The Brown Mask Part 32

There was a certain awkwardness about Martin Fairley as he rode out of the yard, enough to show that he was not so accomplished a horseman as some men; yet he had improved in his riding since he had borne Gilbert Crosby company from "The Jolly Farmers" that night.

The letter was delivered to Sydney Fellowes before Fairley had gone many miles upon his journey.

"I believe Mistress Lanison is on her way to Dorchester, and I am following," Fellowes read. "What plan is in her mind I cannot tell, but since it seems to give Sir John much satisfaction, I argue that some trap lies in the way. It is possible that I may be mistaken, so will you go to Lady Bolsover's to-night and make sure that Mistress Lanison has gone. If she has, and you can come, make all haste to Dorchester. There is a little tavern called 'The Anchor' in West Street. No one of consequence would use it, so you shall find word of me there."

Not many hours later Sydney Fellowes was also riding towards the West.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE JOURNEY TO DORCHESTER

There was an atmosphere of unrest about the inn at Witley this evening.

An hour ago a coach had arrived, and the best rooms were in requisition for the travellers, a lady and her maid. It was whispered amongst the loungers in the common room that she was a great lady, in spite of the fact that she travelled in a hired coach, but this idea was perhaps due to the fact that the maid was imperious, and demanded attention in a manner that carried weight. The servant of an ordinary person would hardly have been so dictatorial.

Even before the arrival of the coach the inn had been far more alive than usual, for a company of troopers had galloped up to it late in the afternoon making inquiry concerning a fugitive. He might be alone, but probably had a companion with him. Both men were minutely described, and it would seem that the capture of the companion would be likely to give the greater satisfaction.

No one at the inn had either seen or heard anything of them, and the troop had given up the pursuit. After refreshment, and a noisy halt of half an hour, the men had returned by the way they had come, leaving two of their company behind. These two were in the common room when the coach arrived, and, like everyone else in the house, were mightily interested in the lady and her maid. When the bustle had subsided a little they called for more ale and settled themselves comfortably in a corner.

"Well, for my part I'm not sorry the fellow got away," said one man, stretching out his legs easily. "We've enough prisoners to make examples of already."

"One more or less makes no matter," was the answer, "but it's wonderful how many have managed to slip through our fingers by the help of this fellow Crosby. I'd give something to lay him by the heels."

"Aye, that would mean gold enough in our pockets to jingle."

"And we shall get him presently," the other went on. "He is known to many of us now that he does not always hide himself behind the brown mask."

"If there were no money in it, I wouldn't raise a hand against him,"

said his companion, "for I've a sneaking fondness for the fellow. He's got courage and brains, and they've got the better of us up to now. Mark me, we shan't take him easily when the opportunity does offer. He'll make a corpse of one or two of us in the doing it."

"More guineas for those who are left," was the answer. "The other affair trots nicely," and he winked slowly over the tilted edge of his tankard.

"Wait!" said the other. "The netting of such fish may be sport enough, but there are handsome fish which are the devil to handle, and the taste of them is poison. Hist!"

His companion turned quickly at the warning, and through the open door saw the maid, who attended the great lady, in the pa.s.sage without. She inquired for the landlord, who came quickly, and at the same time the trooper got up and crossed the room, giving no explanation to his companion.

"Must we start early to reach Dorchester to-morrow?" the maid inquired of the landlord.

"Yes, very early. The roads--"

"The roads are good, mistress," volunteered the trooper. "I have ridden over them to-day."

"You may be able to tell me better than the landlord, then," said the girl, and for some minutes they talked in a low tone as they stood in the doorway of the inn.

"A fine night, mistress," said the man as the girl was about to leave him. "With the moon up like this, lovers should be abroad. It's but a hundred yards to the open fields; will you come?"

"With you!" exclaimed the girl scornfully, looking him up slowly from his boots to his eyes.

"Why not?" The maid's eyes were attractive, her figure was neat, and the man had sufficient ale in him to make him bold. For an instant they looked at each other; then the girl laughed derisively.

"When the master grows tired, the man may prove useful, and the man has a fancy for sampling the wares forthwith," said the trooper as he caught hold of the girl and would have kissed her. Perhaps he did not expect any great resistance, and was unprepared, but at any rate she slipped from his embrace, dealing him a resounding box upon the ears as she did so.

"You shall be punished further before many hours are over," said the girl as she ran lightly up the stairs.

The man growled an oath as he stood with his hand to his a.s.saulted ear.

"Did I not say that some were the devil to handle?" remarked his companion, who had come to the common-room door, and was smiling grimly.

"I grant she takes first trick, and with a heavy hand for so small a person, but the game is only commencing. One more draught of ale to drink success to the end of it, and then to horse."

As the troopers rode out of Witley presently a horseman drew back into the shadow of some trees by the roadside to let them pa.s.s.

"The remaining two," he murmured. "That's well; they have given up the pursuit," and he turned and went at a brisk canter across country.

The maid said nothing about the trooper to her mistress; she only told her that an early start would have to be made.

"Very well, Harriet, I shall want nothing more to-night, and will put myself to bed."

But Barbara Lanison was in no haste to seek sleep. She was tired, bodily tired, but mentally she was wakeful. There were some hours still before she could reach Dorchester, and many more hours might elapse before she could get speech with Judge Marriott. Having determined to make the sacrifice, she was eager that it should be over and done with, that she should know the full extent of the sacrifice. And perhaps, at the back of her mind, there was a little fear of herself. The question would arise, again and again, no matter how she tried to suppress it, was she justified in acting as she intended to do? Who was this man for whom she was prepared to give so much? A notorious highwayman, upon whose head there was a price. Yes, it was true, but he was also Gilbert Crosby, the man who had taken possession of her thoughts since the first moment she had seen him, the man who had sheltered and helped the peasantry fleeing from an inhuman persecution, and who must now pay for his courage with his life unless she pleaded for him. Was she justified? The question sounded in her ears when she fell asleep; she heard it when she awoke next morning. Yes, and mentally she flung back the answer, yes, for to her Gilbert Crosby was something more than a brave man, and was dear to her in spite of everything. He was the man who had set an ideal in her heart, he was the man she loved. Hardly to herself would she admit it, but it was love that sent her to the West.

It was still early when the coach rolled out of Witley, but it was not early enough, nor was the pace fast enough, to satisfy Barbara. She became suddenly fearful of pursuit which might stop her from reaching Dorchester. She began to dread some breakdown which might delay her and cause her to arrive too late.

"Shall we be in time?" she asked more than once, turning to Harriet Payne.

"Yes, madam, you need have no fear. The a.s.sizes have not yet begun in Dorchester."

Pursuit was behind, but it was the pursuit of a friend. Whether it was the fault of the horseman or his mounts, disaster rode with Martin Fairley. To begin with, his horse cast a shoe, and by the time a smith was found and his work done, an hour had been wasted. Before the end of the first stage the horse collapsed; there was considerable difficulty in getting a remount, and the animal procured was a sorry beast for pace. Martin fretted at the delay, and cursed the adverse fates which so hindered him. Once he was within three miles of the coach, and then his horse went dead lame. Hours were lost before he could get another horse and resume the journey, and during those hours much might have happened.

The coach had left only an hour when he arrived at the inn at Witley.

"Yes, the travellers were a lady and her maid," the landlord told him.

"Going to Dorchester?" Martin asked.

"Yes. They started early."

"Has anyone inquired for them?"

"No."

"Some breakfast, landlord--ale and bread and cheese will do--and a horse at once."

"Yes, sir."

"And for heaven's sake give me a horse with four sound legs and with wind enough in its bellows to stand a gallop."