"Likely he's helping Molly wi' the churn. And I'll tak' it kindly, Captain, if ye'll warn him she's a chaste lass. I'm not wishin' to turn her away because your man's overpersuasive."
"Madam, if he so much as kisses her fingertips, I'll have his hide off," Frank promised. "But he's a good lad and most religiously bred, with a wife awaiting him in London town."
Now I must watch master and man! Dick cursed. Molly's a piece for my own picking.
That night, as he paced his room wondering how to be rid of Edwardes, the latter came in. "Saw your light and thought we might kill a bottle over old fights," he smiled. "I'cod, they're long ago . . . Ramillies, and you finding the lad, Malplaquet, and—"
"Enough! I want none of the past. Understand?"
"As you will. But a drink, Dick, a drink."
Candle in hand, Dick went down to the wine cellar. He chose two bottles of brandy, thinking: Damn his strong head! He's had me under the table many a time, but for once I'll outdrink him. I'll get him babbling till he talks blackmail, then I'll kill him!
"Rare Nantes," he explained, back in his room. "Smuggled ashore at Morecombe Bay and brought over the fells by pack train."
"You keep the fashion even in this solitude, eh? Since it's too late to make punch, I'll take water with mine."
Dick brought a water jug, noggins and poured two drinks.
Elbows on the table, Frank held his noggin over the jug. "To the King!"
"None of that! My king's in London, not over the water."
"A foreigner instead of a Stuart?"
"A legal king instead of a pretender."
"Ah, yes, one whose German whores flaunt their new English titles in the faces of our great ladies. It's not to be borne."
"Better than to have James and his French and Italian whores. Frank, I'll have no Jacobites here. Have done."
"Bah, you always were a fool. That time when I stole that wench almost out of your arms, when was it? Ah, yes, the same night I wrote those lying letters for you."
Dick's eyes slid to where his sword hung from a peg. "Damn your black soul, if ye as much as drop one word—"
"You'll slit my throat," the other nodded, amused. He dropped one hand below the table. "Still, lead's swifter than steel."
Their glances locked. Slowly Frank's hand reappeared, holding dice. "This rustic life's plaguey dull," he yawned, toying with the cubes. "Perhaps a few casts will sharpen us up a bit, eh?"
Dick wavered. But he'd been without excitement too long.
"Cast." He poured fresh drinks.
Dawn found them both snoring. The brandy was gone and Dick had lost forty guineas. That the dice were loaded, he'd known. But his loss was cheap if only Frank would now leave.
He did. Two days more and he was bidding Hannah farewell. "Madam, but that I must meet my future bride," he told her, "I could never bear the pain of quitting your gracious presence."
She colored pleasurably, though still furious at having had to give Dick money to pay his "debt of honor." "Good fortune await ye. Captain, though I mind now I heard Sir William's sister wed a year since. But maybe theer's another I've never known of."
"Doubtless. He mentioned how charming both his sisters are." He gave Dick his hand. "This meeting has left me in your debt." He nodded to Ram. "Next time we meet, lad, I'll question you on your memory of old times." He and Johnson cantered away.
"Saddle Moor," Dick ordered Ram. "You're the advance of your troop and you're pursuing a retreating foe. Don't let 'em see you, lest they ambush ye. Follow 'em to Bowes and report back which way they turned. Away now."
Ram galloped off. This was like old times, practicing for war,
with Father as general and Captain Edwardes as the "enemy"! When he made his report, Dick's oaths were bhstering. To reach Westmorland by the Roman Road, one turned left at Bowes, but Edwardes and his man had turned right.
Inquiries proved that Sir Will's only sister had married and had since died. Dick didn't care that Frank had lied, but only that he'd never return to Dalesview. But, wary now, he made a plan. "The Jacobites are stirring," he told Ram, "and I fear the captain's with 'em. If he returns, never let him out of sight. Use John and Rob and the grammar lads. We want no Stuart spies here."
Naturally, Ram hoped that Edwardes would return. Highwaymen were exciting folk, Jacobite highwaymen more so. He warned his troop, therefore, that if a certain dangerous plotter should come, he must be dogged everywhere.
He did come. Glibly he told Hannah that, alas, sweet Anne Teale was dying of a consumption. She was, he added, merely a half-sister, who'd been reared in Bristol and only lately lived with Sir Will. Hannah seemed satisfied, but Dick shook with fury.
"No more guineas from me!" he exploded when the two were alone. "You've a bed and meals, no more, whatever tricks ye try."
"The scent's overkeen and I need shelter," Frank admitted. And added softly, "You'd best give it me."
Dick, worried almost to the breaking point, felt ready to do murder. Murder? Ecod, that's it, rid the world of a rogue! For two days he brooded until a plan came, one that would make it seem like a mere accident. Threaten about Ram, hey?
He rode Alan's Pride up to the fells, near the spot where he had killed Ely. Veering, he came to a deep chasm, through which ran a stream. Many sheep and cattle had fallen to death over its sheer edges, but the approach on both sides was level and clear. Dismounting, he led Pride until the stallion's head hung over space. Then he backed, his stomach knotted. He'd risked death often, but this could be sheer suicide. But—Ram!
Cantering back a furlong, he turned Pride and broke into a hand gallop. Perfect co-ordination between man and horse was vital. The leap itself wasn't too wide, but a premature take-off or a short landing! Twenty yards . . . ten . . . now! His spurs sank in. Pride
rose, there was blackness below. The horse landed, stumbled, recovered. Bathed in sweat, Dick checked, dismounted and led the quivering mount back. Three marks showed where hoofs had landed. Pride's off-hind pastern was bleeding from where it had scraped the edge.
Back at the stables, Dick rubbed down the stallion. "You've done it once, lad, and ye can again." He fondled the twitching ears. "We'll show the bastard!"
But in the house he almost spoiled everything when he came upon Edwardes standing overdose to Joan, his careless laugh drowning her protests. Damme, he'd seduce her! he realized, his fury the greater because of his own failure with her.
He regained control. "I'm for a ride up the fells, Frank. The day's so clear ye can almost see to Ullswater. Will ye come?"
As Joan hurried away, Frank laughed lightly. "Aye, I'm always ready for a ride, day—or night." But already she was out of earshot of his pleasantry.
As they neared the chasm, Dick gave Star a critical glance. "How does your nag jump?"
"Like a deer, thank God. There've been times when . . . ! I'll back him 'gainst any horse ever foaled."
"Where was he bred?" Dick was deliberately casual.
"I bought him from a stud near Lincoln. Superb strain."
"Fifty guineas that Pride beats him at a broad jump."
"Thought your dame keeps you too short for more bets?"
"You don't know Yorkshire folk. Dicing, now, she'll rant and rave at, but wagering on horseflesh is in us all from birth." Dick pointed. "There's a hazard. Let's look at it. Fifty to twenty your Star refuses."
"Done." But when Frank had seen the gap's depth, he frowned. "Gad, not much chance if one falls."
"There are other jumps." And Dick thought: I'm being fair, but if he's fool enough to put Star at it ... !
"No." Frank turned the bay away. "Hell for leather and the Devil take the hindmost! But I want better odds. If I win, I'll remain your guest for, oh, another month. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Dick was sure that Star, bred in flat, grassy Lincolnshire, wouldn't be used to a shale take-off. But as they cantered their
mounts around to warm them, he swallowed hard, remembering how Frank had first marc
hed beside him at Blenheim, back in '04. Damn him, why hadn't he died there in a gentlemanly way, instead of liing on to become a blackmailer?
But, no more time for thinking. Pride knew what must be done; Dick could feel the horse's excitement, perhaps fear. He wanted to look at Edwardes, but already the brink was close.
"Curse ye to hell, Frank!" The words burst from him as Pride took off. Then the shock of landing. He heard a crash behind, but had to keep on until he could check. Dismounting then, he looked back, hoping to see nothing. But Star was there, rolling over, with Edwardes lying near by—dead? Yet he felt relief when he saw the bay struggle up and stand, head down and trembling. Frank, hat and wig gone, a gash over one eye, rose and leaned weakly against his heaving stallion.
"Ecod, ye did it!" Dick affected heartiness as he came back. "That's a gallant brute, stap me if it ain't."
The next instant he was looking down a pistol muzzle. "You scheming bastard, I ought to kill you." Frank spoke very softly. "I would, too, if Star had broken a leg." He led the horse around slowly. There were cuts but no lameness. "That's fifty you owe me and a month's longer stay, you old toad!"
Damn him, Dick thought, he always puts me in the wrong.
A reinforcement arrived; Gaston, shabby but proud, his mission ended. "My comrade, I've a trifle saved, and I remembered your offer. If our little lad would still learn the sword, I'll be happy with a cot in any odd corner. And I offer my half pay for rations and quarters."
"Ye damned frog-eater, you're home!" Dick welcomed happily. "And let's have no talk of payment—this is Yorkshire!" He called for a stable lad to take Gaston's hack. "But I've one old comrade here already I wish was under the sod."
The Huguenot frowned when he heard who it was. "He's a dangerous Jacobite, deep in plots. Peste, perhaps he remains here because it's close to Scotland. Is one Johnson with him?"
"Aye. Frank's lackey, he says, but also his fellow roadpad, who helped rob that coach I rode in, remember?"
"So. Well, while Edwardes plots with the gentry, Johnson carries secret letters and tries to win over the peasants. In Richmond, I heard that Jacobites are already raiding country houses for arms in Northumberland and Durham."
"They'd best not raid here, even if Frank plays the traitor," Dick snorted. "But, come, meet my dame again and the rest. And mind, we must treat Frank easy, so he won't know we know his tricks."
Edwardes was surprised to see Gaston, more so to learn he was to live with Dick, but his greeting was warm enough. "With the major and us two, I vow Hertford's is finely represented."
At first Hannah reacted most unfavorably to the new permanent guest. "Him wi' his funny way o' talking," she sniffed. "I doan't like Frenchmen Papists, I doan't an' all."
"He's a Protestant and he's not set foot in France these thirty years," Dick retorted. "He'll teach Ram swordplay and also French, which is an elegant tongue, though my own stumbles over it."
But it was the fact that Gaston offered to contribute his half pay that won her over. "Dalesview's never closed to brave men," she conceded then. "Likely we'll grow used to his foreign ways."
When Dick told Ram that Johnson must also be kept under eye day and night, the boy looked unhappy.
"Half the troop's deserted. Father," he complained. "John says their fathers protest this scouting of Captain Edwardes."
Learning the names of the "deserters," Dick snorted: "Jacobites all. We're well rid of 'em. But still scout the captain and Johnson with the lads you have left."
Among Villebonne's few possessions were two fine Toledo rapiers. "My grandfather's. He was a famous swordsman and he taught my father, who taught me. These are blades of beauty—and death."
Hefting one, Dick made it sing through the air. "I needed no lessons to run a saber through an Irish rebel, back in '90, but teach Ram the true art and I'll get him the best steel made."
"When the time's ripe," Gaston agreed. "As yet he's not grown enough to use a full-sized blade, but soon."
He converted a disused barn into a salle d'armes, marking the floor in geometrical patterns, each to teach his pupil the correct posture for thrust, parr}', prime, seconde and the rest. Ram's own miniature sword's point was left bare, but Gaston's rapier tip was
protected by a stout leather button. "Lest you run yourself upon it and so save your adversary the effort of killing you," he explained. "And now, mon enfant, en gardel"
When the boy's wrist grew stronger, Gaston let him use one of the rapiers, although it was almost four feet long. Sometimes Dick would take a turn, cutting and slashing but never able to beat down Gaston's guard. For in the salle, the emaciated Huguenot was metamorphosed into a being of grace and rhythm, whose gay taunts turned Dick red with shame.
"Devil take it!" he would groan. "I've the strength of an ox, but my wrist's bound with lead when I'm against you."
"The wrist must be one with the blade itself, old friend. But the young one, he'll be a swordsman. Also, he has a gift for my language." Gaston's tone changed, became intense. "Long ago in Poitou, I too had a son. He was so small, so innocent. He died, he and his mother, because we would not change our faith at orders of our Most Christian Majesty, Louis! ... I was left for dead—with my dead. Later I escaped, to fight Louis! So, mon cher, permit me to add my love to that you bear for Ram." Eyes wet, he turned away.
Word spread that at Dalesview there was a master fencer, so young sprigs who wore swords but barely knew how to draw them, rode over to watch the Frenchman. Many of them obviously knew Edwardes and some even nodded to the sullen Johnson. But Frank himself showed no interest in fencing, and when Dick said: "In the regiment you used to take on all comers except Gaston, yet ye never draw now," he shrugged languidly.
"He's so old and stiff, I'd beat him easily. But he's mouse-poor and a bout's not worth while without a wager to be won."
Hearing this from Dick, Gaston grew thoughtful. "So! What would he think a good wager?"
"Whatever it is, I'll put up your stake if I have to squeeze the money from my dame's very girdle. If you beat him, maybe he'll be so shamed he'll go and never retum."
Ram's arm felt leaden when at last Gaston called, "Assez.'" and turned to the half-dozen visitors. "Gentlemen, despite our young hero's efforts, I still feel fresh and I'd be honored to have a bout with any of you."
Harry Mostyn, his face adolescently pimpled, stripped off his coat. "Servant, monseer." Though devastatingly bumptious, he barely knew the first elements of fencing and as the bout progressed, his "Touche!" in acknowledgment of a hit became monotonous.
Edwardes drifted in, having just stabled Star. He nodded casually to some of the onlookers. John came in too, having, undetected, followed Edwardes to Bowes and back.
Panting and abashed, Mostyn dropped his point. " 'Sblood, sir, ye've touched me a score of times and I not even under your guard."
Gaston bowed, then appeared to see Frank for the first time. "Here's one who could touch me often. My old comrade is an expert, I assure you. Captain, it would be a pleasure to engage you."
"Bah, I never draw without a wager as spice," Edwardes shrugged, "and you never gamble."
"Forty guineas says you do not touch me one in three."
"Forty, ye say?" Frank took the bait. "Damme, why not?"
"Five to one on the Briton!" someone shouted. "What takers?"
"I!" Dick had just come in. Other bets were offered, all in Frank's favor, which indicated that he was known to more of these rustics than Dick had suspected.
"For the honor of England," Edwardes smiled, stripping to his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. John hurried out and returned with Rob and some farmhands; even Johnson came in.
As Frank was about to draw, Gaston said, "Comrade, I beg you to use one of my blades, which are identical in every way."
Nodding, the other tested each rapier in turn. "Beautiful. Didn't know you owned 'em." He swished his selection to get its feel, then took his stance. "Ready?"
"One moment." Villebonne
signed to Ram who, enthralled, was watching his every movement. "Chalk." The boy brought a piece and each contestant covered his button with it.
"Now, monsieur, en gardel"
Each man felt out the other, probing for weakness. Edwardes' technique was good. The crowd grew silent; only the slither of steel on steel and the padding of feet was audible.
"Touchel" Edwardes acknowledged at last, a small chalk mark showing above his right hip. He bit his lip. "One to you."
"Chalk," Villebonne called. Taking it from Ram, he used it again on his button, then raised the blade above his head, left hand touching the protected point. Ram, watching, grew puzzled.
"En garde!"
One chance already lost, Edwardes grew cautious, but his eyes were angry as he lunged, parried and lunged again.
Gaston had been humming a French fighting song, now he threw ironic taunts. "I'm too old for this game, hein? Helas, forty guineas is my whole fortune. Come, win it quickly!"
"I will, i'cod, and I'll warn ye before I deliver the thrust!" Edwardes' fierce attack brought cheers from his backers. Gaston gave ground, but instantly made a riposte. "Near," he admitted.
"Goo it. Captain!" came a shout. "England forever!"
Frank pressed so savagely that he almost drove Gaston out of the circle. The slashing blades seemed to give off sparks.
"Now!" Frank lunged.
Villebonne barely moved his wrist, but the other's stroke missed and the pair came breast to breast—with two foot of steel protruding from the Englishman's back.
"Edwardes!" Before the onlookers understood, even before the luckless man began to sag, Villebonne let go his hilt and used both hands to support him. "Vite, vite! II sest empalet"
"God!" Dick ran up. "Draw the blade, he's hurt bad."
Gaston, easing Frank to the floor, looked up. "II est mortl"
Ram screamed. Captain Edwardes—he'd known him ever since he could remember—dead!
"Back!" Dick blared. Villebonne, seeming dazed, stood clear and it was Dick who, with a hard tug, freed the blade. Frank lay on one side, blood oozing from chest and back, his eyes staring, his mouth open as if he were still shouting "Now!"
Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. Page 9
