,begged so hard to go too, that she was fain to yield and admit him ofthe party.

  'Twas late in March when our house was left desolate. On the lastevening before they went, she asked me to row her and Jeannette onceagain on the river. I guessed why she asked, and needed no tellingwhich course to take.

  And as our boat lay on the oars beneath the shadow of that gloomy tower,she looked up long and wistfully, as one who takes a long farewell.Then with a sigh she motioned to me to turn the boat's head and rowhome.

  Not a word did any of us say during that sad voyage. Only, when wereached home and I handed her from the boat, she said--

  "Humphrey, I am glad you are staying near him."

  So, then, I discovered, she believed him living still and that I shouldsee him again.

  That night, as Jeannette and I stood in the garden watching themoonbeams play on the water, and feeling our hearts very heavy at theparting that was to come, we heard the splashing of an oar at th
e riverside, and presently a man stepped up the bank and stood before us,saluting. At first I was so startled that my hand went to my belt, andI had out my sword in a twinkling. But I sent it home again directly Iheard his voice, and recognised not an enemy but that same Jack Gedgewhom Ludar had charged long ago at Dunluce to see to the maiden.

  Only two days since, he told us, had he been let out of Rochester gaol;when he had gone forthwith to Canterbury and heard from mine host at the"Oriflame" that a certain printer's 'prentice by name Dexter, if anyone, could tell him what had befallen the nunnery maiden. Whereupon hehad travelled all the way to London in a day, and had not been able tohear of me. But, spying us just now in a boat, as he stood near LondonBridge, he had taken craft and followed us, and here he was, ready totake up his charge, and, whether we willed it or no, look after themaiden.

  This was a great joy to us all, not least of all to the maiden herself,to whom it seemed like a message from an absent one.

  So it came to pass, when on the morrow the travellers started westward,there were five of them. And methought if any harm came to those twofair women with such champions to guard them, it would indeed go hardwith all.

  They had not been gone three days, and the desolate house, occupied onlyby me and my master, seemed as void and dull as ever, when one afternoonwho should step into the shop but a fine gentleman whom I had never seenbefore, but whom I guessed to be no friend, as soon as I saw him.

  "I am told," said he, "that an honest 'prentice, one Dexter, dwellethhere."

  "You be told very right," said I, affecting to be as simple as he wishedme. "I am he."

  "To be sure, honest fellow," said he, "we have met before."

  "Where might that be?" asked I.

  "No matter where," said he, "but I remember you for a fine honestfellow. And, indeed, 'tis for that reason I am come. I have but latelylost my servant, a drunken scoundrel whom I am well rid of. And hearingfrom more than one a likely report of you, and knowing you myself thatyou are the sort of fellow I need--honest, strong in the arm, and quickof wit--I resolved to offer you the service. And as for wage, if youwill come, marry I value a good servant so well that there shall be noquestion betwixt us on that score. Here is a purse for thy firstmonth's service; and if you be the man I take you for, you shall havethe like each month you serve me."

  "I am mightily beholden to you," said I, gaping at the money andsmelling villainy in it all. "And by your leave, Sir Captain, what maybe your service?"

  "Easy enough for a lad of thy mettle. Indeed, whether you take myservice or no, you shall keep that purse, provided you tell me where acertain maiden, ward to the Lady Cantire and daughter to the O'Neill, isnow?"

  Now I guessed whose messenger I talked with, and what his business mightbe with me.

  It surprised me that he came to the point so quickly. But the greedyway I fingered his money deceived him, and he supposed me won already.

  "And how should I know aught of her?" said I.

  "Come now," said he, "'tis I am here to ask you questions, not you me.If you want not the money you need not answer. There be others whosetongues it can loosen. So hand it back."

  Hereupon I feigned to be in a monstrous panic and said--

  "Nay, sir Captain, I said not that I did not know of her. But why doyou ask? I desire not any harm to the maiden; for she hath been good tome."

  "Harm?" said he. "What do you take me for? I am commanded to deliverher a jewel, bequeathed by her step-dame, and if you refuse to answerme, it is not I but you who do her harm."

  "Your pardon," said I, "but there be so many evil-disposed persons inthe world, and the maiden is so very fair."

  "Come," said he, getting impatient, "where is she?"

  "Alas!" said I, "she is not here. I heard of her indeed not long sincein Kent."

  "Yes, and where?" he asked, getting excited.

  "'Twas in Canterbury, where she hid from a villain, one CaptainMerriman."

  He looked at me hard; but I looked so simple, and fingered the money sogreedily, he suspected naught.

  "Where is she now?" he asked again.

  "Look you, Captain," said I, getting close with him, "if you truly meanwell by this maiden, I shall tell you where to look for her. Only youmust keep it secret, and, above all things, tell it not to this CaptainMerriman, who is a very devil, and whom I would like to split with mysword, could I catch him."

  "Yes, yes," said he, eagerly, "I know him not--where is she?"

  "In faith," whispered I, "if you seek her, you must be quick, for a weekhence she may be flown."

  "Where is it?" he asked, impatiently.

  "'Tis--but the name slips me. Yet, your patience, Captain, I have apaper I will fetch."

  And I left him and wrote hurriedly on a paper.

  "_Pont-Marie, at Calais in France_."

  "Look you, Captain," said I, "you are to go to the place named here.'Tis across seas, in France. I can tell you no better than this paper.I pray you breathe not to the maiden, if you see her, that 'twas I toldyou where to look for her; for she would be vexed, as would others Iknow of. And to prove I am honest, here, take thy purse; for I willnever touch it till you tell me you have found her and given her thejewel. As for thy service, I will think of that betwixt now and the dayI see you again. Therefore, I pray you, appoint no servant meanwhile.And remember, not a word to the maiden how you came to find her."

  He took me for a simple fool, and went off very content with the paperin his pocket, and leaving the purse with me. So I knew I was rid ofhim and his fellow dog, Merriman, for well-nigh two weeks; and by thattime the maiden and her party would be beyond all reach. As to whatwould happen when they returned from their trip,--well, I had two handsand a sword as well as others.

  But whether they came back or not, I know not; for weeks went by, and Iforgot all about them, when one night, as my master and I workedsecretly, with closed door, at the press, I feeling very desolate toknow that the whole house was empty, and that were I to open the parlourdoor, there would meet me no merry note of singing from a sweet voicewithin--while we worked thus, I say, there came a rustling at thethreshold, and presently a piece of paper was thrust under the door. Bythe dim rush light we took and read it. It said simply this--

  _Have a care, Walgrave! The Wolfe prowleth o' nights_.

  "What make you of that?" asked I of my master.

  "It comes from a friend," said he, "with evil news. For ever since thisgreedy John Wolfe was appointed beadle of the Company in room of TimothyRyder, he hath had a jealous eye on me; and being an old offenderhimself, he is like to have no terms with others who do as he once did.Humphrey, our hands are too far gone in this business to pull back now;therefore, Wolfe or no Wolfe, we must end it."

  "And how?" said I; "since he will be here to-morrow, and find twopresses where there should be but one; and the libels hanging here yetdamp from the printing?"

  "He must find neither," said my master. "We have time yet to give himthe slip."

  Then he told me how it was arranged, should this mischance befall, whichhe had expected long since, that the secret press and stuff pertainingto it, should be removed to Mistress Crane's house near the Dowgate(where Mistress Walgrave now lodged), and thence taken secretly to hercountry house at Moulsey. And since there was no time to lose, we set-to then and there to take the press to pieces and bestow it and theprinted sheets in barrels, which, when all was done, my master bade metrundle to the river's edge and place on a wherry, and so convey toDowgate.

  The which, with much sweat and labour, I accomplished, and about eightof the clock next morning delivered them at Mistress Crane's house, whoasked no question, but gave me a sixpence for my pains, and bade mereturn at once the way I came.

  Now, you must know, so soon as I was back in my boat, I pitched thatsixpence into the Thames. For although, to please Jeannette's step-father, and because I wished well to my Church, I had lent myself tothis business, I liked it not, and remembered it eac
h day in my prayersas a thing to be forgiven. So that I could not take Mistress Crane'ssixpence, and hoped the throwing of it away would stand somewhat to myfavour when all was reckoned up.

  I had not been an hour at work that morning, when in comes John Wolfewith hungry maw, and demands to search the house. Which my mastercraftily tried to put him off; thereby making John the more sure that hewas on a right scent. At last Master Walgrave yielded and bade him takehis will. So after overlooking the usual room, and finding naught theredisorderly, he walks me with a smack of his lips to where the reamsstood piled on the secret door. And with great labour and puffing heand his men set-to to move them, with no help from us. And the doorbeing thus uncovered, he calls for a light and goes below.

  Now, my master, whether of purpose or by chance, so soon as the cellarhad been cleared the night before, had let run some water over thefloor, which, by standing there, had made a pretty slough in the place.And Master Wolfe, not knowing as well as we did that the bottom step ofthe ladder was a-wanting, and being encumbered with his candle, fellflat on his face into the mire, and lay there spitting and kicking around five minutes before we above had the good fortune to hear him.

  I went below to help him up--and it was sad to see so great a man in sobrave a livery so befouled! Instead of thanking me for my pains hevowed this was a trick put on him, and that some he knew of should smartfor it. But for all that he found neither press, nor forme, nor printedsheet contrary to regulation, no, not by searching the whole house over,even to my sweet Jeannette's deserted chamber.

  When he inquired where Mistress Walgrave and the children were gone, mymaster bade him go packing, and concern himself with his own businessand not hinder honest men in theirs. So John Wolfe and we parted nottoo good friends; he threatening to be even with us yet; and we biddinghim go wash his face and get a change of raiment.

  "Twas in good time we were warned," said my master, after he was gone."Yet still am I in a great strait. For what can a press and paper do,if we have no type? I durst not use this I have here, for it will beknown. And from no one else can I borrow it, for those that be notjealous of me are too timid of his Grace to lend letter for such acause. Humphrey, type I must have, if not from at home from abroad."

  "What!" said I. "From whom abroad will you get any?"

  "My wife hath kinsmen in the town of Rochelle, who be printers. I havehad type of them already, but not enough."

  "But how will you get it now?" I asked. "Who will fetch it?"

  "I think you will, Humphrey," said he.

  "I!" I cried. "No, master. I would serve you in much, but I cannot inthis; for I am bound to stay here, by an oath I would not break if Icould. Master, cost what it may, I will not go this errand."

  Little knew I how soon I was to change my mind!