The MS. in a Red Box Part 27

"How comes it that you, who were in my son's service, and knew this man, did not inform Pennington of the errors in this doc.u.ment? There is not a word here of scars on the face or marking on the breast. What is the meaning of this? Subornation?"

"No, my lord. I did not know of the scars; or if I did, I had forgotten them."

It was amazing to me that the ready, crafty villain should bungle and blunder so.

"Forgotten your own handiwork?" asked the earl, in the silkiest tone.

Boswell was so confounded by the question that he had nothing to say.

Before he could recover himself, the earl cried--

"Into the rack with him."

In little more than the twinkling of an eye, the men had pounced on him, stripped him to his s.h.i.+rt, and tied his feet and hands. It made one shudder to think what long practice had made them so dexterous at the work. They plied their levers, until their victim was stretched, and one heard wrists and ankle-joints crack sickeningly.

At a downward wave of the earl's hand they stayed.

"Why did you not report to my secretary the errors in this description?"

"The proclamation had been posted far and wide before I knew of it; and I was afraid to mention the marks, lest I should be further questioned concerning them, and I thought to take Vavasour myself."

Again the earl's hand moved, and the levers moved.

"Mercy, my lord, mercy!" groaned the gipsy.

"You kept the knowledge to yourself, at the imminent risk of the murderer's escape, in hope to make sure of the reward."

"Yes."

"When and where did you inflict the wounds?"

"Last August in Melwood Priory. Mercy, my lord."

"To what end?"

"Because my Lord Sheffield desired to have him sent to the plantations under the name and likeness of one Jim Ulceby."

The earl sat silent for what seemed a long time, Boswell moaning feebly the while. Then again the hand waved, the levers moved, and Boswell shrieked in agony.

"My son gave you order to mutilate Vavasour?"

"Yes; I did all by his lords.h.i.+p's command.'"

"Take both prisoners away and bestow them safely in separate dungeons,"

said his lords.h.i.+p; "and bring me a cordial, Nicholas."

The secretary motioned to me to follow him, and two of the men came behind me. Pennington led the way down the winding stairs to a dungeon lighted only by a slit in the wall, and containing no other furniture than a stone table.

"'Tis more than a trifle cold here, Master Pennington," said I. "Some straw for one's feet, and a wrap for one's body, would be welcome."

"I will take my lord's pleasure on the matter," replied the secretary, who, to do him justice, had little of the Jack-in-office in his manners.

"Pray remind him, Master Pennington, that I have saved him a hundred pounds, which deserves acknowledgment."

I thought I saw a faint smile on the man's face as he answered--

"You take things easily for a prisoner charged with the murder of the heir to an earldom."

"Charged with nothing as yet, and well prepared to clear myself from any such accusation, when I am brought into court of law."

"The President of the Council has large discretion and plenary powers; nay, has in a sense the royal prerogative," rejoined the secretary.

"Give you my word, I never heard that the King had prerogative to hang a man without trial."

Master Pennington made me no answer to this, but withdrew, barring and locking the door on the outside.

I know not how it was that I rose to a jesting temper, now that the worst had come to me. Perhaps that was the reason, or it may be my pleasure in saving Bess from further torment raised me to a jocund spirit, or the look I saw on the old earl's face, when he heard Boswell's confession, put heart into me, but truly I was in better cheer than I had been for many a day. I knew well enough the scope of the earl's authority, and how he might override the law in his black vengeance, but I was nowise daunted. I could have sung a ballad, if my lips had not trembled with the cold.

About noon, Master Pennington entered my dungeon, accompanied by two serving-men, who brought food and wine, and a truss of straw and blankets.

"His lords.h.i.+p is liberal," said I.

"You owe your provision to the former steward," answered the secretary.

"He still has authority, though past service, and charged me to say that his rheumatic joints forbid his coming to you, but whatever a bedridden old man can do shall be done on your behalf."

"The kind old man! I pray you give him thanks for me. I owe Master Wintringham grat.i.tude for many a favour in bygone days."

Three times a day, good food was brought to my dungeon by a serving-man, but the half-friendly secretary did not come again for days, and the servitors could not, or would not, tell me news of any kind. My condition, so far as bodily comfort went, would have been tolerable, but for lack of warmth. I paced the floor, slapped my shoulders, held boxing bouts with an invisible adversary, jumped till I had no breath left, all to get me some heat into my body, able to think of nothing but that I was like to die of cold. Of nights I wrapped the coverlets tightly round me, and burrowed in the straw, but could not sleep for s.h.i.+vering. After a while, the rigorous weather abated somewhat, or I became hardened to it, though it was November. But I was now to suffer no less by thinking. My gamesome temper had soon left me, and I have no words for a description of the heaviness which followed.

I knew it was in vain to revolve thoughts of escape, for watch was kept continually, and I had no means to enlarge the long, narrow slit in the wall that served to give me light and air. I could do nothing but sit wondering and waiting miserably, for such was the strange commotion in my brain, that my prayers for deliverance brought me no hope or consolation.

So I pa.s.sed a fortnight, and then the secretary appeared again to summon me to the presence of the earl, who lay on a couch, looking worn and feeble, his hands trembling as if he had no control of them.

Behind his couch stood a youth, whom at first I did not know, not having seen him since he was a child. He was the earl's heir now, Lord b.u.t.terwick by proper t.i.tle, but in our country usage, Lord Sheffield.

He inclined his head to me, saying, "Be seated, Mr. Vavasour."'

What this courtesy might portend I could but wonder. The secretary sat down at a desk, and I in front of the couch, half stifled by the heat of the chamber.

"My father wishes you to hear a sworn deposition read, and afterwards to give your own account of the affair," said the young man.

Pennington took up a paper and read. It described the doings at Thorne, when my friend Staniforth was killed, but falsely. According to the deponent, the business began by my inciting my comrades to attack the earl's men, myself leading the a.s.sault. Staniforth's death was recorded as happening in the thick of the fray. When the secretary had finished the reading, I told the story from beginning to end, as I have before told it in this book.

Lord b.u.t.terwick asked me for the names of eyewitnesses, which I gave.

Another deposition was to the effect that I had been seen to go to the cottage where Daft Jack (John Temperton he was named in the doc.u.ment) lived; that the deponent had followed me, and heard me use language tending to encourage him in a design on the life of the King's Commissioner. What I had said to Jack, after the event, was cunningly perverted, and reported as having been said before the scene at the White Hart. Again, I gave the true account. All the time the earl said not a word, but kept his eyes steadily on me. Now he turned to his son, saying something in a voice too low for me to hear, and Lord b.u.t.terwick replied also in a low tone, but I caught the words, "able to bear more." After they had spoken together in this manner, Lord b.u.t.terwick turned again to me.

"The earl bids me request your report of the enmity between you and my late brother."

"My lord, it began long ago in this house; as I think you will remember, but it came to no more than flouts on his part and scornful answers on mine, when we chanced to meet, which was not often. But of late it has been quickened because we were rivals for the love of Mistress Goel, whom you know. Once I smote him on the face, because he slandered her, but I have done no other ill to him, save a blow with the fist, defending Mistress Goel from his l.u.s.t and violence. G.o.d knows I had no intent to kill him, as may be evident from my smiting with the fist, when I had weapons at my side and in my belt, nor do I believe the blow would have given him his death, had he not turned aside, so that he took it below the ear. At the time I thought him no worse than insensible for the moment."

The earl's face grew dark while I spoke, and when I had ended, he said--