Part 9 (1/2)
”'Twas Lady Patience Gascoyne's coach,” he said at last.
”Ah!” said the Squire, with the same obvious indifference. ”Whither did she go?”
”I was at work in my forge, your Honour, and her ladys.h.i.+p did not stop.
I fancy she drove down Wirksworth way, but I did not see or hear for I was very busy.”
”Hm!” commented his Honour, whilst a shrewd and somewhat sarcastic smile played round the corners of his full lips.
”I'll stay the night at Aldwark,” he said, nodding to the smith.
”Faith! no more travelling after dark for me on this unhallowed Moor; and for sure my horses could not reach Wirksworth now before nightfall.
So have the pistols ready for me by seven o'clock to-morrow morning, eh, mine honest friend?”
Then he entered his carriage, and slowly, with many a creak and a groan, the c.u.mbersome vehicle turned down the road to Aldwark, whilst John Stich, with a dubious, anxious sigh, went back into his forge.
CHAPTER VII
THE HALT AT THE MOORHEN
Patience herself would have been quite unable to explain why she mistrusted, almost feared, Sir Humphrey Challoner.
The fact that the Squire of Hartington had openly declared his admiration for her, surely gave her no cause for suspecting him of enmity towards her brother. She knew that Sir Humphrey hoped to win her hand in marriage-this he had intimated to her on more than one occasion, and had spoken of his love for her in no measured terms.
Lady Patience Gascoyne was one of the richest gentlewomen in the Midlands, having inherited vast wealth from her mother, who was sister and co-heiress of the rich Grantham of Grantham Priory. No doubt her rent-roll added considerably to her attractions in the eyes of Sir Humphrey; that she was more than beautiful only helped to enhance the ardour of his suit.
Women as a rule-women of all times and of every nation-keep a kindly feeling in their heart for the suitor whom they reject. A certain regard for his sense of discrimination, an admiration for his constancy-if he be constant-make up a sum of friends.h.i.+p for him tempered with a gentle pity.
But in most women too there is a subtle sense which for want of a more scientific term has been called an instinct: the sense of protection over those whom they love.
In Patience Gascoyne that sense was abnormally developed: Philip was so boyish, so young, she so much older in wisdom and prudence. It made her fear Sir Humphrey, not for herself but for her brother: her baby, as in her tender motherly heart she loved to call him.
She feared and suspected him, she scarce could tell of what. Not open enmity towards Philip, since her reason told her that the Squire of Hartington had nothing to gain by actively endangering her brother's life, let alone by doing him a grievous wrong.
Yet she could not understand Sir Humphrey Challoner's motive in counselling Philip to play so cowardly and foolish a part, as the boy had done in the late rebellion. Vaguely she trembled at the idea that he should know of her journey to London, or worse still, guess its purpose. Philip, she feared, might have confided in him unbeknown to her: Sir Humphrey, for aught she knew, might know of the existence of the letters which would go to prove the boy's innocence.
Well! and what then? Surely the Squire could have no object in wis.h.i.+ng those letters to be suppressed: he could but desire that Philip's innocence _should_ be proved.
Thus reason and instinct fought their battle in her brain as the heavy coach went lumbering along the muddy road to the little wayside inn, which stood midway between the cross-roads and the village of Aldwark.
Here her man Timothy made arrangements for the resting and feeding of himself, the horses and Thomas, the driver, whilst Lady Patience asked for a private room wherein she and her maid, Betty, could get something to eat and perhaps an hour's sleep before re-starting on their way.
The small bar-parlour at the Moorhen was full to overflowing when her ladys.h.i.+p's coach drove up. Already there had been a general air of excitement there throughout the day, for the Corporal in his red coat, followed by his little squad, had halted at the inn, and there once more read aloud the Proclamation of His Majesty's Parliament.
The soldiers had stayed half an hour or so, consuming large quant.i.ties of ale the while, then they had marched up to the village, read the Proclamation out on the green, and finally tramped along the bridle-path back to Bra.s.sington.
And now here was the quality putting up at the Moorhen. A most unheard-of, unexpected event. Mistress Pottage, the sad-faced, weary-eyed landlady, had never known such a thing to happen before, although she had been mistress of the Moorhen for nigh on twenty years.
Usually the quality from Stretton Hall or from Hartington, or even Lady Rounce from the Pike, preferred to drive a long way round to get to Derby, sooner than trust to the lonely Heath, with its roads almost impa.s.sable four days out of five.