Part 29 (2/2)
When we were ready to start next morning the post boy let me know that one of the horses had gone lame. Here was a pretty pickle. I pished and pshawed, but in the end had to scour the town to find another in its place. 'Twas well on toward noon when the boy and I returned to the ordinary with a nag that would serve.
Of other lovers I have scant knowledge, but the one I know was wont to cherish the memory of things his love had said and how she had said them; with what a pretty tilt to her chin, with what a daring shyness of the eyes, with what a fine colour and impetuous audacity she had done this or looked that. He was wont in advance to plan out conversations, to decide that he would tell her some odd brain fancy and watch her while he told it. Many an hour he spent in the fairy land of imagination; many a one he dreamed away in love castles built of fancied rambles in enchanted woods, of sweet talks in which he always said and did the right thing; destined alas! never to pa.s.s from mind to speech, for if ever tongue essayed the telling it faltered some fatuous abortion as little like love's dream as Caliban resembled Ariel. Fresh from the brave world of day-dreams, still smiling happily from some whimsical conceit as well as with antic.i.p.ation of Aileen's gladness at sight of me, I pa.s.sed through the courtyard and into the ordinary.
A hubbub at the foot of the stairway attracted me. A gaping crowd was gathered there about three central figures. My weasened pippin-face of the malicious grin was one of them; a broad-shouldered, fair-faced and very much embarra.s.sed young officer in the King's uniform stood beside him; and from the stairway some three steps up Aileen, plainly frightened, fronted them and answered questions in her broken English.
”I am desolated to distress you, madam,” the boy officer was saying, ”but this man has laid an information with me that there is a rebel in your party, one who was in Manchester with the Pretender's force some months since. It will be necessary that I have speech with him.”
”There iss no rebel with me, sir. The gentleman with whom I travel iss of most approved loyalty,” she faltered.
”Ah! He will no doubt be able to make that clear to me. May I ask where he is at present?”
Aileen went white as snow. Her distress was apparent to all.
”Sir, I do entreat you to believe that what I say iss true,” she cried whitely.
The little rat in fustian broke out screaming that he would swear to me among ten thousand: as to the girl she must be the rebel's accomplice, his mistress mayhap. Aileen, her big, anxious eyes fixed on the officer, shrank back against the stair rail at her accuser's word. The lad commanded him sharply to be quiet, but with the utmost respect let Aileen understand that he must have talk with me.
All this one swift glance had told me, and at this opportune moment I sauntered up, Volney's snuff-box in my hand. If the doubt possessed me as to how the devil I was to win free from this accusation, I trust no shadow of fear betrayed itself in my smirking face.
”Egad, here's a gathering of the clans. Hope I'm not _de trop_,” I simpered.
The lieutenant bowed to me with evident relief.
”On the contrary, sir, if you are the gentleman travelling with this lady you are the desired complement to our party. There has been some doubt expressed as to you. This man here claims to have recognized you as one of the Pretender's army; says he was present when you bought provisions for a troop of hors.e.m.e.n during the rebel invasion of this town.”
”'Slife, perhaps I'm Charles Stuart himself,” I shrugged.
”I swear to him. I swear to him,” screamed fustian.
On my soul merely to look at the man gave me a nausea. His white malevolence fair scunnered me.
I adjusted Volney's eye-gla.s.s with care and looked the fellow over with a candid interest, much as your scientist examines a new specimen.
”What the plague! Is this rusty old last year's pippin an evidence against me? Rot me, he's a pretty scrub on which to father a charge against a gentleman, Lud, his face is a lie. No less!”
”May I ask your name, sir, and your business in this part of the country?”
said the lieutenant.
Some impulse--perhaps the fact that I was wearing his clothes--put it into my head to borrow Volney's name. There was risk that the lad might have met the baronet, but that was a contingency which must be ventured. It brought him to like a shot across a lugger's bows.
”Sir Robert Volney, the friend of the Prince,” he said, patently astonished.
”The Prince has that honour,” I smiled.
”Pray pardon my insistence. Orders from headquarters,” says he apologetically.
I waved aside his excuses peevishly.
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