Part 44 (1/2)
”Stand back, Sergeant,” quoth John Stich, defiantly. ”I have the honour to protect her ladys.h.i.+p's person against any outrage from you.”
”Good words, smith,” retorted the Sergeant, ”but I tell ye I've been tricked twice by you and I mean to know the reason why. Let her ladys.h.i.+p allow me to search the room upstairs and I'll not lay hands on her.”
”Ye shall not pa.s.s,” repeated the smith, obstinately.
”The letters,” whispered Sir Humphrey, ”give me the letters and I pledge you my honour that I can save him yet.”
But half mad with terror and misery, scornful, defiant, she turned on him.
”Your honour!” she said, with infinite contempt.
But in her inmost heart she murmured in agonised despair,-
”What's to be done? Oh, G.o.d, protect him!”
”Stand back, John Stich,” repeated the Sergeant, for the third time, ”or I give my men the order to charge. Now then, my men!”
”Ye shall not pa.s.s!” was the smith's persistent, obstinate answer to the challenge.
”Forward!” shouted the soldier in a loud voice. ”Into it, my men! Use your bayonets if anyone interferes with ye!”
The soldiers, nothing loth, were ready for the attack: there had already been too much parleying to suit their taste. They had been baffled too often in the last few days to be in the mood to dally with a woman, be she her ladys.h.i.+p or no.
With a loud cry they made a dash for the stairway, which behind Stich and Lady Patience lost itself in the gloom above.
And it was from out this darkness that at this moment a light-hearted, fresh young voice struck upon the astonished ears of all those present.
”Nay! too much zeal, friend Stich. Stand aside, I pray you. Faith!
it'll give me great pleasure to converse with these gallant lobsters.”
And Jack Bathurst, pus.h.i.+ng the bewildered smith gently to one side, came down the stairs with a smile upon his face, calm, debonnair, dressed as for a feast.
He had discarded Jock Miggs's long smock, broad-brimmed hat and kerchief, and appeared in all the gorgeous finery of the beautiful lavender-scented clothes, he had donned at the forge with the kindly aid of Mistress Stich. He was still very pale and there were a few lines of weariness and of bodily pain round the firm, sensitive mouth, but his grey eyes, deep-sunk and magnetic, glowed with the keen fire of intense excitement. The coat of fine blue cloth set off his tall, trim figure to perfection. His left hand was tucked into the opening of his exquisitely embroidered waistcoat, and dainty ruffles of delicate Mechlin lace adorned his neckcloth and wrists. As he appeared there, handsome, foppish and smiling, 'twas no wonder that the countryside had nicknamed him Beau Brocade.
”Well! my gallant friend!” he said, addressing the Sergeant, since the latter seemed too astonished to speak, ”what is it you want with me, eh?”
The Sergeant was gradually recovering his breath. Fate apparently was playing into his hands. It was almost too bewildering for any bluff soldier to realise, but it certainly seemed pretty clear that the rebel Earl of Stretton and Beau Brocade the highwayman were one and the same person.
”You are Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton?” he asked at last.
”Faith! you've guessed that, have you?” responded Bathurst, gaily.
”Odd's life, 'tis marvellous how much penetration lies hidden beneath that becoming coat of yours.”
”Then, Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, you are attainted by Parliament for high treason, and I arrest you in the name of the King!”
There were indeed many conflicting emotions raging in the hearts of all those present whilst this brief colloquy was going on.
John Stich, accustomed to implicit obedience where his Captain's actions were concerned, had not dared to speak or stir. Sir Humphrey Challoner, completely thrown off his mental balance by the unexpected appearance of Bathurst, was hastily trying to make up his bewildered mind as to what was now best to be done.