“So much the better for thee, thou insatiate extortioner. Here is another parchment to add to thy stock.”
Whereupon, the colonel took the deed from out his doublet.
“I thought as much,” the old usurer exclaimed, affecting to groan, though his eye twinkled with covetous satisfaction. “Give it me, and let me look at it,” he added, clutching at the deed like a vulture. “I see! I see! this relates to your farm at Piddinghoe, which brings you in a hundred nobles, or about thirty- eight pounds a year? What sum do you want, colonel?”
“Two hundred pounds to pay my fine to the state — I must have it at once, thou old skinflint.”
“You are very peremptory, colonel; but suppose I cannot lend it you?”
“Then I must obtain the money elsewhere, or the commissioners must seize upon the farm and satisfy themselves. I warrant me they will be content.”
“Nay, that were a pity indeed — and rather than the unconscionable rascals should get it, I will find the two hundred pounds; even though I should inconvenience myself. But I must have a bond, colonel.”
“Agreed,” the old Cavalier rejoined. “I know thy mode of proceeding too well to dispute that point with thee.”
“And the rate of usance as before?” Zachary cried, quickly.
“The rate of usance as before, thirty per cent — agreed!” the colonel rejoined, with a sigh. “’Tis too much! But I cannot help myself, and must submit to thy extortion.”
“Nay, but consider the risks I incur, colonel,” the old usurer rejoined— “consider the disturbed state of affairs. If we lived under a stable government — under a Monarchy — it might be different — but under a Republic—”
“Tut! tut! all knaves prosper under the Republic — to the ruin of honest men,” the old Cavalier rejoined.
“Ha! ha! you will ever have a gibe at the Roundheads, colonel. And I marvel not at it, for they have used you and your party scurvily. My own sympathies,” he added, in a lower tone, “are for the royal cause — but I dare not manifest them. ’Twould be my ruin.”
“Miserable hypocrite!” exclaimed the colonel.
“You disbelieve me. But I will give you proof of my sincerity. I have the lives of many a Cavalier of consequence in my power — but they are safe with me. And so is their royal Master, whose present retreat I could — if I chose — point out.”
“Mark me, Master Trangmar,” the colonel rejoined, sternly. “If the exalted personage to whom thou hast just alluded should be betrayed by thy instrumentality, it shall profit thee little. Nothing shall save thee from the sword of the avenger.”
“I would not betray him for all the wealth of the Commonwealth,” the old usurer hastily rejoined. “It was to prove my loyalty that I unlocked my breast to you, knowing you might be safely confided in.”
“Since you have said thus much, you must say yet more, and inform me where the royal fugitive now hides his head.”
“Not so, colonel,” Zachary rejoined. “I can keep a secret as well as yourself.”
“As you please, sir; but you must allow me to put my own construction on your silence. Let us conclude our business.”
“Readily, colonel,” the usurer returned.
Upon which he unlocked the chest standing near him, and taking out a leather bag, placed it upon the table. Just as he had untied this bag, and was pouring forth its glittering contents, the door was suddenly opened by Skrow Antram, who entered, followed by a tall man. Almost involuntarily, the old usurer spread his skinny hands over the heap of gold, sharply rebuking Skrow for coming in unsummoned, and glancing suspiciously at the person by whom he was accompanied. The latter, though wearing a plain riding-dress of the precise Puritan cut, and mud-bespattered boots, together with a tall steeple-crowned hat and long cloak totally destitute of velvet and lace, had nevertheless a certain air of distinction, combined with great dignity of deportment, and might be described as looking like a Cavalier in the guise of a Roundhead. He was of middle age — perhaps a little past it — but appeared full of vigour. His features were handsome, and rather haughty in expression; his locks were clipped short, in puritanical fashion.
The moment Colonel Maunsel cast eyes upon the stranger he knew him to be Lord Wilmot, the devoted attendant of the fugitive king; while on his part the nobleman, recognizing a friend, signed to the other not to betray any knowledge of him.
“How dared you admit this gentleman, Skrow? Hath he bribed you to let him in, eh?” the old usurer cried, with so angry a look at the porter, that the latter beat a hasty retreat. “What seek you, sir?” Zachary added to the new comer. “What business have you with me?”
“Read that letter from Colonel George Gunter, of Racton, and you will see,” was Lord Wilmot’s reply. “He has urgent and immediate need of five hundred pounds, and has despatched me for it.”
“You have come on a fool’s errand, sir,” old Zachary rejoined, sharply. “Colonel Gunter has had more money of mine than I shall ever see back again. I won’t lend him another noble.”
“Read the letter before you give an answer,” Lord Wilmot cried, authoritatively.
While old Zachary glanced over the missive, signs like those of freemasonry passed between the nobleman and Colonel Maunsel, from which the latter understood for what purpose the money was wanted. In another moment the old usurer threw down the letter.
“I won’t lend the money,” he cried, in an inflexible tone. “You may go back to Colonel Gunter and tell him so.”
“Dost thou not perceive that he promises to pay thee back double the amount in two months?” Lord Wilmot exclaimed. “Is not that enough, thou old extortioner?”
“Ay, but he offers me no security. He can offer none; since I hold the title- deeds of his whole estate in yonder press.”
“But I must have the money, I tell thee. Much depends upon it,” Lord Wilmot exclaimed.
“If the kingdom depended upon it, you should not have it from me — without security,” the old usurer rejoined.
“I will be thy security, Master Trangmar,” Colonel Maunsel interposed. “This gentleman, I am well assured, is a person of honour. Give him the two hundred pounds you intended for me. Add other three hundred. Thou shalt have my bond, and further security on another farm of mine at Bevingdean.”
“You are a true friend to the good cause, sir,” cried Lord Wilmot.
“Ah! I begin to see what it all means now,” the old usurer exclaimed, rubbing his skinny hands. “Well, sir, who ever you may be, and I have an inkling that I have seen your face before, you shall have the money. Nay, I will go further. Colonel Maunsel’s generosity shall not be taxed so far as to deprive him of the two hundred pounds which he requires for his own use. He shall have that amount, without reference to the loan to your master — I crave your pardon — to Colonel Gunter.” As he spoke, he again unlocked the coffer, and took out five bags. “Each of these bags,” he continued, “contains a hundred pounds in gold. Can you carry them?”
“I will make shift to do so,” Lord Wilmot rejoined, bestowing them hastily about his person. “My friend is much beholden to you, Master Trangmar. Colonel Maunsel,” he added, in a low tone, to the old Cavalier, “you have rendered his Majesty a signal service, and I thank you heartily in his name.”
“Enough, my lord,” the other replied. “Farewell! Heaven speed you!”
“Soh! there is a visitor who has cost you a good round sum, colonel,” Zachary remarked, drily, as Lord Wilmot departed.
“The visit will cost me nothing,” the other returned, coldly. “The money will be certainly repaid.”
“Be not too sure of that,” the usurer said. “One can be certain of nothing now- a-days. However, I can pretty well tell how it will be employed; and I sincerely hope it may lead to the desired result.”
“I heartily hope it may — for whatever purpose it is designed. And now let us complete our transaction, Master Trangmar. I am somewhat pressed for time.”
“I will only detain you while I
draw out a memorandum for your signature, colonel. My scrivener, Thopas Tipnoke, shall wait upon you at Ovingdean Grange with the bond — it will be an obligatio simplex, as Tipnoke would style it — and he can receive from you the title-deeds of your farm at Bevingdean, which you propose to deposit with me. That is understood, and agreed, eh? Will you please to count this gold “ — thrusting the heap towards him— “and see that you have your just amount.”
A few more minutes sufficed to bring the transaction to an end. Colonel Maunsel signed the document prepared by the crafty usurer, who was as great an adept in such matters as his scrivener, Tipnoke, and received, in exchange, the two hundred golden caroluses. The usurer attended him to the door, and, just as he was about to depart, said to him, “Let me give you one piece of counsel before you go, Colonel Maunsel. A rigorous search is about to be made of all houses in this part of the county suspected of harbouring fugitive Royalists, and as you are accounted — be not offended, I pray you — one of the most obnoxious malignants hereabouts, Ovingdean Grange hath the foremost place on the list. I ask you not whether you have any one hidden within your house? If it be so, be warned by what I tell you, and if you value your friend’s life and your own safety, let him depart without delay. The search will be made by an officer of the Lord General’s own troop of Ironsides, Captain Stelfax, who hath lately come to Lewes — a merciless man, with the powers of a provost- marshal — and if he should find an unfortunate Royalist, he would think no more of shooting him than of stringing up a deserter. Excuse me, colonel. I have thought it my duty to warn you.”
“I thank you, good Master Trangmar,” the old Cavalier replied, striving to conceal his uneasiness. “I will take all needful precaution. I met this Captain Stelfax on my way hither, and he threatened me with a domiciliary visit.”
“A pest upon him!” ejaculated the old usurer. “His visits are like witches’ curses — they kill. Fare you well, colonel. These are sad times. When good men part, now-a-days, they know not how, or when, they may meet again. Heaven grant his Majesty a speedy restoration! — and should we live to see that blessed day, you will not fail to tell him, I trust, who lent the five hundred pounds.”
“Nor to mention the rate of interest exacted for the loan,” rejoined the colonel, unable to repress a smile. “Well, so thou wilt treat any pestilent Puritan in the same fashion, I care not.”
“Trust me, I will sweat him properly if I get such an one into my clutches,” old Zachary replied, with a chuckle.
Upon this, Colonel Maunsel quitted Mock-Beggar Hall.
On returning to the priory ruins he found Dulcia and the ostreger where he had left them. With Saxby’s aid, he got once more into the saddle, and the party then started for Kingston, whence they mounted the steep hill at the foot of which the little village is nestled, and so shaped their course across the clowns towards Ovingdean Grange.
But we must hie thither before them.
CHAPTER III.
How Ninian Delivered His Message
IF Ninian had been mounted upon a swift steed he could not have reached the Grange more quickly than he contrived to do by the use of his own active limbs.
Not deeming it necessary to inquire whether Captain Stelfax and his troopers had made their appearance, for he felt certain he had beaten them, the young falconer’s first business on entering the house was to seek out John Habergeon. As luck would have it, he found him in the buttery, discussing a jug of ale and a mouthful of bread and cheese— “bren cheese,” the old trooper would have termed it in his Sussex vernacular — with Giles Moppett and old Martin Geere, and instantly delivered the colonel’s message to him, taking care to add that the leader of the Ironsides entertained the belief that Captain Clavering had been slain at Worcester.
“The latter part of thy news is better than thy first, lad,” John cried, swallowing down a huge mouthful, and springing to his feet “Go all of ye, and spread the intelligence amongst the rest of the servants. Take care they are all of one story, d’ye mind? They will be sharply questioned by this cursed Roundhead officer — know him well by report. Keep out of sight, Ninian, should the Ironsides come hither before the colonel returns, or they will understand that thou hast been sent on to give the alarm.”
John then hurried upstairs, and acquainting Clavering with the message which had just been brought by Ninian, told him he must take instant refuge within the hiding-place, and remain there till the danger was passed. Seared by the imminence of the peril, and apprehensive of discovery, Mr. Beard counselled flight; but John scouted the idea.
“Where is the captain to fly to?” the old trooper cried. “Were he to venture forth, those lynx-eyed Ironsides would be likely enough to capture him. And then that rascally Micklegift is playing the spy upon all our movements.”
“Ay, there is another risk! How are we to guard against that?” Clavering exclaimed. “You say Micklegift is aware of my return, and knows I am concealed in the house. Will he not betray me to Stelfax?”
“No. His lips are sealed till to-morrow,” the old trooper rejoined. “Ask me not why? I had rather not explain.”
“You have good reason for what you assert, no doubt, John,” Mr. Beard remarked; “though such tender consideration for us seems wholly inconsistent with Micklegift’s character.”
“It is perfectly consistent with his character, as your reverence would admit, if you knew all,” John replied. “But the Ironsides may be upon us at any moment — don’t suppose they will give us notice of their approach. In with you, captain,” he continued, touching the secret spring in the mantelpiece, and disclosing the entrance to the place of concealment. “You have all you require, and are provisioned for a week. Don’t be disheartened, if we should be unable to communicate with you for some time; and let no summons — no alarm — induce you to come forth. Mind that.”
“I will obey your directions implicitly, John,” the young man said. “Yet my mind misgives me, and I enter this retreat with reluctance.”
“Have a good heart, sir,” John cried, cheerily. “All will turn out well.”
“Heaven grant it!” Mr. Beard ejaculated, fervently. “Place yourself under the care of Providence, my son; and my prayers shall also be offered for your safety.”
Upon this, Clavering passed through the aperture, and the next moment the pillar was returned to its place.
It was time. Scarcely had Clavering made good his retreat, when the blast of a trumpet was heard outside the house, proclaiming the arrival of the Ironsides.
CHAPTER IV.
In What Manner The Captain Of The Ironsides.
Employed His Time At The Grange
AT this fearful summons, old Martin Geere, Giles Moppett, and some others rushed to the door, and to their great dismay, found the house invested by a troop of armed men, who, having ridden through the gateway, were now drawn up before the porch.
“What ho, fellow!” cried their red-bearded leader, addressing Martin. “We are come to pay thy master a visit, as thou seest.”
“You and your men are right welcome, worshipful captain, and my master, I am sure, will feel greatly honoured,” old Martin rejoined; “but he is from home at the moment, hawking on the downs.”
“He is at Lewes, thou shouldst say, for I left him riding thither scarce an hour ago with the Episcopalian divine’s comely daughter,” Stelfax rejoined. “As to welcome, we should have little enough, I warrant me, either from thee or from thy master, if we could not enforce it. But my men are hungry, and would eat; thirsty, and would drink—”
“They shall have the best the house affords, worshipful captain,” old Martin hastened to say.
“They ever do have of the best when they pay a malignant a visit,” rejoined Stelfax, laughing. “Your substance hath been delivered into our hands, and wherefore should we hesitate to take it? I shall tarry here until thy master returns, for I have to interrogate him.”
Giving the word to his men to dismount, Stelfax next directed two of them to s
tand at the door, and suffer no one to go forth. Every other outlet from the house was to be similarly watched: the guard to be relieved every half-hour, so that no man might be deprived of his share of the creature comforts to be found within. Sergeant Delves was instructed to take the horses to the stables, see them foddered, and then rejoin his leader.
All these orders given, Captain Stelfax sprang from his saddle, and, marching into the entrance-hall, made the whole place resound with his clattering sword and heavy boots. Old Martin Geere and the others kept at a respectful distance, anxiously watching him.
On reaching the middle of the hall, the formidable leader stood still, as if uncertain in which direction he should first bend his steps.
“Will it please you to enter the banqueting-room, or the library, worshipful captain?” Martin Geere inquired.
“I shall enter every room in the house in turn,” Stelfax rejoined; “but I care not if I begin with the banqueting-room.”
“A small collation shall be served there in a moment, captain,” said Giles Moppett.
“Mayhap, your worship may like a cup of Bordeaux, or of Gascoigne wine?” insinuated Elias Crundy.
“Bring a flask of the best wine thou hast in thy cellar, fellow,” returned Stelfax; “and broach a cask of thy stoutest ale for my men — unless they prefer wine, in which case thou wilt give it them.”
“They shall have whatsoever they ask for, of that your worship may rest assured,” Elias said.
“Or your own skins will suffer for it, I promise thee,” Stelfax rejoined. “It seems, then, that you have not heard that the rebellious malignant, your young master, was slain at Worcester?”
“Alack! worshipful captain, we have heard the sad tidings,” answered Martin Geere, in a doleful tone; “but we have not ventured to tell the colonel. Poor gentleman! the news will break his heart.”
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