The Brown Mask Part 21

Barbara was in a hard case. The man in the tower was trapped; Martin, too, would be arrested. By a word she could save Martin; possibly Lord Rosmore might be induced to let Crosby also slip through his fingers. If she consented to marry him she felt that she might persuade him to anything. The thought brought a quick reaction. If she could persuade him to anything, he was not a man to trust. Duty should come first, no matter how insidiously a woman might tempt. She did not trust Rosmore.

She remembered the evil in his face that night in the hall when she had stood between him and Sydney Fellowes. She remembered Gilbert Crosby; his grey eyes seemed to look into hers at this moment. He must be saved--but how?

"I think you exaggerate the danger, uncle," she said quietly. "Surely a madman's folly is not sufficient to condemn us?"

"I have told you the truth. Ask Lord Rosmore."

"Will you tell me, please?"

"Sir John forces my hand," said Rosmore, turning quickly towards her.

For an instant he seemed angry, but his face softened as he looked at her. "I am torn between love and duty. Sir John speaks truly. Another in my place to-night, one who had only his duty to consider, would probably arrest both you and your uncle on suspicion, and you would have to prove your innocence as best you might. King James is determined to trample out this rebellion, and even some innocent persons may suffer."

Barbara did not speak when he paused. She had glanced at her uncle and wondered whether this might be some plot between these two to force her to this marriage. She distrusted her uncle as much as, if not more than, she did Lord Rosmore.

"If I consent?" she said.

Rosmore made a step towards her, and Sir John looked up quickly. They were suddenly as men who had played a desperate game and won.

"I said 'If,'" and she shrank back a little, unconscious how beautiful she looked in that moment.

"Consent to be my wife, and there is nothing that you can ask me that I will not do--nothing. Do you understand--nothing?"

"And if I say 'No'?"

Anger came back into Rosmore's face for an instant, but it was gone in a moment.

"Even so I could not do my duty," he said slowly. "I should ask that another might take my place, and then--"

"Then the heavy hand of the King upon us," said Sir John.

"I must think. You cannot expect me to answer now, at once," said Barbara.

"Duty may not wait," said Sir John.

"You shall have my answer to-morrow, Lord Rosmore," Barbara said. "I must have the night to decide. Duty does not compel you to march Mad Martin from Aylingford to-night."

"I will give you until to-morrow," he answered.

Barbara curtsied low and turned to the door.

Rosmore drew back the curtains for her, and as she pa.s.sed out whispered:

"I love you, sweetheart. Say 'Yes' to-morrow."

"Will she consent, think you?" Sir John asked as Rosmore came slowly back across the room.

"I think so; yes, I think so."

"I spoke sufficiently?" questioned Sir John.

"You were excellently diplomatic. Were she a woman easily frightened there would be no doubt of her answer. Your guests in the Abbey, Sir John, must not know of my presence here, nor that the place is watched to-night."

"You are sure that Martin brought this man Crosby to Aylingford?"

"Quite sure."

"Why not take him to-night, quietly?" said Sir John. "If he is with Martin, he is probably in the old tower by the ruins. Is he most rebel or most highwayman?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because, if he is most highwayman, you might influence Barbara's answer to-morrow by letting him escape."

"I have thought of it, but--"

"My niece and a highwayman! She may be romantic, my lord, but she is not a fool."

"Gad! Sir John, you are lost here in Hamps.h.i.+re; you should be beside the King to advise him. If we let him go to-morrow, this knight of the road may easily meet with an accident. In my company it should not be difficult to find a man or two who can shoot straight. Your niece's romance might prove inconvenient to me if Galloping Hermit were still in the land of the living."

"Settle that as you will," said Sir John, "but arrest him to-night."

As soon as the door had closed behind her Barbara crossed the hall quickly; but she did not return to her own apartments. She had made her plans while she listened to her uncle and Lord Rosmore. Now, she hurried along a corridor to a small door opening on to the terrace, hardly ever used except by herself when she went to talk to Martin in the tower.

Between it and the ruins there was not much of the terrace to travel, and the shadows were deep. The sharpest eyes might fail to see a moving figure amongst them. Barbara ran lightly, her skirts gathered from her feet, and, entering the ruins, went quickly to the tower. The door was shut, but not locked, and she mounted the winding stairs to Martin's room. It was in darkness.

"Martin!" she called softly, but there was no answer.

Had Crosby got knowledge of his danger, and gone? Even now he might be in the hands of his enemies, for were not all the ways of escape watched to-night? What could she do?

She stood for a few moments undecided how to act. She must not be found there by her uncle or Lord Rosmore who might seek her there if by chance they discovered that she had not returned to her own rooms. Almost certainly they would have her watched to-night. Yet she must stay to warn Martin and Gilbert Crosby, if by chance they were still ignorant of their danger. It would never do for them to be caught in the tower, from which there was no hope of escape.

There was a small landing outside the room. At the top of the winding stairs there was a door, fastened back by a clamp, and Barbara had never known this door to be shut. Another winding stair led to the flat roof of the tower, where Martin often spent hours, reading the future in the stars, he said. She went to the roof now, but it was empty, and she came down again quickly. Perhaps they were sitting in the ruins, and had not heard her. She would go and see. As she descended a sound came to her--running feet--and through one of the narrow slits which gave a dim light to the stairs in daytime she discerned two men crossing the ruins.

It was so dark in the tower that she could see them easily. They were not half-way across when other men came running from the terrace, but the fugitives could easily have reached the tower and closed the door upon their pursuers had not one of them caught his foot and fallen. It was Gilbert Crosby; he did not know every stone as Martin did. He was on his feet again directly, but the advantage had been lost. Barbara went down a little farther until she was just hidden by the first bend in the stairs. There was the sudden clash of steel, and a pistol-shot rang out upon the night. All was confusion in the doorway just below her. Then two men came up slowly, and backwards, thrusting downwards as they came, and more than one groan told that the steel had done its work.

"Be ready to rush when I give the word," Martin whispered; "then, at the top, make a stand--we must close the door there somehow."

The stairs were too narrow for two men to fight side by side. Martin was a step or two below his companion, and it was no longer a fiddle bow which he held in his hand. It was doubtful whether he had ever used his bow so well as he used a sword to-night.

Barbara leaned down.

"I am here, Mr. Crosby. I came to warn you," she whispered. "I know the door. Tell Martin."

She went up quickly. The clamp which held the door back at the head of the stairs was stiff, but with her weight thrown against the woodwork to ease the pressure she managed to unfasten it. The door creaked loudly as she drew it forward. Possibly Martin heard the noise, for a moment later he shouted, and he and Crosby rushed on to the landing.

"Into the room, mistress," Martin whispered, as he swung the door to and shot the bolt. "It won't hold long, but long enough." Then he followed them quickly into his room and locked the door.

Two men lay on the narrow stairs grievously hurt, and there was blood flowing from a cut on the face of another man as he threw himself against the door at the top, bent on settling a score rather than taking a rebel. He cursed and called to those below him.

"It is a small matter," said Rosmore. "It shuts us out, but it shuts them in."

"The door will not take much breaking down," said Sir John; "the rot of years must be in it."