Part 16 (1/2)
”Eh, to think of it!” cried enchanted Kate.
”And I would not part wid it but to my friend, and a maid so fair and delightsome. See you, how it s.h.i.+ne! It s.h.i.+ne better as de sun when it do catch him. You sleep in de prisoner's chamber?--yes?”
”Nay, I'm but a sub-chambermaid, look you--not even an upper. Mistress Perrote, she sleeps in the pallet whenas any doth; but methinks her Ladys.h.i.+p lieth alone at this present. Howbeit, none never seeth her save Mistress Perrote and Mistress Amphillis, and my Lady and Sir G.o.dfrey, of course, when they have need. I've ne'er beheld her myself, only standing behind the cas.e.m.e.nt, as she oft loveth to do. My Lady hath a key to her chamber door, and Mistress Perrote the like; and none save these never entereth.”
Ivo drank in all the information which Kate imparted, while he only seemed to be carelessly tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a switch which he had pulled from a willow close at hand.
”They be careful of her, it should seem,” he said.
”You may say that. They're mortal feared of any man so much as seeing her. Well, I reckon I should go now. I'm sure I'm right full indebted to you, Master Packman, for this jewel: only I don't feel as if I have paid you for it.”
”You have me paid twice its value, to suffer me look on your beautiful face!” was the gallant answer, with a low bow. ”But one more word, and I go, fair maid, and de sun go from me wid you. De porter, he is what of a man?--and has he any dog?”
”Oh ay, that he hath; but I can peace the big dog well enough, an' I did but know when it should be. Well, as for the manner of man, he's pleasant enough where he takes, look you; but if he reckons you're after aught ill, you'll not come round him in no wise.”
”Ah, he is wise man. I see. Well, my fairest of maidens, you shall, if it please you, keep de big dog looking de oder way at nine o'clock of de even, de night Sir G.o.dfrey goes; and de Lady Princess have not so fair a crespine for her hair as you shall win, so to do. Dat is Monday night, trow?”
”Nay, 'tis Tuesday. Well, I'll see; I'll do what I can.”
”Fair maid, if I t'ought it possible, I would say, de saints make you beautifuller! But no; it is not possible. So I say, de saints make you happier, and send you all dat you most desire! Good-night.”
”Good even, Master Packman, and good befall you. You'll not forget that crespine?”
”Forget? Impossible! Absolute impossible! I bear your remembrance on mine heart all de days of my life. I adore you! Farewell.”
When Meg, the next minute, joined Kate under the tree, there was no more sign of Ivo than if he had been the airy creature of a dream.
The little pedlar had escaped dexterously, and only just in time. He hid for a moment beneath the shade of a friendly shrub, and, as soon as he saw Meg's back turned, ran downwards into the Derby road as lithely as a cat, and took the way to that city, where he recounted to his companions, when other people were supposed to be asleep, the arrangement he had made to free the Countess.
”Thou art sore lacking in discretion, my son,” said Father Eloy, whose normal condition was that of a private confessor in Bretagne, and whose temporary disguise was that of a horse-dealer. ”Such a maid as thou describest is as certain to want and have a confidant as she is to wear that trumpery. Thou wilt find--or, rather, we shall find--the whole house up and alert, and fully aware of our intention.”
Ivo's shoulders were shrugged very decidedly.
”_Ha, chetife_!” cried he; ”she will want the crespine.”
”Not so much as she will want to impart her secret,” answered the priest. ”Who whispered to the earth, 'Midas has long ears'?”
”It will not matter much to Ivo, so he be not taken,” said the knight.
”Nor, in a sense, to you, Father, as your frock protects you. I shall come off the worst.”
”You'll come off well enough,” responded Ivo. ”You made an excellent mercer this morrow. You only need go on chaffering till you have sold all your satins, and by that time you will have your pockets well lined; and if you choose your route wisely, you will be near the sea.”
”Well and good! if we are not all by that time eating dry bread at the expense of our worthy friend Sir G.o.dfrey.”
”Mind _you_ are not, Sir Roland,” said Ivo. ”Every man for himself. I always fall on my feet like a cat, and have nine lives.”
”Nine lives come to an end some day,” replied Sir Roland, grimly.
”On what art thou a-thinking thus busily, Phyllis?”