Shrewsbury Part 27

That the perusal gave him immense satisfaction his face, which in the level light, cast by the window, seemed to gleam with unholy joy, was witness, no less than his movements. Flouris.h.i.+ng the letter in uncontrollable excitement he twice strode the floor, muttering unformed sentences. Then he looked at the paper again and his jaw fell. "But it is not his hand!" he cried, staring at it in very plain dismay. And then recovering himself afresh, "No matter," he said. "It is his name, and the veriest fool would have used another hand. Is it yours? Did you write it, blockhead?"

"No," I said.

"No! But now I think of it--thousand devils, how came you by it? By this--eh?" he rapped out. "This letter? What d----d hocus pocus is here? What have you to do with the Duke of Shrewsbury, that he makes you his messenger?"

He bent his brows on me, and I knew that I had never been in greater danger in my life. Yet something of evil came to me in this extremity.

Comprehending that if I said I came from Kensington I might expect the worst, I lied to him; yet used the truth where it suited me. "The Duke came to Ferguson's," I said.

"To Ferguson's?" he answered, staring at me.

"Yes, and bade him get that to the Duke, for his lodging was known and warrants would be out."

Smith clapped his hands together softly. "What!" he cried. "Is he in it as deep as that? Oh, the cunning! Oh, the cunning of him! And I to be going to all this trouble, and close on despair at that!

And--Ferguson gave you the letter?"

"They both did."

"That old fox, too! And I was beginning to think him a bygone! Yet he beats us all! he beats us all! Or he would have beaten us if he had not trusted this silly. But I am forgetting. The Duke must be warned--if he has not started. When was this given to you, Mr. Trusty Taylor?"

"Two hours ago," I said, sullenly.

I was pleased to see that that alarmed him. "You fool!" he said, "why did you not tell me at once what you had got, and whither you were going? If the Duke is taken it will lie at your door. And if he is saved, it will be to my credit."

"I will come with you," I said, plucking up a spirit as I saw him about to leave.

"No, you will not," he answered, drily. "I am much obliged to you, but I prefer to gain the credit and tell the tale my own way. You will stay here, Mr. Taylor, and when the Duke is away I'll come and release you. In the meantime I would advise you to keep quiet. Hoity-toity, what is this?" he continued, as in my despair I tried to push by him, "Go back, you fool, or it will be the worse for you. You are _not_ going out."

And, resisting all my appeals and remonstrances, he thrust me forcibly from the door; and whipping outside it, locked it on me. In vain I hammered on it with my fist and called after him, and threatened him.

He clattered unheeding down the stair, and I heard the house-door slammed and locked. I listened a moment, but all remained quiet; and then, wild with rage, I turned to the window, thinking that by that way I might still escape. Alas, it looked only into a walled yard, and was strongly barred to boot.

G.o.d knows I thought myself then the most unlucky of men; a man ruined when on the point of a great and seemingly a.s.sured success. I flung myself down in my despair, and could have dashed my head against the boards. But presently, in the midst of my bewailing myself, and when the first convulsive fit of rage was abating, a new thought brought me to my feet in a panic. What if Smith, before he returned, fell in with Ferguson? The meeting was the more probable, inasmuch as, if Ferguson succeeded in freeing himself, he was as likely to hasten to the Duke of Berwick to warn him as to do anything else. At any rate I was not inclined to sit weighing the chances nicely, but hastening frantically to the door, I tried it with knee and shoulder. To my joy it yielded somewhat; on which, throwing caution aside, I drew back and flung myself against it with all my weight. The lock gave way, and the door flying open, I came near to falling headlong down the stairs.

Still, I had succeeded. But I soon found that I was little nearer freedom than before. The pa.s.sage was now dark, and the house-door, when I found my way to it, resisted all my efforts. This drove me to seek another egress, which it was far from easy to find. At length, and by dint of groping about, I hit on a door which led into a downstairs room; it was unlocked and I entered, feeling before me with my hands. The darkness, the silence of the empty house, and my hurry, formed a situation to appal the boldest; but I was desperate, and extending my arms I trod cautiously across the room to where the window should be, and sought for and found the shutters. I tried the bar, and to my joy felt it swing. I let it down softly and dragged the shutters open, and sweating at every pore, saw through the leaded panes the dark dull lane outside, with a faint light from a neighbouring window falling on the wall opposite.

[Ill.u.s.tration: I SAW A MAN HAD COME TO A STAND BEFORE THE DOOR]

I was seeking for a part of the window that opened, and wondering whether, failing that, I should have the courage to burst the cas.e.m.e.nt and run for it, when a step approaching along the lane set my heart beating. The step came nearer and paused, and peering out, my face nearer the gla.s.s, I saw a man had come to a stand before the door. I looked, and then, to say that my knees quivered under me but faintly expresses the terror I felt! For as the man moved he brought himself within the circle of light I have mentioned, and at the same time he raised his face, doubtless after searching in his pocket for the key; and through the gla.s.s my eyes met those of Ferguson.

CHAPTER XXVI

If, a few minutes before, I had thought myself the most unlucky of men and placed by that which had already happened beyond fear or misfortune, I knew better when I saw that sight from the window; and fell back into the darkness, as if even from the road and through the panes Ferguson's eyes must discover me. Ignorant whether the room in which I stood contained anything to shelter me, or barewalled must of necessity discover me to the first person who entered with a light, my natural impulse, when the moment of panic pa.s.sed, was to escape from it.

But it was not easy to do this in haste. By the time that, trembling in every limb, I had groped my way into the pa.s.sage, the key was turning in the lock of the outer door, and I saw myself within an arm's length of capture. This so terrified me that I sprang desperately for the staircase, but stumbled over the lowest step, and fell on my knees with a crash that seemed to shake the walls. For a moment the pain was so sharp that I could only lie where I fell; nor when, spurred by the imminence of the danger, I had got to my feet, could I do more than crawl up the stairs and crouch down on the landing, a little to one side, and out of eye-shot from below.

Willingly now, in return for present safety, would I have forgiven Fortune all her past buffets; for if Ferguson came up, as I thought him sure to come up, I was lost; since I could neither retreat without noise, nor if I could, knew where to hide. In this extremity, my heart beating so thickly that I could scarcely listen, and thought I must choke, I was relieved to hear Ferguson--after spending what seemed to me to be an age, striking flint and steel in the pa.s.sage--go grumbling into the lower room, whence a glimmer falling on the wall of the pa.s.sage told me that he had at last succeeded in procuring a light.

It was no surprise to me as I sweated and cringed in my hiding-place, to learn that he was in the worst of tempers. I heard him swear--as I supposed--at the open shutter; then, almost before I had thanked Providence for present safety, he was out again in the pa.s.sage. I made no doubt that he was going to ascend now, and I gave myself up for lost. But instead, he stood and called "Mary! Mary! Do ye hear, you hussy? If ye are hiding above there, it will be the worse for you, ye d----d baggage! Come down, d'ye hear me?"

Surely now, I thought, getting no answer, he would come up, and my heart stood. But it seemed he called only to make sure, and not because he thought that she was above; for he went back into the lower room, and I heard him moving to and fro, and going about to light a fire, the crackling of which gave an odd note of cheerfulness in the house. I was beginning to weigh the possibility of slipping by the half-open door, on the chance of finding the outer door unfastened; and with this in view, had risen to my feet, when a key again grated in the lock, and supposing it to be Smith, I returned to my former position.

Had it been Smith, it would have been some comfort to me; for I thought him more prudent if no less dangerous than the plotter, and I fancied that I had more to fear from one than from two. But the step that entered was lighter than a man's, while Ferguson's greeting told the rest and made the situation clear.

"Ha, you are here at last, are you!" he cried with an angry oath. "Did you want me to break every bone in your body, la.s.s, that you stayed out till now, and I to have the fire to light? You should have a pretty good tale to tell or have kept clear of this! D'ye hear me?

Speak, you viper, and don't stand there glowering like a wood-cat!"

"I am here now," was the answer. My heart leapt, for the voice was Mary's; the tone, sullen and weary, I could understand.

"Here now!" he retorted. "And that is to be all, is it? Perhaps, my girl, I will presently show you two minds about that. Where is the baggage?"

"It is not here."

"Not here?" he cried.

"No," she answered.

"And why not, you Jezebel?"

"You need not misname me," she answered coolly. "I was followed and could not come here; and I could not carry it about with me all day.

And I could not send it, for there was no one here to take it in. It is at the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch Street, to go by tomorrow's waggon to Colchester. That is what I told them, but it can be fetched away to-morrow."

"If I did not think you were a big liar, girl?" he answered doubtfully; but I knew by his tone that he believed her.

"You may think what you like," she replied.

"And how do you think I am to do for to-night?" he answered querulously.

"You must do as you can," she said. "You have your Hollands, and I have brought some bread and meat."

"It is a dog's life," he said, with a snarl.

"It is the life you choose," she retorted sharply.

"_Peste!_" he answered after a pause of sheer astonishment at her audacity. "What is it to you, you s.l.u.t?"

"Why, a dog's life too! and not of my choice!" she cried pa.s.sionately, her voice breaking. "What am I better, as I live, than an orange girl in the streets? What do I get, and walk the pavement on your errands night and day? What do I get? And always hiding and sneaking, hiding and sneaking! And for what?"

"For your living, yon beggarly baggage!" he roared. "Who feeds you and clothes you, you graceless hussy? Who boards you and lodges you, and finds you in meat and malt, you f.e.c.kless toad? You shameless----"

"Ay, call names!" she answered bitterly--and it was not hard to discern that she was beside herself with the long sick waiting and the disappointment. "It is what you are good for! It is all that your plots end in! Call names, and you are happy! But I am tired, and tired of it, I tell you. I am tired of bare boards and hiding, and all for what? For those that, when you have brought them back, you will be as fierce to oust as you are now to restore! And shameless it is you call me?" she continued with feverish rapidity. "Shameless? Have you not sent me out into the streets a hundred times, and close on midnight, and not a thought or care what would happen to me so long as your letter went safe? Have you not sent me where to be taken was to be jailed and whipped, and not a thought of pity or what a life it was for a girl? Have you not done this and more?" she continued, breathless with pa.s.sion. "And more? And yet you take praise for feeding me! And call me graceless and shameless----"

She paused and gave him room to speak, but though he put on a show of bl.u.s.ter it was evident her violence alarmed him. "Odd's name, and what is all this?" he said. "What ails the girl? What has set you up now, you vixen?"

"You!" she cried vehemently. "You and your trade!"