Heiress of Haddon Part 13

"He is a hard man."

"He is honest, and will take no bribe, if that is what you mean, Sir George; but if there is a flaw in the proceedings he will point it out for us, and that will be better than naught. We shall have the satisfaction of knowing that everything was properly done, at least."

"We will try my Lord Burleigh first," sighed the knight.

"Sir Nicholas might intercede for thee with the Queen," Stanley went on. "He owes me some service, and is not ungrateful."

"Hus.h.!.+ there is someone coming," interposed the baron. "Let us say no more at present."

It was the maid bringing in the dinner; and, folding up the paper, Sir George carefully deposited it within his breast pocket, and relapsed into a moody silence as they began and continued the meal.

Meanwhile, outside the inn a very different scene was being enacted.

No sooner had Sir Thomas Stanley entered the house than the ostler, having quickly stabled the horses, emerged into the yard again, and putting his fingers into his mouth he blew a soft peculiar whistling note, and reared himself up beside the wall to await the answer.

It was not long in coming, for almost directly the door of the stable loft above him opened, and the head of the locksmith of Haddon cautiously peeped out.

"Is all clear?" he inquired.

"Yes, they have both gone in to dine. I didn't know you were there. I will come up and join you."

In another minute the ostler stood beside the once more disguised Edmund Wynne, and the two, secure from intrusion, began to converse with unrestrained freedom.

"Well, are they the right ones?" he asked, as he fastened the trap-door down.

"Yes," replied Edmund; "what did Sir Thomas say to you; I could hear him speaking?"

"Who's Sir Thomas?"

"Sir Thomas Stanley, of course."

"Oh! He didn't mention the affair at all."

"H'm! Did he say aught about me?"

"How should I know even if he had?" returned the ostler, "for I don't know your name yet. He did not mention anybody, only to say how that the old man, the baron would think well of me when parting time came if I took good care of his horse."

"Call me James," quickly replied Edmund.

"Very well," returned the other, "it shall be so; but I don't believe your name is James, nor do I think you are a broken-down wool merchant either; but so long as you pay me what we have bargained for, I don't care a straw what you are or what you call yourself."

"Just so, that will do exactly," Edmund promptly replied. "That is just what I require."

"I'll call you James, then, and if anybody asks about you I don't know aught of any such person."

"Exactly; yes."

"And I will get to know as much as I can from the maids, and will keep you well informed of the movements of your friends. Their trial comes off, you say, to-morrow?"

"I think it does."

"They will not go far to-day, then?"

"I cannot say, but they will be well watched. What accommodation have you here for half-a-dozen stalwart fellows?"

"Plenty in the inn."

"I don't need telling that: but here---in the yard. I am expecting some guests for the night."

"Let me see. It means money."

"Of course it does."

"And I shall run great risks."

"You will be well repaid, though," said Edmund, "and they might as well be here, I trow, as elsewhere; only see that they don't have too much drink, and be careful that they are not seen lounging together about in the yard."

"Trust me," laughed the ostler, "I shall manage that easily enough.

I shall bolt the doors and fasten them in, and nothing except a rat could get out then."

"Nay, you misunderstand me. They are not prisoners, but men who have been hired for the journey."

"I see now; ah, I see," returned his companion in the most unconcerned manner possible. "In that case they only want a little watching."

"And, mayhap, a little restraining, yes. Here is a s.h.i.+lling for some ale, which they will be expecting. You will meet them for me, and take charge of them?"

"Very well, James, so be it; where shall I meet though? It would never do for them to hang about here that's very certain, for our landlord would have his eyes upon them in a minute. He is awfully sharp on tramps and beggars and such."

"No, certainly not," agreed Edmund; "meet them at the Temple Gates at six."

"It shall be done; and in the meanwhile you will have a first-rate view of the entertainment from here."

"What entertainment?"

"The players are here to-day. See, there is the stage and everything.

'Tis the Earl of Leicester's company, too," and pus.h.i.+ng the door still farther open, he pointed out to Edmund Wynne's astonished eyes one of the rudely extemporised platforms which pa.s.sed in those days for stages.

Those who have witnessed the splendid scenic triumphs which have been achieved by managers of late years would be astonished indeed were they confronted by one of the theatres of the earliest dramatic times.

Nothing could present a much greater contrast than the elaborate drapery and the ingenious trap-doors, side wings, and numerous other mechanical contrivances which are now a necessary complement of the modern stage, and the superlative simplicity which characterised the theatres of three hundred years ago.

Theatres, indeed, there were none, and the troupes of players wandered about from city to town, and from village to hamlet, giving their performances in open-air; or, if they were fortunate, in the courtyards of inns.

It was a scene such as this that the two men gazed upon.

A slight wooden shed afforded protection to the actors from the burning rays of the sun or the more uncomfortable showers of rain. The stage, which was a movable wooden platform, was supported at a little distance from the ground by a number of empty boxes--which a torn piece of faded tapestry vainly endeavoured to hide from view. A small gallery ran along the wall at the rear of the stage, which was ready to do duty as the wall of a castle, a fort, a mountain, an upper room, or a window, or anything else, just as the necessity might be; while a flag, which floated in the breeze from the summit of a stunted pole, announced to the general public that the play was about to commence.

Edmund Wynne had never witnessed such an elaborate display before, and for a time he watched in silent wonder as the people congregated below.