CHAPTER XXII
AN INTERLUDE
The Packhorse Inn, lower down the village, was not nearly so frequentedas was the Royal George. Its meagre, dilapidated appearance frightenedmost customers away. A few yokels only patronised it to the extent ofsipping their small ale there, in the parlour when it was wet, oroutside the porch when it was fine.
The few--very few--travellers, whom accident mostly brought toBrassington, invariably preferred the more solid, substantial inn on thegreen, but when it was a question of finding safe shelter for hiswounded friend, John Stich unhesitatingly chose the Packhorse. He hadimprovised a rough kind of stretcher, with the help of the cushions fromLady Patience's coach, and on this, with the aid of Timothy the groom,he had carried Bathurst all the way across two miles of Heath intoBrassington. The march had been terribly wearisome: the wounded man,fevered with past excitement, had become light-headed, and duringintervals of lucidity was suffering acutely from his wound.
Lady Patience could not bring herself to leave him. A feeling she couldnot have described seemed to keep her enchained beside this man, whombut a few hours ago she had never seen, but in whom she felt now thatall her hopes had centred. He had asked her to trust him, and sincethen had only recovered consciousness to plead to her with mute, achingeyes not to take away that trust which she had given him.
Fortunately, the noted bad state of the roads on Brassing Moor, which atany time might prove impassable for the coach, had caused her to takeher own saddle as part of her equipment for her journey to London. ThisJohn Stich had fixed for her on Jack o' Lantern's back, and the faithfulbeast, as if guessing the sad plight of his master, carried herladyship, with Mistress Betty clinging on behind, with lamb-likegentleness down the narrow bridle-path to Brassington.
Thomas, the driver, had been left in charge of the coach, with orders tofind his way as quickly as may be along the road to Wirksworth.
It had been Bathurst's firmly-expressed wish that they should put up atBrassington, at any rate for the night. Besides being the nearestpoint, it was also the most central, whence a sharp lookout could bekept on Sir Humphrey Challoner's movements. Everything depended now onhow serious the young man's wound turned out to be.
Patience felt that without his help she was indeed powerless to fighther cunning enemy. She was never for one moment in doubt as to themotive which prompted Sir Humphrey Challoner to steal the letters. Hemeant to hold them as a weapon over her to enforce the acceptance of hissuit; this she knew well enough. Her instincts, rendered doubly acuteby the imminence of the peril, warned her that the Squire of Harringtonmeant to throw all scruples to the wind, and would in wanton revengesacrifice Philip by destroying the letters, if she fought or defied himopenly.
Patience bethought her of the scene at the forge, when Bathurst's readywit had saved her brother from the officious and rapacious soldiers: nowthat the terrible situation had to be met with keenness and cunning, sheonce more turned, with hope in her heart, to the one man who could savePhilip again: but he, alas! lay helpless. And all along the weary wayto Brassington she was listening with aching heart and throbbing templesto his wild, delirious words and occasional, quickly-suppressed moans.
However, they reached the Packhorse at last in the small hours of themorning: money, lavishly distributed by Lady Patience, secured the onecomfortable room in the inn for the wounded man.
As soon as the day broke John Stich went in quest of Master Prosser, theleech, a gentleman famed for his skill and learning. Already the reston a good bed, and Lady Patience's cool hand and gentle words, had donemuch to soothe the patient. Youth and an iron constitution quickly didthe rest.
The leech pronounced the wound to be neither deep nor serious, and theextraction of the ball caused the sufferer much relief.
Within an hour after the worthy man's visit, Jack Bathurst had falleninto a refreshing sleep, and at John Stich's earnest pleading, LadyPatience had thrown herself on a bed in the small room which she hadsecured for herself and Mistress Betty, and had at last managed to getsome rest.
The sun was already well up in the heavens when Jack awoke. His eyes,as soon as they opened, sought anxiously for her dear presence in theroom.
"Feel better, Captain?" asked John Stich, who had been watchingfaithfully by his side.
"I feel a giant, honest friend," replied the young man. "Help me up,will you?"
"The leech said you ought to keep quiet for a bit, Captain," protestedthe smith.
"Oho! he did, did he?" laughed Jack, gaily. "Well! go tell him, friend,from me, that he is an ass."
"Where is she, John?" he asked quietly, after a slight pause.
"In the next room, Captain."
"Resting?"
"Aye! she never left your side since you fainted on the Heath."
"I know--I know, friend," said Jack, with a short, deep sigh; "think youI could not feel her hand..."
He checked himself abruptly, and with the help of John Stich raisedhimself from the bed. He looked ruefully at his stained clothes, and aquaint, pleasant smile chased away the last look of weariness andsuffering from his face.
"Nay! what a plight for Beau Brocade in which to meet the lady of hisdreams, eh, John? Here, help me to make myself presentable! Run downquickly to mine host, borrow brushes and combs, and anything you can layhands on. I am not fit to appear before her eyes."
"Then will you keep quite still, Captain, until I return? And keep yourarm quietly in the sling? The leech said..."
"Never mind what the leech said, run, John ... the sight of myself inthat glass there causes me more pain than this stupid scratch. Runquickly, John, for I hear her footstep in the next room.... I'll notmove from the edge of this bed, I swear it, if you'll only run."
He kept his word and never stirred from where he sat; but he strainedhis ears to listen, for through the thin partition wall he could justhear her footstep on the rough wooden floor, and occasionally her voicewhen she spoke to Betty.
Half an hour later, when John Stich had done his best to valet and dresshim, he waited upon her ladyship at breakfast in the parlour downstairs.
She came forward to greet him, her dainty hand outstretched, her eyesanxiously scanning his face.
"You should not have risen yet, sir," she said half shyly as he pressedher finger-tips to his lips, "your poor wounded shoulder..."
"Nay, with your pardon, madam," he said lightly, "'tis well alreadysince your sweet hand has tended it."
"'Twas my desire to nurse you awhile longer, and not allow you to riskyour life for me again."
"My life? Nay! I'll trust that to mine old enemy, Fortune: she hasta'en care of it all these years, that I might better now place it atyour service."
She said nothing, for she felt unaccountably shy. She, who had had halfthe gilded youth of England at her feet, found no light bantering wordwith which to meet this man; and beneath his ardent gaze she feltherself blushing like a school miss at her first ball.
"Will you honour me, sir," she said at last, "by partaking of breakfastwith me?"
All cares and troubles seemed forgotten. He sat down at the tableopposite to her, and together they drank tea, and ate eggs and bread andbutter: and there was so much to talk about that often they would bothbecome quite silent, and say all there was to say just with their eyes.
He told her about the Heath which he knew and loved so well, the beautyof the sunrise far out behind the Tors, the birds and beasts and theirhaunts and habits, the heron on the marshy ground, the cheeky robins onthe branches of the bramble, the lizards and tiny frogs and toads: allthat enchanting world which peopled the Moor and had made it a home forhim.
And she listened to it all, for he had a deep, tender, caressing voice,which was always good to hear, and she was happy, for she was young, andthe world in which she dwelt was very beautiful.
Yet she found this happiness which she felt, quite incomprehensible: sheeven chid h
erself for feeling it, for the outside world was still thesame, and her brother still in peril. He, the man, alone knew whitherhe was drifting; he knew that he loved her with every fibre of hisbeing, and that she was as immeasurably beyond him as the stars.
He knew what this happiness meant, and that it could but live a day, anhour. Therefore he drained the cup to its full measure, enjoying eachfraction of a second of this one glorious hour, watching her as shesmiled, as she sipped her tea, as she blushed when she met his eyes.And sometimes--for he was clumsy with his one arm in a sling--sometimesas she helped him in the thousand and one little ways of which womenalone possess the enchanting secret, her hand would touch his, just forone moment, like a bird on the wing, and he, the poor outlaw, saw heavenopen before him, and seeing it, was content.
Outside an early September sun was flooding the little village streetwith its golden light. They did not dare to show themselves at thewindow, lest either of them should be recognised, so they had drawn thethin muslin curtain across the casement, and shut out the earth fromthis little kingdom of their own.
Only at times the bleating of a flock of sheep, or the melancholy lowingof cattle would come to them from afar, or from the window-sill thesweet fragrance of a pot of mignonette.
Beau Brocade: A Romance Page 22
