CHAPTER XXVI. TO FRANCE
That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in her ears,when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across the threshold avery daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped briskly, the expostulatinglandlord following close upon his heels.
"I tell thee, lying dog," he cried, "I saw him ride into the yard, and,'fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending my losses. Be offto your father, you Devil's natural."
Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching sight ofher, halted in some confusion at what he saw.
"Rat me, madam," he cried, "I did not know--I had not looked to--" Hestopped, and remembering at last his manners he made her a low bow.
"Your servant, madam," said he, "your servant Harry Foster."
She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, whereatthe pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles and wished himselfelsewhere.
"I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt."
"He is not my husband, sir," she answered, scarce knowing what she said.
"Gadso!" he ejaculated. "Yet you ran away from him?"
Her cheeks grew crimson.
"The door, sir, is behind you."
"So, madam, is that thief the landlord," he made answer, no whitabashed. "Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman is hurt."
Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and Mr.Foster begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to see to thegentleman's wound. Between them they laid Crispin on a couch, and thetown spark went to work with a dexterity little to have been expectedfrom his flippant exterior. He dressed the wound, which was in theshoulder and not in itself of a dangerous character, the loss of bloodit being that had brought some gravity to the knight's condition. Theypropped his head upon a pillow, and presently he sighed and, opening hiseyes, complained of thirst, and was manifestly surprised at seeing thecoxcomb turned leech.
"I came in search of you to pursue our game," Foster explained when theyhad ministered to him, "and, 'fore George, I am vastly grieved to findyou in this condition."
"Pish, sir, my condition is none so grievous--a scratch, no more, andwere my heart itself pierced the knowledge that I have gained--" Hestopped short. "But there, sir," he added presently, "I am gratefulbeyond words for your timely ministration, and if to my debt you willadd that of leaving me awhile to rest, I shall appreciate it."
His glance met Cynthia's and he smiled. The host coughed significantly,and shuffled towards the door. But Master Foster made no shift to move;but stood instead beside Galliard, though in apparent hesitation.
"I should like a word with you ere I go," he said at length. Thenturning and perceiving the landlord standing by the door in an attitudeof eloquent waiting: "Take yourself off," he cried to him. "Crush me,may not one gentleman say a word to another without being forced tospeak into your inquisitive ears as well? You will forgive my heat,madam, but, God a'mercy, that greasy rascal tries me sorely."
"Now, sir," he resumed, when the host was gone. "I stand thus: I havelost to you to-day a sum of money which, though some might accountconsiderable, is in itself no more than a trifle.
"I am, however, greatly exercised at the loss of certain trinkets whichhave to me a peculiar value, and which, to be frank, I staked in amoment of desperation. I had hoped, sir, to retrieve my losses o'er afriendly main this evening, for I have still to stake a coach and fourhorses--as noble a set of beasts as you'll find in England, aye ratme. Your wound, sir, renders it impossible for me to ask you to giveyourself the fatigue of obliging me. I come, then, to propose that youreturn me those trinkets against my note of hand for the amount that wasstaked on them. I am well known in town, sir," he added hurriedly, "andyou need have no anxiety."
Crispin stopped him with a wave of the hand.
"I have none, sir, in that connexion, and I am willing to do as yousuggest." He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew forth the rings,the brooch and the ear-ring he had won. "Here, sir, are your trinkets."
"Sir," cried Mr. Foster, thrown into some confusion by Galliard'sunquestioning generosity, "I am indebted to you. Rat me, sir, I amindeed. You shall have my note of hand on the instant. How much shall wesay?"
"One moment, Mr. Foster," said Crispin, an idea suddenly occurring tohim. "You mentioned horses. Are they fresh?"
"As June roses."
"And you are returning to London, are you not?"
"I am."
"When do you wish to proceed?"
"To-morrow."
"Why, then, sir, I have a proposal to make which will remove the need ofyour note of hand. Lend me your horses, sir, to reach Harwich. I wish toset out at once!"
"But your wound?" cried Cynthia. "You are still faint."
"Faint! Not I. I am awake and strong. My wound is no wound, for ascratch may not be given that name. So there, sweetheart." He laughed,and drawing down her head, he whispered the words: "Your father." Thenturning again to Foster. "Now, sir," he continued, "there are fourtolerable posthorses of mine below, on which you can follow tomorrow toHarwich, there exchanging them again for your own, which you shall findawaiting you, stabled at the Garter Inn. For this service, to me ofimmeasurable value, I will willingly cede those gewgaws to you."
"But, rat me, sir," cried Foster in bewilderment, "tis toogenerous--'pon honour it is. I can't consent to it. No, rat me, Ican't."
"I have told you how great a boon you will confer. Believe me, sir, tome it is worth twice, a hundred times the value of those trinkets."
"You shall have my horses, sir, and my note of hand as well," saidFoster firmly.
"Your note of hand is of no value to me, sir. I look to leave Englandto-morrow, and I know not when I may return."
Thus in the end it came about that the bargain was concluded. Cynthia'smaid was awakened and bidden to rise. The horses were harnessed toCrispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon Harry Foster's arm, descendedand took his place within the carriage.
Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, crushing,burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's magnificence, theyrolled away through the night in the direction of Ipswich.
Ten o'clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the Garter Inn atHarwich. But the jolting of the coach had so hardly used Crispin that hehad to be carried into the hostelry. He was much exercised touching theLady Jane and his inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, whenhe was accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked himwas he called Sir Crispin Galliard. Ere he could frame an answer the manhad added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of the Lady Jane--at whichpiece of good news Crispin felt like to shout for joy.
But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he lay in theschooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of pleasure. He had setout to bring Cynthia to his son; he had pledged his honour to accomplishit. How was he fulfilling his trust? In his despondency, during a momentwhen alone, he cursed the knave that had wounded him for his clumsinessin not having taken a lower aim when he fired, and thus solved him thisugly riddle of life for all time.
Vainly did he strive to console himself and endeavour to palliate thewrong he had done with the consideration that he was the man Cynthialoved, and not his son; that his son was nothing to her, and that shewould never have accompanied him had she dreamt that he wooed her foranother.
No. The deed was foul, and rendered fouler still by virtue of thoseother wrongs in whose extenuation it had been undertaken. For a momenthe grew almost a coward. He was on the point of bidding Master Jacksonavoid Calais and make some other port along the coast. But in a momenthe had scorned the craven argument of flight, and determined that comewhat might he would face his son, and lay the truth before him, leavinghim to judge how strong fate had been. As he lay feverish and fretful inthe vessel's cabin, he came well-nigh to hating Kenneth; he rememberedhim only as a poor, mean creature, now a bigot, now a fop, now apsalm-monger, now a roysterer,
but ever a hypocrite, ever a coward,and never such a man as he could have taken pride in presenting as hisoffspring.
They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been absentfrom his side a little while, came to tell him that the coast of Francegrew nigh.
His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed a smilethat was yet more melancholy. For a second he was tempted to confidein her; to tell her of the position in which he found himself and tolighten his load by sharing it with her. But this he dared not do.Cynthia must never know.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL
In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at Calais, thehost inquired of Crispin if he were milord Galliard. At that questionCrispin caught his breath in apprehension, and felt himself turn pale.What it portended, he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had beenrising in him since his arrival, and because he had not found hisson awaiting him either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask noquestions, fearing that the reply would quench that hope, which rosedespite himself, and begotten of a desire of which he was hardlyconscious.
He sighed before replying, and passing his brown, nervous hand acrosshis brow, he found it moist.
"My name, M. l'hote, is Crispin Galliard. What news have you for me?"
"A gentleman--a countryman of milord's--has been here these three daysawaiting him."
For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his last rag ofhope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, despite his weakness.
"Bring him to me. I will see him at once."
"Tout-a-l'heure, monsieur," replied the landlord. "At the moment he isabsent. He went out to take the air a couple of hours ago, and is notyet returned."
"Heaven send he has walked into the sea!" Crispin broke outpassionately. Then as passionately he checked himself. "No, no, myGod--not that! I meant not that."
"Monsieur will sup?"
"At once, and let me have lights." The host withdrew, to return a momentlater with a couple of lighted tapers, which he set upon the table.
As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, accompanied bythe clank of a scabbard against the baluster.
"Here comes milord's countryman," the landlord announced.
And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the doorway theburly form of Harry Hogan.
He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. Witha sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand affectionately uponGalliard's shoulder.
"Welcome to France, Crispin," said he. "If not him whom you looked tofind, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you."
"Hogan!" gasped the knight. "What make you here? How came you here?Where is Jocelyn?"
The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed and sankdown upon a chair. "You have brought the lady?" he asked.
"She is here. She will be with us presently."
Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully.
"But where is Jocelyn?" cried Galliard again, and his haggard facelooked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon hiscompanion. "Why is he not here?"
"I have bad news."
"Bad news?" muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the meaning ofthe words. "Bad news?" he repeated musingly. Then bracing himself, "Whatis this news?"
"And you have brought the lady too!" Hogan complained. "Faith, I hadhoped that you had failed in that at least."
"Sdeath, Harry," Crispin exclaimed. "Will you tell me the news?"
Hogan pondered a moment. Then:
"I will relate the story from the very beginning," said he. "Some fourhours after your departure from Waltham) my men brought in the malignantwe were hunting. I dispatched my sergeant and the troop forthwith toLondon with the prisoner, keeping just two troopers with me. An hour orso later a coach clattered into the yard, and out of it stepped a short,lean man in black, with a very evil face and a crooked eye, who bawledout that he was Joseph Ashburn of Castle Marleigh, a friend of the LordGeneral's, and that he must have horses on the instant to proceed uponhis journey to London. I was in the yard at the time, and hearing thefull announcement I guessed what his business in London was. He enteredthe inn to refresh himself and I followed him. In the common room thefirst man his eyes lighted on was your son. He gasped at sight of him,and when he had recovered his breath he let fly as round a volley ofblasphemy as ever I heard from the lips of a Puritan. When that wasover, "Fool," he yells, "what make you here?" The lad stammered and grewconfused. At last--"I was detained here," says he. "Detained!" thundersthe other, "and by whom?" "By my father, you murdering villain!" was thehot answer.
"At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking. "So," hesays, in a playful voice, "you have learnt that, have you? Well, by God!the lesson shall profit neither you nor that rascal your father. ButI'll begin with you, you cur." And with that he seizes a jug of ale thatstood on the table, and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body!The lad showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him."Outside," yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and pointingto the door with the other. "Outside, you hound, where I can kill you!"Ashburn laughed and cursed him, and together they flung past me into theyard. The place was empty at the moment, and there, before the clash oftheir blades had drawn interference, the thing was over--and Ashburn hadsent his sword through Jocelyn's heart."
Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in torment.
"And Ashburn?" he asked presently, in a voice that was singularly hoarseand low. "What became of him? Was he not arrested?"
"No," said Hogan grimly, "he was not arrested. He was buried. Before hehad wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and accused him of murderinga beardless boy. I remembered the reckoning he owed you, I rememberedthat he had sought to send you to your death; I saw the boy's body stillwarm and bleeding upon the ground, and I struck him with my knuckles onthe mouth. Like the cowardly ruffian he was, he made a pass at me withhis sword before I had got mine out. I avoided it narrowly, and we setto work.
"People rushed in and would have stopped us, but I cursed them so whilstI fenced, swearing to kill any man that came between us, that they heldoff and waited. I didn't keep them overlong. I was no raw youngsterfresh from the hills of Scotland. I put the point of my sword throughJoseph Ashburn's throat within a minute of our engaging.
"It was then as I stood in that shambles and looked down upon myhandiwork that I recalled in what favour Master Ashburn was held by theParliament, and I grew sick to think of what the consequences might be.To avoid them I got me there and then to horse, and rode in a straightline for Greenwich, hoping to find the Lady Jane still there. But mymessenger had already sent her to Harwich for you. I was well ahead ofpossible pursuit, and so I pushed on to Dover, and thence I crossed,arriving here three days ago."
Crispin rose and stepped up to Hogan. "The last time you came to meafter killing a man, Harry, I was of some service to you. You shall findme no less useful now. You will come to Paris with me?"
"But the lady?" gasped Hogan, amazed at Crispin's lack of thought forher.
"I hear her step upon the stairs. Leave me now, Harry, but as you go,desire the landlord to send for a priest. The lady remains."
One look of utter bewilderment did Hogan bestow upon Sir Crispin, andfor once his glib, Irish tongue could shape no other words than:
"Soul of my body!"
He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity hehurried from the room to do what was required of him.
For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into the nighthe thanked God from his heart for his solution of the monstrous riddlethat had been set him.
Then the rustle of a gown drew his attention, and he swung round to findCynthia smiling upon him from the threshold.
He advanced to meet her, and setting his hands upon her shoulders, heheld her at arm's length, looking down into her eyes.
"Cynthia, my Cynt
hia!" he cried. And she, breaking past the barrier ofhis grasp, nestled up to him with a sigh of sweet and unalloyed content.
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