CHAPTER XXXI
"WE'VE GOTTEN BEAU BROCADE!"
The presence of Philip at the inn had done much to cheer Patience in herweary waiting. He and John Stich had reached the Packhorse some timebefore cockcrow, and the landlord had been only too ready to do anythingin reason to further the safety of the fugitive, so long as his owninterests were not imperilled thereby.
This meant that he would give Philip a serving-man's suit and afford himshelter in the inn, for as long as the authorities did not suspect himof harbouring a rebel; beyond that he would not go.
Lady Patience had paid him lavishly for this help and his subsequentsilence. It was understood that the fugitive would only make a briefhalt at Brassington: some more secluded shelter would have to be foundfor him on the morrow.
For the moment, of course, the thoughts of everyone in the village wouldbe centred in the capture of Beau Brocade. The highwayman had manyfriends and adherents in the village, people whom his careless andopen-handed generosity had often saved from penury. To a man almost,the village folk hoped to see him come out victorious from the awful andunequal struggle which was going on on the Heath. So strong was thisfeeling that the beadle, who was known to entertain revengeful thoughtsagainst the man who had played him so impudent a trick the day before,did not dare to show his rubicund face in the bar-parlour of either innon that memorable night.
No one had gone to bed. The men waited about, consuming tankards ofsmall ale, whilst discussing the possibility of their hero's capture.The women sat at home with streaming eyes, plaintively wondering whowould help them in future in their distress, if Beau Brocade ceased tohaunt the Heath.
Patience herself did not close an eye. Her hand clinging to that ofPhilip, she sat throughout that long, weary night watching and waiting,dreading the awful dawn, with the terrible news it would bring.
And it was when the first rosy light shed its delicate hue over the tinyold-world village, that the sweet-scented morning air was suddenlyfilled with the hoarse triumphal cry,--
"We have gotten Beau Brocade!"
"Hip! hip! hip! hurray!"
Wearied and dazed with the fatigue of her long vigil, Patience had sunkinto a torpor when those shouts, rapidly drawing nearer to the village,roused her from this state of semi-consciousness.
She hardly knew what she had hoped during these past anxious hours: nowthat the awful certainty had come, it seemed to stun her with theunexpectedness of the blow.
"We've gotten Beau Brocade!"
The village folk turned out in melancholy groups from the parlour of theinn; they too had entertained vague hopes that their hero would emergeunscathed from the perils which encompassed him; to them too the news ofhis capture came as that of a sad, irretrievable catastrophe. Theycongregated in small, excited numbers on the village green, their stolidheads shaking sadly at sight of the squad of soldiers, who were bringingin a swathed-up bundle of humanity, smothered about the head in ascarlet coat, and with hands and legs securely strapped down with acouple of military belts. Only the fine brown cloth coat, thebeautifully-embroidered waistcoat and silver-mounted pistol proclaimedthat miserable, helpless bundle to be the gallant Beau Brocade.
The soldiers themselves were in a wild state of glee; they had carriedtheir prisoner in triumph all the way from the Heath, and had neverceased shouting until they had deposited him on the green. Owing to theunusual hour, and to the absence of His Honour, Squire West, thepinioned highwayman was to be locked up in the pound until noon.
In the small private parlour of the Packhorse Patience had sat rigid asa statue, while those shouts of triumph seemed to strike her heart aswith a hammer. Her fist pressed against her burning mouth, she wasmaking desperate efforts to smother the scream of agony which would haverent her throat.
But with one bound John Stich was soon out of the Packhorse, where he,too, with aching heart and mind devoured with anxiety, had watched andwaited through the night.
It did not take him long to reach the green, and using his stalwartelbows to some purpose, he quickly made a way for himself through thesmall crowd and was presently looking down on the huddled figure whichlay helpless on the ground.
There was the Captain's fine brown coat sure enough, with its ample,silk-lined, full skirts, and rich, cut-steel buttons; there was thelong, richly-embroidered waistcoat; the lace cuffs at the wrists, andthe handsome sword-belt, through which the finely-chased silver handleof the pistol still protruded. But John Stich had need but to cast oneglance at the hands, and another at the feet encased in roughcountryman's boots, to realise with a sudden, wild exultation of hishonest heart that in some way or other his Captain had succeeded in oncemore playing a trick on his pursuers, and that the man who lay theremuffled on the ground was certainly not Beau Brocade.
But even in the suddenness of this intense joy and relief, John Stichwas shrewd enough not to betray himself. Obviously every moment, duringwhich the captors enjoyed their mistaken triumph, was a respite gainedfor the hunted man out on the Heath. Therefore when the Sergeant orderedthe rascal to be locked up in the pound awaiting his Honour's orders,and gave Stich a vigorous rap on the shoulder, saying lustily,--
"Well, Master Stich, we've got your friend after all, you see?"
The smith quietly replied,--
"Aye! aye! you've gotten him right enough. No offence, Sergeant! Have asmall ale with me before we all go to bed?"
"'Tis nowt to me," he added, seeing with intense satisfaction the heavybolts of the pound securely pushed home on the unfortunate Jock Miggs.
The Sergeant was nothing loth, and eagerly followed Stich to the bar ofthe Royal George, where small ale now flowed freely until the sun washigh in the heavens.
But as soon as the smith had seen the soldiers safely installed beforetheir huge tankards, he rushed out of the inn and across the green, backto the Packhorse, to bring the joyful news to Lady Patience and herbrother.
In the privacy of the little back parlour he was able to give free reinto his joy.
"They'll never get the Captain," he shouted, tossing his cap in the air,"and, saving your ladyship's presence, we was all fools to think theywould."
Patience had said nothing when the smith first brought the news. Shesmiled kindly and somewhat mechanically at the exuberance of his joy,but when honest John once more left her, to glean more detailed accountof the great man-hunt on the Heath, she turned to her brother, andfalling on her knees she buried her fair head against the lad's shoulderand sobbed in the fulness of her joy as if her heart would break.
Beau Brocade: A Romance Page 31
