CHAPTER XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN
On his side Kenneth strove hard during the days that followed to righthimself in her eyes. But so headlong was he in the attempt, andso misguided, that presently he overshot his mark by dropping anunflattering word concerning Crispin, whereby he attributed to theTavern Knight's influence and example the degenerate change that had oflate been wrought in him.
Cynthia's eyes grew hard as he spoke, and had he been wise he had betterserved his cause by talking in another vein. But love and jealousyhad so addled what poor brains the Lord had bestowed upon him, that hefloundered on, unmindful of any warning that took not the blunt shapeof words. At length, however, she stemmed the flow of invective that hislips poured forth.
"Have I not told you already, Kenneth, that it better becomes agentleman not to slander the man to whom he owes his life? In fact, thata gentleman would scorn such an action?"
As he had protested before, so did he protest now, that what he haduttered was no slander. And in his rage and mortification at the way sheused him, and for which he now bitterly upbraided her, he was very nearthe point of tears, like the blubbering schoolboy that at heart he was.
"And as for the debt, madam," he cried, striking the oaken table of thehall with his clenched hand, "it is a debt that shall be paid, a debtwhich this gentleman whom you defend would not permit me to contractuntil I had promised payment--aye, 'fore George!--and with interest, forin the payment I may risk my very life."
"I see no interest in that, since you risk nothing more than what youowe him," she answered, with a disdain that brought the impendingtears to his eyes. But if he lacked the manliness to restrain them, hepossessed at least the shame to turn his back and hide them from her."But tell me, sir," she added, her curiosity awakened, "if I am tojudge, what was the nature of this bargain?"
He was silent for a moment, and took a turn in the hall--masteringhimself to speak--his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes benttowards the polished floor which the evening sunlight, filtered throughthe gules of the leaded windows, splashed here and there with a crimsonstain. She sat in the great leathern chair at the head of the board,and, watching him, waited.
He was debating whether he was bound to secrecy in the matter, and inthe end he resolved that he was not. Thereupon, pausing before her,he succinctly told the story Crispin had related to him that night inWorcester--the story of a great wrong, that none but a craven could haveleft unavenged. He added nothing to it, subtracted nothing from it, buttold the tale as it had been told to him on that dreadful night, thememory of which had still power to draw a shudder from him.
Cynthia sat with parted lips and eager eyes, drinking in that touchingnarrative of suffering that was rather as some romancer's fabricationthan a true account of what a living man had undergone. Now with sorrowand pity in her heart and countenance, now with anger and loathing, shelistened until he had done, and even when he ceased speaking, and flunghimself into the nearest chair, she sat on in silence for a spell.
Then of a sudden she turned a pair of flashing eyes upon the boy, and intones charged with a scorn ineffable:
"You dare," she cried, "to speak of that man as you do, knowing allthis? Knowing what he has suffered, you dare to rail in his absenceagainst those sins to which his misfortunes have driven him? How, thinkyou, would it have fared with you, you fool, had you stood in the shoesof this unfortunate? Had you fallen on your craven knees, and thankedthe Lord for allowing you to keep your miserable life? Had you succumbedto the blows of fate with a whine of texts upon your lips? Who are you?"she went on, rising, breathless in her wrath, which caused him to recoilin sheer affright before her. "Who are you, and what are you, thatknowing what you know of this man's life, you dare to sit in judgmentupon his actions and condemn them? Answer me, you fool!"
But never a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry,contemptuous questions. The answer that had been so ready to his lipsthat night at Worcester, when, in a milder form the Tavern Knight hadset him the same question, he dared not proffer now. The retort that SirCrispin had not cause enough in the evil of others, which had wreckedhis life, to risk the eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longerutter. Glibly enough had he said to that stern man that which he darednot say now to this sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her thatmade him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for what he was bycontrast with the man whose vices he had so heartily despised a whileago.
Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain fora fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in thegallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburndescended. His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed thespace betwixt his brows.
In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked notthe disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough tohold his attention for the time.
Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he anyword to say as he came heavily up the hall.
At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand uponthe board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a soundreached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble ofwheels and the crack of a whip.
"It is Joseph!" he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so markedthat Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he flung past them,and out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned.
He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figureof Joseph Ashburn emerged from it.
"So, Gregory," he grumbled for greeting, "it was on a fool's errand yousent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, found me in London atlast when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man," hecried, remarking the pallor, of his brother's face, "what ails thee?"
"I have news for you, Joseph," answered Gregory, in a voice that shook.
"It is not Cynthia?" he inquired. "Nay, for there she stands-and herpretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the lad's grown."
And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and congratulateKenneth upon being restored to her.
"I heard of it, lad, in London," quoth he, a leer upon his sallowface--"the story of how a fire-eater named Galliard befriended you,trussed a parson and a trooper, and dragged you out of jail a short hourbefore hanging-time."
Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a stab. Theman's tone implied that another had done for him that which he wouldnot have dared do for himself, and Kenneth felt that this was so said inCynthia's presence with malicious, purpose.
He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and venomouswhenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly he had beenparticularly soured at present by his recent discomforts, suffered in acause wherewith he had no, sympathy--that of the union Gregory desired'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth.
There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes restedtormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled on his viperishtongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of his coat, and drew himaside. They entered the chamber where they had held their last interviewbefore Joseph had set out for news of Kenneth. With an air of mysteryGregory closed the door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed himin the act of unbuckling his sword-belt.
"Wait, Joseph!" he cried dramatically. "This is no time to disarm. Keepyour sword on your thigh, man; you will need it as you never yet haveneeded it." He paused, took a deep breath, and hurled the news athis brother. "Roland Marleigh is here." And he sat down like a manexhausted.
Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as changecountenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the only outward signhe gave of the shock that his brother's announcement had occasioned. Thehand that had rested on the buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietlyto his side, and he deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes setsearchingly upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspiciondarting through h
is mind, he took his brother by the shoulders and shookhim vigorously.
"Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence."
"I have, I have," wailed Gregory, "and, my God, 'twas he was mytable-fellow, and set me the example."
"Like enough, like enough," returned Joseph, with a contemptuous laugh."My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled your worthless wits at last,that they conjure up phantoms to sit at the table with you. Come, man,what petticoat business is this? Bestir yourself, fool."
At that Gregory caught the drift of Joseph's suspicions.
"Tis you are the fool," he retorted angrily, springing to his feet, andtowering above his brother.
"It was no ghost sat with me, but Roland Marleigh, himself, in theflesh, and strangely changed by time. So changed that I knew him not,nor should I know him now but for that which, not ten minutes ago, Ioverheard."
His earnestness was too impressive, his sanity too obvious, and Joseph'ssuspicions were all scattered before it.
He caught Gregory's wrist in a grip that made him wince, and forced himback into his seat.
"Gadslife, man, what is it you mean?" he demanded through set teeth."Tell me."
And forthwith Gregory told him of the manner of Kenneth's coming toSheringham and to Castle Marleigh, accompanied by one Crispin Galliard,the same that had been known for his mad exploits in the late wars as"rakehelly Galliard," and that was now known to the malignants as "TheTavern Knight" for his debauched habits. Crispin's mention of RolandMarleigh on the night of his arrival now returned vividly to Gregory'smind, and he repeated it, ending with the story that that very eveninghe had overheard Kenneth telling Cynthia.
"And this Galliard, then, is none other than that pup of insolence,Roland Marleigh, grown into a dog of war?" quoth Joseph.
He was calm--singularly calm for one who had heard such news.
"There remains no doubt of it."
"And you saw this man day by day, sat with him night by night over yourdamned sack, and knew him not? Oddswounds, man, where were your eyes?"
"I may have been blind. But he is greatly changed. I would defy you,Joseph, to have recognized him."
Joseph sneered, and the flash of his eyes told of the contempt whereinhe held his brother's judgment and opinions.
"Think not that, Gregory. I have cause enough to remember him," saidJoseph, with an unpleasant laugh. Then as suddenly changing his tone forone of eager anxiety:
"But the lad, Gregory, does he suspect, think you?"
"Not a whit. In that lies this fellow's diabolical cunning. Learning ofKenneth's relations with us, he seized the opportunity Fate offered himthat night at Worcester, and bound the lad on oath to help him when heshould demand it, without disclosing the names of those against whom heshould require his services. The boy expects at any moment to be biddento go forth with him upon his mission of revenge, little dreaming thatit is here that that tragedy is to be played out."
"This comes of your fine matrimonial projects for Cynthia," mutteredJoseph acridly. He laughed his unpleasant laugh again, and for a spellthere was silence.
"To think, Gregory," he broke out at last, "that for a fortnight heshould have been beneath this roof, and you should have found no meansof doing more effectively that which was done too carelessly eighteenyears ago."
He spoke as coldly as though the matter were a trivial one. Gregoryshuddered and looked at his brother in alarm.
"What now, fool?" cried Joseph, scowling. "Are you as cowardly as youare blind? Damn me, sir, it seems well that I am returned. I'll have noMarleigh plague my old age for me." He paused a moment, then continuedin a quieter voice, but one whose ring was sinister beyond words:"Tomorrow I shall find a way to draw this your dog of war to somesecluded ground. I have some skill," he pursued, tapping his hilt as hespoke, "besides, you shall be there, Gregory." And he smiled darkly. "Isthere no other way?" asked Gregory, in distress.
"There was," answered Joseph. "There was in Parliament. At Whitehall Imet a man--one Colonel Pride--a bloodthirsty old Puritan soldier, whowould give his right hand to see this Galliard hanged. Galliard, itseems, slew the fellow's son at Worcester. Had I but known," he addedregretfully--"had your wits been keener, and you had discovered it andsent me word, I had found means to help Colonel Pride to his revenge. Asit is"--he shrugged his shoulders--"there is not time."
"It may be--" began Gregory, then stopped abruptly with an exclamationthat caused Joseph to wheel sharply round. The door had opened, and onthe threshold Sir Crispin Galliard stood, deferentially, hat in hand.
Joseph's astonished glance played rapidly over him for a second. Then:
"Who the devil may you be?" he blurted out.
Despite his anxiety, Gregory chuckled at the question. The Tavern Knightcame forward. "I am Sir Crispin Galliard, at your service," said he,bowing. "I was told that the master of Marleigh was returned, and thatI should find you here, and I hasten, sir, to proffer you my thanks forthe generous shelter this house has given me this fortnight past."
Whilst he spoke he measured Joseph with his eyes, and his glance was ashateful as his words were civil. Joseph was lost in amazement. Littletrace was there in this fellow of the Roland Marleigh he had known.Moreover, he had looked to find an older man, forgetting that Roland'sage could not exceed thirty-eight. Then, again, the fading light, whilstrevealing the straight, supple lines of his lank figure, softened thehaggardness of the face and made him appear yet younger than the lightof day would have shown him.
In an instant Joseph had recovered from his surprise, and for all thathis mind misgave him tortured by a desire to learn whether Crispin wasaware of their knowledge concerning him--his smile was serene, and histones level and pleasant, as he made answer:
"Sir, you are very welcome. You have valiantly served one dear to us,and the entertainment of our poor house for as long as you may deign tohonour it is but the paltriest of returns."
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