Part 43 (2/2)
But a few moments ago he had heard the startling news that Jock Miggs had been captured on the Heath, in mistake for Beau Brocade. As far as Sir Humphrey could ascertain nothing of importance had been found on the shepherd's person, and in a moment he realised that, through almost supernatural cunning, the highwayman must have succeeded in filching the letters, and by now had no doubt once more restored them to Lady Patience.
All the scheming, the lying, the treachery of the past few days had therefore been in vain; but Sir Humphrey Challoner was not the man to give up a definite purpose after the first material check to his plans.
If her ladys.h.i.+p was once more in possession of the letters, they must be got away from her again. That was all. And if that cursed highwayman was still free to-day, 'sdeath but he'll have to hang on the morrow.
In the meanwhile Philip's momentary safety was a matter of the greatest moment to Sir Humphrey Challoner. If that clumsy lout of a Sergeant got hold of the lad, all Sir Humphrey's schemes for forcing Lady Patience's acceptance of his suit by means of the precious letters would necessarily fall to the ground.
But instinctively Patience recoiled from him; his suave words, his presence near her at this terrible crisis, frightened her more effectually than the Sergeant's threatening att.i.tude. She drew close to John Stich, who had interposed his burly figure between the soldiers and the foot of the stairs.
”Out of the way, John Stich,” shouted the Sergeant, peremptorily, ”this is not your forge, remember, and by G-- I'll not be tricked again.”
”Those are her ladys.h.i.+p's private rooms,” retorted the smith, without yielding one inch of the ground. ”Landlord,” he shouted at the top of his voice, ”I call upon you to protect her ladys.h.i.+p from these ruffians.”
”You insult His Majesty's uniform,” quoth the Sergeant, briefly, ”and do yourself no good, smith. As for the landlord of this inn, he interferes 'tween me and my duty at his peril.”
”But by what right do you interfere with me, Master Sergeant?” here interposed Lady Patience, trying to a.s.sume an indifferent air of calm haughtiness. ”Do you know who I am?”
”Aye! that I do, my lady!” responded the Sergeant, gruffly, ”and that's what's brought me here this morning. Not half an hour ago I heard that Lady Patience Gascoyne was staying at the Packhorse, and now the folks say that a new serving-man came to give a helping hand here. He arrived in the middle of the night, it seems. Strange time for a serving-man to turn up, ain't it?”
”I know nothing of any servant at this inn, and I order you at once to withdraw your men, and not to dare further to molest me.”
”Your pardon, my lady, but my orders is my orders: I have been sent here by His Royal Highness the Duke of c.u.mberland hisself to hunt out all the rebels who are in hiding in these parts. I've strict orders to be on the lookout for Philip James Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, who, I understand, is your ladys.h.i.+p's own brother, and as I've a right o'
search, I mean to see who else is staying in those rooms upstairs besides your ladys.h.i.+p.”
”This is an outrage, Sergeant!”
”Maybe, my lady,” he retorted drily, ”but with us soldiers orders is orders, saving your presence. I was tricked at the smithy, and again on the Heath. My belief is that we were hunting a bogey last night, There may or mayn't be any highwayman called Beau Brocade, but there was a fine young gallant at the forge the day afore yesterday, who did for me and my men, and I'll take my oath that he was none other than the rebel, Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton.”
”'Tis false and you talk like a madman, Sergeant.”
”Maybe! but your ladys.h.i.+p'll please stand aside until I've searched those rooms upstairs, or I'll have to order my men to lay hands on your ladys.h.i.+p. Now then, John Stich, stand aside in the name of the King!”
John Stich did not move, and Lady Patience still stood defiant and haughty at the foot of the stairs. The villagers, stolid and stupid, were staring open-mouthed, not daring to interfere. But of course it was only a question of seconds, the worthy smith could not guard the staircase for long against the Sergeant and a dozen soldiers, and in any case nothing would be of any avail. Philip in the room upstairs was trapped like a fox in its lair, and nothing could save him now from falling into the soldiers' hands.
In vain she sought for Bathurst among the crowd: with wild, unreasoning agony she longed for him in this moment of her greatest need, and he was not there. She felt sure that if only he were near her he would think of something, do something, to avert the appalling catastrophe.
”I give your ladys.h.i.+p one minute's time to stand quietly aside,” said the Sergeant, roughly. ”After that I give my men orders to lay hands on you, and on any one who dares to interfere.”
”Give me the letters,” whispered Sir Humphrey Challoner, insinuatingly, in her ear. ”I can yet save your brother.”
”How?” she murmured involuntarily.
He looked up towards the top of the stairs.
”Then he _is_ up there?”
She did not reply. It was useless to deny it, the next few moments would bring the inevitable.
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