*CHAPTER XXXIV*
*THE FLIGHT OF PETER BURGESS*
When night fell I was far away among the hills. I had made goodprogress and was well content. I should accomplish the journey in goodtime--of that I was confident--so I crawled into a bed of heather andslept soundly.
In the early morning I was awakened by the call of the moor birds.Before starting on my journey again, I thought it wise to secrete theletter with greater care, so I took off one of my shoes, and, making ahollow in the heel, folded the letter tightly and placed it there. ThenI took to the road again.
I had hoped to reach Edinburgh by noon on Thursday, but when I came insight of the city it was past five o'clock. The journey had proved morearduous than I expected; but I was still in time. The last long mileaccomplished, I reached the city. The moon had risen, and as I swunground beneath the grey shadow of Holyrood I caught a glimpse of thenoble brow of Arthur's Seat towering high behind it. I passed the guardof soldiers at the Canongate without challenge, for, apparently, theysaw in me nothing more than a travel-stained and dusty wanderer--somegangrel body.
I did not wish to draw suspicion upon myself by asking anyone to directme to Halkerstone Wynd where Peter Burgess dwelt. But, meeting a boy, Istopped him to ask where I could find the Tron Kirk, which Mr. Corsanehad given me as a landmark. His reply was explicit enough, if somewhatrude. "Follow yer nose," he said, "and ye'll be there in five meenutes,"which I took to mean that I was to continue my journey up the hill.Very shortly a large church came into view, and as it took shape in themoonlight a clock in its tower struck ten. I counted the strokes, and,turning, retraced my steps and found at no great distance from theChurch, as the minister had told me, the Wynd which I sought. Theminister had given me careful instructions, so that when I entered theWynd I had no difficulty in finding the house in which his friend lived.The outer door stood open, and I entered, passing at once into theconfusion of darkness; but I had learned from Hector the wisdom ofcarrying a candle in one's pocket, and lighting it, I looked around me.I knew that I should find Peter Burgess on the top floor of the house,so, shading the candle with one hand, I began the ascent. Up, and upand up, in never ceasing spirals wound the stair. To me, weary with myjourney, it seemed interminable. Between two of its flights I paused,and leaning over the balustrade looked downwards. A chasm, black aspitch and unfathomable to my straining eyes, gaped below me. After amoment's rest I continued my ascent, and by and by, breathless, I cameto the top. An oaken door barred my further progress. An iron knocker,shaped like a lady's hand, hung gracefully upon its middle beam. Iremember that as I seized it to knock, I held it for a second while Ilooked at the delicate metal filigree of lace that adorned the wrist.Then I knocked three times--first gently, then more firmly and, as noanswer came, more loudly still. At last I heard movements on the otherside, and in the flickering candle-light I saw a little peep-hole open,and a voice said "Who is it?" I bent my head to the tiny aperture andsaid in a whisper "Naphthali," the password I had been told to use.Instantly the peep-hole was closed, and the door was thrown open."Enter and welcome," said the voice, and I needed no second invitation.I found myself in a narrow passage at the end of which was a roomthrough whose open door a light shone. The man who had admitted meclosed and barred the door and then led the way to the room. Thenturning to me he said:
"To what do I owe this late visit?"
"I bring," I replied, "a message from a friend, but before I give it toyou I must know who you are."
He went to a bookcase that stood against one of the walls and from itwithdrew a little calf-bound volume. Opening it he pointed to thebook-plate within.
On the scroll I read the legend "Ex libris Petri Burgess," and I sawthat the book was a copy of Rutherford's _Lex Rex_. I sat down at onceon a high-backed oak chair, and, taking off my shoe, found the letterand handed it to him. He took it with a grave bow, and, breaking itsseal, sat down at the black-oak table in the centre of the room.
As he did so, I looked about me. The room was furnished withconsiderable taste and was lit by two candles which stood in silvercandlesticks on the table. Between the candlesticks lay a sheet ofpaper. Beside them stood an ink-horn and a little bowl of sand in whichwas a small bone spoon. The light was somewhat uncertain, and to readwith greater ease he drew one of the candlesticks nearer to him.
When he had read the letter through, he sat in a fit of meditation,beating a gentle tattoo with the fingers of his left hand upon the topof the table. He read it again, and went towards the fireplace where hetore the missive into tiny pieces and dropped them into the fire. Thenhe came back to the table.
"Forgive," he said, "my seeming lack of hospitality; you must be wornout and famished. Let me offer you some refreshment."
I thanked him heartily, and in a few minutes he had set food and winebefore me.
He joined me in the repast, and as we sat at the table I had anopportunity of studying him with some care. I judged him to be a manover sixty. His face was refined and the delicate line of his mouthwhich his beard did not conceal bespoke a sensitive nature. He treatedme with a courtly grace, asked interestedly as to my journey, andinquired earnestly as to the progress of the Cause in the South. I toldhim all I knew, and when he heard from my lips how Mr. Corsane, thoughevicted from his Church, still regarded himself as the shepherd of hispeople and was constant in his devotion and instant in his service tothem, he said:
"Good! good! But how he must have suffered! As for me," he continued,"I have no cave in which to take refuge, so I must steal away like athief in the night. Please God, ere morning I may find a boat in whichto escape to the Low Countries. But you must have bed and lodging; andere I leave the city I shall see you safely housed with a friend in theLawn Market."
When our meal was over my host pushed back his chair and said:
"Now I must go." He went to the bookcase, and taking from it two orthree volumes put them in the pockets of his coat. Turning to me with asmile, he said: "A fugitive had best go unencumbered; but I should belost without a book."
He made up a small parcel of food, and then, extinguishing one candleand taking the other from its candlestick, he led the way to the door,and together we passed out. He locked the door from the outside, andlighting the way with the candle, which he still held in his hand, heconducted me downstairs.
When we entered the High Street, we turned and walked up past the TronKirk.
The streets were deserted, save for ourselves, for midnight was at hand.
"The Castle," he said, "is just ahead of us, but we are not going sofar. This is our destination," and he turned into a narrow Wynd on theright side of the street and passed through an open door just beyond itsmouth. In the shadow of the doorway he lighted his candle and proceededto climb the stair. On the second floor he knocked gently at a doorwhich, after a pause, was opened noiselessly by an old woman.
We entered. My companion whispered a word or two in her ear, and takinga leathern pouch from one of his pockets pressed some money into herhand.
"Be kind to the lad," he said, "he has travelled far."
The old woman looked at me, and with the coins still gleaming in heropen palm, said: "Ye can trust me, Maister Burgess. He's no' to peetyif he has ane o' my guid cauf beds to sleep on, and a bowl o' parritchin the morning."
Mr. Burgess held out his hand to me in farewell. "God keep you," hesaid. "And when you see my friend again, tell him I thank him with allmy heart. If God will, I shall communicate with him when I reach a placeof safety. If not----" and he raised his eyes to the low ceiling and,dropping my hand, turned and was gone.
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times Page 34
