Part 43 (1/2)
”Say, my lad? why, I say that but for this hardy wench of mine, who, instead of retreating behind the strong walls of the house, flung open with her own hands the iron gates to let us in, we should by this time have been in sorry plight enow, had we not all been dead men. It was she who opened those gates when all else feared to do so--she who (aided by her two companions, whom she inspired by her own courage) saved us from our foes. It was she who shot down the foremost enemies, who would else have had thy life, Culverhouse, and with her own hands dragged thee, all unconscious as thou wert, within these gates.
”Wherefore, as to thee, boy, I owe my life (for that thou didst receive in thine arm the charge that else would have dashed out my brains), and that to her we both owe this timely rescue, methinks that no wife nor daughter could do more, and that we must let bygones be bygones and wed you so soon as may be. I will give my fatherly blessing to you twain, for you are worthy of each other, and have proved it this night. And so soon as you can win the sanction of your good parents to your nuptials, Culverhouse, I will give my saucy Kate to you without a doubt or a fear.”
Chapter 25: ”On The Dark Flowing River.”
”That is our man! Seize him, bind him, and bring him before the chief!”
Cuthbert heard these words spoken in a clear low tone not far away; but the fog wreaths were hanging upon the river, and he could not see the speakers. Instinctively he bent harder to his oar. The wherry shot at redoubled speed through the dull, gleaming water; but there were sounds astern of other plas.h.i.+ng oars, the sound of voices low yet eager, and Cuthbert felt sure he heard the name of Trevlyn spoken in accents of subdued fierceness. He could hear by the sound of the oars in the rowlocks that there were many rowers in the pursuing boat. That they were in pursuit of him he could not doubt, and he set his teeth hard as he plied his oars, for he felt that the issue of this chase might mean life or death to him.
Esther's warning was ringing in his ears: ”Beware the dark-flowing river--the lone house--the black cellar!”
How had he regarded that warning? He had not heeded it at all. He had let his curiosity and love of adventure conquer both prudence and caution; and now he was well aware that he was in some immediate and imminent peril.
He had been warned to fly from London, but he had not obeyed that warning. This had been partly out of generosity to his kinsmen, for it seemed to him that by his presence amongst them he might be increasing the peril in which they stood, and he had been told that that was in great part due to his own rashness and hardihood.
He had remained in London. This day was the very eve of that fifth of November on which the King's Parliament was to a.s.semble in state. All the city was silent and tranquil. The vague sense of expectation and excitement that Cuthbert had observed amongst some of his acquaintances a few days back seemed now to have died down. Was it the hush that immediately precedes the breaking of the storm cloud; or had the fearful tale whispered to him by the wise woman been but the product of her weird fancy, and all his fears and terrors groundless?
This was the question which had been agitating Cuthbert during the past two days; and upon this dim, foggy afternoon he had taken his wherry and resolved to find out for himself the whole truth of the matter.
Cuthbert had not forgotten Robert Catesby, or the priest to whom he always felt he owed his life. If any plot were in hand at this juncture, both these men were most certainly concerned in it. And at the lone house at Lambeth he could surely get speech of Catesby, or learn where he was to be found; and it seemed to Cuthbert that he could not sleep another night until he had set at rest the doubts and fears crowding his mind.
Did he go with a view of warning Catesby that the plot was discovered--that the dark secret was out? He himself scarcely knew. He was not at all sure that he believed himself in the hideous magnitude of the contemplated deed as Esther had described it. Remembering as he did all he had heard and seen, he could not doubt that some secret plot was afoot, but he thought it highly probable that the scope and purpose of it had been misunderstood; and there was certainly this feeling in his mind, that a timely word of warning to those concerned might serve to avert a terrible doom from any who might lie already under suspicion.
He had not been able to gain speech with Father Urban; for although he was convinced the priest was in hiding within the house of the Coles, both father and son resolutely denied this, and it seemed of late as though they distrusted Cuthbert himself, and desired no more of his company.
Martin Holt and honest Jacob Dyson had warned him to be cautious in his dealings with any of the Romish persuasion, and Cuthbert had been content to take this advice. But this last afternoon before the great day so long antic.i.p.ated might surely be put to some good purpose, and the thought that those men in that Lambeth house might be unwittingly remaining to be caught in a trap impelled Cuthbert to strive to have speech with Master Robert Catesby and put him on his guard, if he could not persuade him to abandon whatever rash scheme he had in his head.
Sympathy with the persecuted went some small way in blinding Cuthbert's eyes to the terrible nature of the purposed crime. Moreover, he thought it like enough that Esther had heard a grossly exaggerated account of what was determined. Still, what she had heard others might have heard, and nothing was too bad to find credit with those who planned and desired the ruin of all who held views different from their own.
These and similar thoughts had been occupying Cuthbert's mind as he bent to his oars and propelled his light wherry upstream towards the lonely house. The tide was running out, and rowing was hard work; but he was making progress steadily, and had no thought of any personal peril until the sound of voices through the fog broke upon his ear, and he realized that he himself was an object of pursuit.
Then the wise woman's warnings flashed across him with vivid distinctness. Had she not bidden him beware of just those perils which he seemed resolved to court? Why had he forgotten or disregarded her words? Had they not proved words of wisdom again and again? And now here was he on the dark-flowing river alone, unarmed save for the dagger in his belt, and far from all chance of help.
Just behind was a boat in hot pursuit, and there were many rowers in that boat, as the sounds told him. If he could hear their oars, they could hear his. And though the twilight was creeping on, the fog seemed to be lifting. Only the vapour wreaths hid him from the gaze of his foes. If these were to be dispersed his last chance was gone.
The river was absolutely lonely and deserted at this time of year and at this spot. Lower down, schooners and barges were moored. Near to the bridge he might have had some hope of being heard had he shouted aloud for aid; here there was no such hope. He was away on the Lambeth side: there were no houses and no boats of any kind. His only chance lay in reaching the sh.o.r.e, springing to land, and trusting to his fleetness to carry him into hiding. The lonely house could not be far away. Perchance within its walls he might find a hiding place, or gain admittance within its doors. At least that was the only chance he had; and inspired by this thought he drove his light wherry swiftly through the water, and felt the keel grate against the bank almost before he was prepared for it.
The pursuers were still coming on, but did not appear to be distressing themselves. Probably they felt so secure of their prey that they could afford to be moderately cautious in the midst of these fog wreaths that made river travelling somewhat perilous. Cuthbert s.h.i.+pped his oars and sprang lightly ash.o.r.e, leaving the wherry to its fate. Then he raced like a hunted hare along the margin of the river, and before five minutes had pa.s.sed he had scrambled up and leaped the wall of this lonely river-side house, and was crouching breathless and exhausted in a thick covert upon the farther side, straining his ears for sounds of pursuit.
These were not long in coming. He heard regular steps approaching the wall, and a voice said:
”Here are the tracks. He got over here. Follow, and find him now. He is in a trap!”
”Am I indeed in a trap?” thought Cuthbert, setting his teeth hard; ”that remains to be proved!”
And gliding out from the covert with that noiseless movement he had learned during his residence in the forest, he raced like a veritable shadow in the direction of the house.
He had reached the building rising black and grim against the darkening sky; he had almost laid his hand upon the knocker, intending to make known his presence and his peril, and demand admittance and speech with Master Robert Catesby, when forth from the shadows of the porch stepped a tall dark figure, and he felt a s.h.i.+ver of dismay run through him as a loaded pistol was levelled at his head.