A Gentleman Player; His Adventures on a Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth
Page 25
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE LONDON ROAD.
"How many miles to London town?"--_Old Song._
And now Master Marryott was himself again, with the will to break awayif he could, and the eye for the opportunity if it should occur. It wasplain that she had ceased to view him with antagonism or indifference.And her interest in him--an interest so strong as to overcome or excluderesentment toward him as the agent of Sir Valentine Fleetwood's escapefrom her as well as from the government--surely sprang from some morepowerful feeling than mere regret for a man placed by her in a peril shehad designed for another. To have caused her to order or sanction theholding of the horse in readiness, her interest must have fully taken upher mind. Perhaps to this fact was due her evident relinquishment ofrevenge upon Sir Valentine, as much as to that knight's presentinaccessibility, and to the stupefying blow her vengeful impulse hadreceived in the disclosure that her far and toilsome quest in itsservice had but led her from the right object to the wrong one.
Whence had this interest arisen? Doubtless from her musing on the lovehe had shown in staying to protect her that night at Foxby Hall; on theannoyances and delays to which she had subjected him during his longflight, and on his uniform gentleness to her in his necessary severitytoward her.
Could he indeed break from his guards and escape, that he might satisfyhimself on these questions, and profit in his love by that interest!
But Roger Barnet's vigilance, like his iron grip on Marryott's bridlewhen they rode, and on Marryott's arm when they alighted, seemed toincrease with his increasing distress of body.
This night they ate and slept at Nottingham. Barnet occupied a secondbed in Marryott's chamber. More than once Hal was awakened from sleep--asleep in which his dreams carried out the wildest plans of escape--bythe pursuivant's groans of pain. At dawn Roger's face was that of a manwho had neither slept nor known a moment's ease. It was with a desperatestiffening of muscles and clenching of teeth that he forced himself torise for the continuance of his journey.
Marryott had taken pains to view out the whereabouts of the led horsethe previous evening, when, as usual, it had appeared in sight of hiswindow. He marvelled not that his friends never failed to find a spoton which his gaze might alight. Kit Bottle, as he knew, had ways oflearning, from inn menials of either sex, what room was taken for theprisoner. This morning the horse was at a place some distance from whereit had been yesternight. Bottle was leading it; and the picture had anew figure, in the shape of a horse a little farther off. This secondhorse had a rider,--Anne Hazlehurst!
What would he not give now for means of escape? But there, hemming himin, were his four silent, stalwart guards; and beyond them, with coldeyes now red-rimmed from a restless night but fixed implacably on him,was the equally silent Barnet.
The wind had blown itself to other regions; the day was as fair as itwas serene; it was milder, too, than days had been of late. But Hal'scaptors made poor travelling. Barnet had to halt often, as he could nowscarce endure the pain caused by the movement of his horse. He stoppedfor dinner when he had ridden no farther than to Melton Mowbray and whenit was no later than eleven o'clock.
Marryott took what scant comfort of mind he could, in this slowness ofthe journey toward London. Yet slow as it was, it was all too fast.London was but little more than a hundred miles away, now. Only ahundred miles of opportunity for that miracle of accident, or ingenuityand skill, by which he might save himself for the joys awaiting him inAnne Hazlehurst's love! Life had begun to taste ineffably sweet. Theworld was marvellously beautiful on such a day. But when he faced theterrible likelihood of a speedy hurling hence to "that undiscoveredcountry," where there could not be a fairer sky to look upon, or purerair to breathe, and where there was no Anne Hazlehurst, the beauty ofthe day mocked him.
And the sight of the horse, too, mocked him, as it passively waited tobear him far from the reclaiming pursuit of death the moment he mightslip from death's arms closing tighter around him. His heart cried"Avaunt, death! I am not for thee! Love and beauty await me; they, andthis glad earth even now waking to joy at the first breath of spring! Iam for this world, with its music and its wine, its laughter and itspoetry, its green fields and its many-colored cities, its pleasures ofgood-fellowship, its smiles of the woman beloved! Unhand me, death; goyour ways, black monster; I am life's own!" He had moments wherein hewas half mad, not with the fear of death, but with the love of life; yethis madness had so much method in it that he gave no outward sign of it,lest his alertness for some means of escape might be suspected.
Back in the saddle, after dinner, to decrease by another afternoon'sriding: those hundred miles to London town, Marryott observed inBarnet's face the fierce resolution which a man gathers for a last fightagainst physical anguish. So these two rode side by side, the captorconcealing tortures of the body, the prisoner veiling tortures of themind. At two o'clock they clattered into Oakham. When they arrivedbefore the gate of a large inn, Roger Barnet suddenly called a halt, andsaid, in tones whose gruffness was somewhat broken by a note of bodilysuffering:
"We'll tarry the day out here, and start fresh on the morrow. The foulfiend is in my leg!"
He thereupon sent Hudsdon to order rooms made ready, so that theprisoner might, as usual, be conducted from the horse to his chamberwithout stoppage. Barnet did not yet ride into the inn yard, for henoticed a crowd and a bustle therein, and preferred not to enter untilit should be certain he would not have to go elsewhere for lodging.Here, as in other towns, the pursuivant kept his men close around theprisoner, as much to conceal the latter's bound wrists and legs fromlookers-on as for any other purpose. Thus few people, if any, observedthat here was a prisoner, and so no crowd collected.
As Hal sat his horse, awaiting Hudsdon's return, he bethought him thatthis day was Friday, March 13th,--the tenth day since his departure fromFleetwood house. The time he had undertaken to obtain for Sir Valentinewould be past that evening,--and Welwyn was still seventy miles away!
This geographical fact, connected as it was with the certainty that hehad more than accomplished his adventure, called up another and lesspleasing fact, of which indeed he needed little reminder,--the fact thatnot a hundred miles now remained of the road to London.
His reflections were cut short by the reappearance of Hudsdon, who spoketo Barnet in whispers. The party then rode around to a side door of theinn, doubtless to avoid taking the prisoner through the crowd in thegreat yard. The hostess had already opened this door. Barnet and fourmen alighted from their horses, enabled Hal to dismount, and led him, atthe heels of a chamberlain, through passages and up-stairs to a room. Hehad noticed, as he entered, that hostlers had already come from the inngate to take the horses to stable by the usual route.
Hal's first glance, on entering his chamber, was for the window. To hisdismay, it opened, not so as to give a view of street or of placesexterior to the inn, but so as to command a part of the square inn yard,which was enclosed on three sides by the inn itself, on the fourth by awall and gate. What hid a portion of this yard, which was far below, wasthe downward-sloping roof of the long upper gallery or balcony thattraversed the three inner sides of the house. Situated as he now was, hecould have no sight of the waiting horse.
"What do you see to make you stare so?" asked the watchful Barnet.
"Naught but the crowd in the inn yard," replied Hal, with barely theheart to dissemble. "'Tis more than common, methinks."
"Yes. Heard you not what Hudsdon said? There is to be a play in theyard; the town will not give the guildhall for plays on a Friday inLent."[30]
"A play? Who are the players?"
"The lord chamberlain's men that are now travelling. They are wont toplay at the Globe,--why, that is where you played, is't not so?"
But Hal heeded not the question. The lord chamberlain's men!Shakespeare, Sly, his friends, who a moment since had seemed worlds andages away!
And, that very instant, a familiar voice rang out above the noise of thecrowd below.