The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century
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CHAPTER XXX
ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX
How oft it is in life that Fate, leading a traveler in easy gradientsupwards along a road of triumph, suddenly assumes a madcap mood and withwanton hand throws a tiny obstacle in his way; an obstacle at timesinfinitesimal, scarce visible on that way towards success, yet powerfulenough to trip the unwary traveler and bring him down to earth withsudden and woeful vigor.
With Sir Marmaduke so far everything had prospered according to hiswish. He had inveigled the heiress into a marriage which bound her tohis will, yet left him personally free; she had placed her fortuneunreservedly and unconditionally in his hands, and had, so far as heknew, not even suspected the treachery practiced upon her by herguardian.
Not a soul had pierced his disguise, and the identity of Prince Ameded'Orleans was unknown even to his girl-wife.
With the disappearance of that mysterious personage, Sir Marmadukehaving realized Lady Sue's fortune, could resume life as an independentgentleman, with this difference, that henceforth he would be passingrich, able to gratify his ambition, to cut a figure in the world as hechose.
Fortune which had been his idol all his life, now was indeed his slave.He had it, he possessed it. It lay snug and safe in a leather walletinside the lining of his doublet.
Sue had gone out of his sight, desirous apparently of turning her backon him forever. He was free and rich. The game had been risky, daringbeyond belief, yet he had won in the end. He could afford to laugh nowat all the dangers, the subterfuges, the machinations which had all goneto the making of that tragic comedy in which he had been the principalactor.
The last scene in the drama had been successfully enacted. The curtainhad been finally lowered; and Sir Marmaduke swore that there should beno epilogue to the play.
Then it was that Fate--so well-named the wanton jade--shook herself fromout the torpor in which she had wandered for so long beside this Kentishsquire. A spirit of mischief seized upon her and whispered that she hadheld this man quite long enough by the hand and that it would be farmore amusing now to see him measure his length on the ground.
And all that Fate did, in order to satisfy this spirit of mischief, wasto cause Sir Marmaduke to forget his tinder-box in the front parlor ofMistress Martha Lambert's cottage.
A tinder-box is a small matter! an object of infinitesimal importancewhen the broad light of day illumines the interior of houses or thebosquets of a park, but it becomes an object of paramount importance,when the night is pitch dark, and when it is necessary to effect anexchange of clothing within the four walls of a pavilion.
Sir Marmaduke had walked to the park gates with his wife, not so muchbecause he was anxious for her safety, but chiefly because he meant toretire within the pavilion, there to cast aside forever the costume andappurtenances of Prince Amede d'Orleans and to reassume thesable-colored doublet and breeches of the Roundhead squire, whichproceeding he had for the past six months invariably accomplished in thelonely little building on the outskirts of his own park.
As soon, therefore, as he realized that Sue had gone, he turned hissteps towards the pavilion. The night seemed additionally dark hereunder the elms, and Sir Marmaduke searched in his pocket for histinder-box.
It was not there. He had left it at the cottage, and quickly recollectedseeing it lying on the table at the very moment that Sue pushed theleather wallet towards him.
He had mounted the few stone steps which led up to the building, buteven whilst he groped for the latch with an impatient hand, he realizedhow impossible it would be for him anon, to change his clothes, in thedark; not only to undress and dress again, but to collect the belongingsof the Prince d'Orleans subsequently, for the purpose of destroying themat an early opportunity.
Groping about in inky blackness might mean the forgetting of somearticle of apparel, which, if found later on, might lead to suspicion oreven detection of the fraud. Sir Marmaduke dared not risk it.
Light he needed, and light he ought to have. The tinder-box had becomeof paramount importance, and it was sheer wantonness on the part of Fatethat she should have allowed that little article to rest forgotten onthe table in Mistress Lambert's cottage.
Sir Marmaduke remained pondering--in the darkness and the mist--for awhile. His own doublet and breeches, shoes and stockings were in thepavilion: would he ever be able to get at them without a light? No,certainly not! nor could he venture to go home to the Court in hispresent disguise, and leave his usual clothes in this remote building.
Prying, suspicious eyes--such as those of Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy,for instance, might prove exceedingly uncomfortable and even dangerous.
On the other hand, would it not be ten thousand times more dangerous togo back to the cottage now and risk meeting Richard Lambert face toface?
And it was Richard whom Sir Marmaduke feared.
He had, therefore, almost decided to try his luck at dressing in thedark, and was once more fumbling with the latch of the pavilion door,when through the absolute silence of the air, there came to his earthrough the mist the sound of a young voice calling the name of "Sue!"
The voice was that of Richard Lambert.
The coast would be clear then. Richard had met Sue in the park: nodoubt he would hold her a few moments in conversation. The schemer carednot what the two young people would or would not say to one another; allthat interested him now was the fact that Richard was not at thecottage, and that, therefore, it would be safe to run back and fetch thetinder-box.
All this was a part of Fate's mischievous prank. Sir Marmaduke was notafraid of meeting the old Quakeress, nor yet the surly smith; Richardbeing out of the way, he had no misgivings in his mind when he retracedhis steps towards the cottage.
It was close on eight o'clock then, in fact the tiny bell in Acol churchstruck the hour even as Sir Marmaduke lifted the latch of the littlegarden gate.
The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual with her dusting-cloth.Without heeding her, Sir Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushingthe crockery, which now littered it, aside, he searched for histinder-box.
It was not there. With an impatient oath, he turned to Mistress Martha,and roughly demanded if she had seen it.
"Eh? ... What?" she queried, shuffling a little nearer to him, "I amsomewhat hard of hearing ... as thou knowest...."
"Have you seen my tinder-box?" he repeated with ever-growing irritation.
"Ah, yea, the fog!" she said blandly, "'tis damp too, of a truth, and..."
"Hold your confounded tongue!" he shouted wrathfully, "and try and hearme. My tinder-box...."
"Thy what? I am a bit ..."
"Curse you for an old fool," swore Sir Marmaduke, who by now was in atowering passion.
With a violent gesture he pushed the old woman aside and turning on herin an uncontrolled access of fury, with both arms upraised, he shouted:
"If you don't hear me now, I'll break every bone in your ugly body....Where is my ..."
It had all happened in a very few seconds: his entrance, his search forthe missing box, the growing irritation in him which had caused him tolose control of his temper. And now, even before the threatening wordswere well out of his mouth, he suddenly felt a vigorous onslaught fromthe rear, and his own throat clutched by strong and sinewy fingers.
"And I'll break every bone in thy accursed body!" shouted a hoarse voiceclose to his ear, "if thou darest so much as lay a finger on the oldwoman."
The struggle was violent and brief. Sir Marmaduke already felt himselfovermastered. Adam Lambert had taken him unawares. He was rough and verypowerful. Sir Marmaduke was no weakling, yet encumbered by his fantasticclothes he was no match for the smith. Adam turned him about in hisnervy hands like a puppet.
Now he was in front and above him, glaring down at the man he hated witheyes which would have searched the very depths of his enemy's soul.
"Thou damned foreigner!" he growled between clenched teeth, "thouvermin! ... Thou toad! Thou ... on thy knees! ... on th
y knees, I say... beg her pardon for thy foul language ... now at once ... dost hear?... ere I squeeze the breath out of thee...."
Sir Marmaduke felt his knees giving way under him, the smith's grasp onhis throat had in no way relaxed. Mistress Martha vainly tried tointerpose. She was all for peace, and knew that the Lord liked not afiery temper. But the look in Adam's face frightened her, and she hadalways been in terror of the foreigner. Without thought, and imaginingthat 'twas her presence which irritated the lodger, she beat a hastyretreat to her room upstairs, even as Adam Lambert finally succeeded inforcing Sir Marmaduke down on his knees, not ceasing to repeat thewhile:
"Her pardon ... beg her pardon, my fine prince ... lick the dust in anEnglish cottage, thou foreign devil ... or, by God, I will kill thee!..."
"Let me go!" gasped Sir Marmaduke, whom the icy fear of imminentdiscovery gripped more effectually even than did the villageblacksmith's muscular fingers, "let me go ... damn you!"
"Not before I have made thee lick the dust," said Adam grimly, bringingone huge palm down on the elaborate perruque, and forcing SirMarmaduke's head down, down towards the ground, "lick it ... lick it... Prince of Orleans...."
He burst out laughing in the midst of his fury, at sight of thisdisdainful gentleman, with the proud title, about to come in violentcontact with a cottage floor. But Sir Marmaduke struggled violentlystill. He had been wiser no doubt, to take the humiliation quietly, tolick the dust and to pacify the smith: but what man is there who wouldsubmit to brute force without using his own to protect himself?
Then Fate at last worked her wanton will.
In the struggle the fantastic perruque and heavy mustache of PrinceAmede d'Orleans remained in the smith's hand whilst it was the roundhead and clean-shaven face of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse which came incontact with the floor.
In an instant, stricken at first dumb with surprise and horror, butquickly recovering the power of speech, Adam Lambert murmured:
"You? ... You? ... Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse! ... Oh! my God! ..."
His grip on his enemy had, of course, relaxed. Sir Marmaduke was able tostruggle to his feet. Fate had dealt him a blow as unexpected as it wasviolent. But he had not been the daring schemer that he was, ifthroughout the past six months, the possibility of such a moment as thishad not lurked at the back of his mind.
The blow, therefore, did not find him quite unprepared. It had beenstunning but not absolutely crushing. Even whilst Adam Lambert wasstaring with almost senseless amazement alternately at him and at thebundle of false hair which he was still clutching, Sir Marmaduke hadstruggled to his feet.