CHAPTER XI
THE FUGITIVE AT AYLINGFORD
Barbara Lanison suddenly remembered how much she had thought of the manwho stood before her. For the first time she realised that not a day hadpassed but those grey eyes had seemed to look into hers, even as theydid now; that the hours were few into which his image had not come. Thismeeting was so unexpected, she was so entirely unprepared for it, thatshe was taken at a disadvantage. It seemed to her that this man mustsurely know how much he had been in her thoughts, must be reading herlike an open book. Her eyes fell, and the colour rushed into her cheeks.
"Why has Martin gone?" she said, turning to the door to recall him, andwhatever sense of confusion she experienced, there was a dignity in hermovement, and a tone of annoyance in her voice, which showed Crosby thatshe was proud, and seemed to prove that just now she was angry as well.
"Won't you at least let me thank you for your help?" he asked, taking astep towards her.
"It was nothing," she answered. "By chance I learnt your name, by chanceI heard you were in danger, and I sent you a warning. I was in yourdebt, and I like to pay what I owe."
"You have done that with interest."
"Tell me, why are you here?" she asked.
"Indeed, madam, to answer that question I have need of Martin, too, forhe brought me."
"I do not understand, Mr. Crosby--you are Mr. Gilbert Crosby, are younot?"
"Yes; and I do not understand, either," he answered. "I have been underthe guidance of Fate and a fiddler, and it would appear that thefiddler, at any rate, has played some trick with me, for I do assure youthat he made me suppose he was doing your bidding in bringing me here."
"We call him 'Mad Martin,'" she said with a little laugh. "Will you tellme his tale? It should be interesting, though I fear it must greatlyhave misled you."
She turned from the door as she spoke, and sat down by the table.Perhaps it was as well Martin had gone, for there was no guessing whathe had told this stranger, nor how far he might call upon her to supporthis action were he asked suddenly for an explanation.
"It would also be interesting to me to learn who you are, and where Iam," said Crosby with a smile.
"You do not know? You have forgotten?" Barbara exclaimed.
"I have not so poor a memory as that," he answered, "and will you deemit presumptuous in me when I say that I hoped it might be you who hadrendered me this service? I did not know until Martin lit those candlesand you turned towards me. Within a few hours of my seeing you atNewgate I was called away from London. I had no opportunity of makinginquiry about you."
"There was no reason why you should," she answered.
"You did not forbid me to do so."
"Indeed, no. I had small chance to do that," Barbara returned. "Youdisappeared so quickly and mysteriously."
"I had seen you to your friends--why should I wait?"
"If for nothing else, to be thanked. I wondered whether you hadrecognised an enemy in the neighbourhood of my aunt's coach."
He laughed, but whether at the suggestion, or at her method of trying todraw a confession from him, it was impossible to tell.
"Did you see the highwayman and thank him, as you proposed?" Barbaraasked.
"I did, and now it seems he was not this famous Galloping Hermit, afterall."
For a moment she was silent, recollecting that she had speculatedwhether this man himself might not be the wearer of the brown mask.
"I am Barbara Lanison," she said suddenly, "niece to Sir John Lanison ofAylingford Abbey."
"Am I in Aylingford Abbey?" Crosby asked.
"A queer little corner of it appropriated by Martin Fairley. You seemsurprised, sir."
"Indeed, I am. I have passed through many surprises during the last fewhours, not the least of them being that this is Aylingford, and that youare astonished to see me."
"Perhaps it would be well to tell me your story before Martin returns.You must not forget that he is half a madman, and sometimes talkswildly."
Crosby told her the manner of his escape from Lenfield, as he had toldit to Fairley; and if Barbara Lanison did not so obviously disbelieve itas the fiddler had done, her eyes were full of questioning. He explainedhow "The Jolly Farmers" had been searched, and how he and Martin hadridden away together in the night.
"He told me that he had been bidden by a woman to bring me into a placeof safety, and he brought me here. He would tell me nothing more."
"He did not even try and picture the woman for you?"
"Only his fiddle could do that, he declared."
"You see how foolish he is," said Barbara.
"I do not find any great sign of folly in that," Crosby answered.
"I was thinking of your journey, sir. I told Martin to find you if hecould and warn you; that was all I bid him do."
"And my coming has displeased you," said Crosby. "I will go on theinstant if it be your will."
"No, no; it is my will that you tell me the remainder of the story."
"There is no more to tell."
"You have not told me who the man was who helped you to escape from yourmanor at Lenfield," said Barbara.
"He desired me not to speak of him, and I must keep faith."
"Yet he told you of Martin."
"He spoke only of a fiddler," said Crosby.
"Have I no means of persuading you to tell me his name?" she said,leaning a little across the table towards him, with a look of pleadingin her eyes. Most men would have found the temptation difficult toresist.
"I do not think you would try any means to make a man break hispromise," Crosby said.
The grey eyes looked straight into hers, and the voice had that littletone of sternness in it which she had noted that day at Newgate.
"Perhaps not," she said; "but it is provoking. To have a namelesspartner in such an affair as this is to have more mystery than I carefor."
"Did you ever hear of a Mr. Sydney Fellowes?"
"So you have told me after all," she said, disappointment in her voice.He was not the strong man she supposed him to be--merely one a womancould cajole at her ease. She was too disappointed in him to realise atonce how strange it was that he should speak of Sydney Fellowes.
"No, this is another friend," he answered quietly, conscious of what waspassing in her mind.
"I know Mr. Fellowes," Barbara said, her brow clearing. "Not many dayssince he was here at the Abbey."
"He came to see me, but since I was away from home he left a letterwarning me that I had enemies. He, too, had been commissioned by someoneto warn me."
"Not by me," said Barbara. "Surely you must have been acting unwisely,Mr. Crosby, to have so many enemies?"
"It is the number of my friends which astonishes me more," he returned."I am wondering what it was you heard about me which made you send tohelp me."
"It concerned the Duke of Monmouth, and was not to your credit," Barbarasaid.
"Yet you have helped me."
"I did not believe what was said. Besides, I was in your debt."
"These are times when one must speak with caution if one would dwell insafety," said Crosby. "Whoever accused me of being a supporter of theDuke of Monmouth spoke falsely, yet it is possible that he believedhimself justified. I went to see Monmouth at Bridgwater."
"Why?"
"With a hope that I might persuade him to turn back from certain ruin,and so mitigate the misery which he must bring upon the West Country. Mypity was rather for the simple peasants than for Monmouth, perhaps; butI know the Duke well, and in the past have been his close friend. Yousee, your informant may have had some reason for his accusation."
"Then you are for King James?" questioned Barbara. She could not helpremembering that the man before her had been classed with those cowardswho will betray friends and foes alike so that their own purposes areserved and their own safety secured. Was Gilbert Crosby almostconfessing to as much?
"I stand apart, taking neither side," he answered. "Believe me, MistressLanison, I
am only one of many in England to-day who do the same. Theyare loyal subjects so long as the King remains true to his coronationoath."
"I suppose some might call them cowards and time-servers," she said. Shewas not deeply learned in politics, and was inclined to let the personalqualities of a man make her hero, no matter which side he fought for. Tostand aside and take no part at all always seemed to her rathercowardly. It appeared such an easy way out of a difficulty.
"Some undoubtedly do call them so," Crosby admitted with a shrug of hisshoulders, "and perhaps the fact that they are able to hear theaccusation and remain unmoved proves them brave men. Still, I feelsomething like a coward to-night."
"Why?"
"I am wondering whether I ought to have left Lenfield. It is probablethat, had I remained, I should have been arrested, perhaps hanged on thenearest tree without trial or question; but, since I am free, mypresence in the West might do something to help these poor folk who willmost certainly suffer bitterly for the rebellion."
"What can you do?"
"Truly, I do not know. Assist a few miserable wretches to escape from abrutal soldiery, perhaps--that is all I can think of; but I may seeother ways of helping once I am back again. Cannot you advise me? Awoman often sees more clearly than a man."
"To advise well, one must know more," said Barbara. "Of you I knowlittle, except what I have heard, and, truly, that would give me a pooropinion of you."
"You have said that you did not believe it."
"Still, you have told me nothing to strengthen that belief," shereturned quickly. "There is something more than merely a woman'scuriosity in this, for, truly, I am set in the midst of difficulties.Listen! That is Martin on the stairs."
"It is not your will that I leave Aylingford to-night, then?"
"It is poor weather to start upon a journey. Besides, you are Martin'sguest, not mine, and--"
The door opened, and Martin entered.
"It is late, mistress. I must see you along the terrace."
"I had not thought of the time," Barbara said, rising quickly andfolding her cloak round her.
"There are certain hours in life one does not stay to count," Martinanswered, "but they burn candles, for all that. See how much these havelessened since I lighted them."
"I am glad, Martin, that you have brought your guest to a safe place,"said Barbara. "Good-night, Mr. Crosby. Perhaps to-morrow you will tellme more."
The door closed, and Crosby was alone. Indeed, there was much more totell, but the telling was not all for him to do. What was it BarbaraLanison had heard of him which had evidently impressed her unfavourably,although it was perhaps against her will, and who had told her thesethings? Then, too, this fiddler must be made to speak clearly, for hemust surely know a great deal.
Martin Fairley quickly returned, and closed and locked the door.
"There must be some explanation between us," said Crosby. "This lady didnot expect me."
"Are you sure of that?"
"She told me so."
"Ah! that is a different matter," Fairley returned sharply. "What kindof a welcome did you expect? Have you done aught to win a more tendergreeting?"
"I have done much to anger her by coming here," answered Crosby.
"You were not quarrelling when I entered just now. She spoke ofto-morrow. Does a woman leave anything for the morrow if she has nointerest in that morrow? You would make a poor lover, Master Crosby."
"To my knowledge I have not been cast for the part."
"We shall see," said Martin, "It's a poor fire that will not boil akettle, and she's a poor woman who cannot make a man love her if shewill. There's to-morrow, and after that you and I may talk a little morefreely, perhaps. For to-night I only want sleep. I can fiddle from duskto dawn and forget that I have not closed my eyes, but a night in thesaddle--ah! my poor knees, Master Crosby! I was never meant for ahorseman." And he laughed, the same notes in the laugh as came from thefiddle when it laughed.
He was half a madman--Barbara Lanison had said so--and Crosby wasconvinced that there was little information to be got out of him, eitherthen or at any other time.
The next morning broke grey and sombre over Aylingford, yet Barbara woketo find the world brighter and more interesting than she had found itfor a long time; perhaps it had never been quite so bright before. Andyet there were clouds in it, wreaths of doubt which would not clearaway. She must know more of this man Gilbert Crosby before she trustedhim fully--and she wanted to trust him. Martin had told her many thingsin the past; she had meant to ask Martin whether she ought to stay atAylingford; now she had a desire to take her fears to Gilbert Crosby. Hehad seemed so strong that day at Newgate; ever since then she had grownto believe more and more that he was a man to be relied upon in trouble,and last night--was she a little disappointed in him?
"I have expected so much," she said to herself. "Perhaps a man is neverall that a woman expects him to be."
She went early to the tower, almost afraid that he might have gone inthe night. He was there, and Martin left them much together that day. Inthe afternoon they sat side by side on one of the broken pieces ofmasonry in the ruins, while Martin lounged by the door opening on to theterrace; and there was little of Crosby's life that Barbara had not beentold before the dusk came. She did not question that he had told her thetruth. And much about herself Barbara told him, but not yet of the evilwhich hung over Aylingford. She could not tell him that yet, and therewas time enough, for she had advised that he should remain at the Abbeyfor a little while.
"I believe your enemies are private ones, and would only use thisrebellion against you as a means to an end," she said. "When it is knownthat you took no part with Monmouth you will be free to deal with yourenemies."
"You are not angry that I came, then?"
"No; and, besides, you may perchance do me a great service."
"How? Only tell me how," he whispered, and there was a new note in hisvoice which sent a thrill into her very soul and yet made her shrinkfrom him a little.
"To-morrow--perhaps to-morrow I will tell you."
So the clouds of doubt were driven away, and yet they returned again asshe sat in her room that evening, for she would not go again to thetower until to-morrow. Someone might have seen her go in that directionand wondered why she had spent so many hours in the ruins. She was angrywith herself for allowing such doubts to enter her mind, but, try as shewould, she could not force them out.
There came a knock upon her door presently, and a servant entered torequest that she would go to Sir John.
"He is in his own room," said the servant, "and bid me say that he waswaiting for you."
It was so unusual for her uncle to send for her that Barbara wonderedwhat had happened to make her immediate presence necessary. Had Sir Johnfound out that there was a visitor in the tower, and wished to questionher? As she went she endeavoured to make up her mind what she should sayif Gilbert Crosby's presence at Aylingford were the reason she was sentfor.
Sir John's room opened out of the great hall. It was of fairproportions, panelled from floor to ceiling and lighted by three longwindows with leaded glass and stone mullions. At one end was a hugefireplace, looking cold and empty in summer-time, and over it, andelsewhere in the room, branches for candles were fixed in the wall. Onlythe candles over the fireplace were lighted to-night, and much of theroom was in shadow. Curtains hung across the entrance door.
"You sent for me," said Barbara as she parted them, and then shestopped, her hands still grasping the curtains.
Her uncle rose from the writing table beside which he was seated,although it was evident he had not been writing; but it was not upon himher eyes were fixed, but upon the man who turned from the fireplace andbowed low to her.
It was Lord Rosmore!
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