The Yeoman Adventurer 12The Guest-Room of the "Rising Sun"
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Literature · Historical Fiction
The Yeoman Adventurer 12
The Guest-Room of the "Rising Sun"
GoughEnglish
A wisp of cloud, a long trail of shimmering gold, broke loose, swept with the touch of softest silk across my cheek, and half awakened me. I was lazily and sleepily regretting that such caresses only came in dreams, when I was brought sharply back to full life by a ripple of hearty laughter.
"Gloat on!" said I complacently.
"I knew you'd slip some time or other. Gloat! Of course I shall gloat." And she laughed again. I should have borne it easily enough, coming from her, under any circumstances, but there was one circumstance which made it a pure joy. The white hands were busy with her unruly yellow hair, and I was so far gone foolward that I was in some sort hopeful that they were imprisoning the wisp of golden cloud that had awakened me. I bitterly regretted that I was not as nimble at waking as Jack. He would be sleeping like a leg of mutton one second and, at the touch of a feather, as wide awake as a weasel the next. I took time--it was the Latin rubbish cumbering my brain, he used to say--or I might have made sure.
Mistress Margaret was perched on the edge of my bench. She seemed in no hurry to move, and I could not get up till she did, so I lay still, cradling my head in my hands, and looked contentedly at her. It was now so gloomy that I had evidently been asleep some time.
"I knew you'd slip," she repeated with great zest. "All men do. And I'm glad you slipped, for it proved you human. I was getting quite overawed by the terrible precision with which you did exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. It made me feel so very small and inferior, and no woman likes that. It's not nice."
"Or natural," said I.
"I see you're unmistakably awake, sir!" was the tart reply. She rose and took short turns up and down the cell and went on: "But why slip into jail, Master Wheatman? Why did you not tell father who you were and what you had done for me?"
"And so prove at once to the authorities in the town that he was not what he pretended to be!"
"Ho!" she said, and stopped short.
"Our idea was, I think, to free the Colonel, if we could."
"Yes." She was not gloating now, but wondering.
"Well, madam, I found him free, and the only advantage I can see in your plan is, that I should have had him as a companion in jail. Whereas now I've mended my night's sleep with a refreshing nap, and Master Freake has so lucidly explained things to the Mayor that Timothy of the long coat is kicking his heels at the top of the stairs, and wondering how much longer you're going to be. Shall we once more breathe the upper air, as Virgil would put it? This hole is as bad as a corner in his under-world."
"And I laughed at you for slipping, Master Wheatman! I shall never dare to look you in the face again."
"Don't you believe it, madam," said I airily, leading the way to the steps. "I've heard Copper Nob say the same thing scores of times."
"Who's Copper Nob?"
The question came like the crack of a whip, and I was glad the familiar phrase had slipped out unawares and diverted her.
"Our Kate," I explained.
"Oh indeed, sir! A more beautiful head of hair no woman in this land possesses, and you glibly call her 'Copper Nob.' Doubtless you have selected some nice expressive name for me!"
"I shouldn't dare!" I protested hotly.
"Why not? You do it for her, brazenly and wantonly."
"Yes, madam, but she's my sister."
"How does that assure me?"
"A man's sister isn't a woman," said I, and went ahead and pushed open the door. There, sure enough, was Timothy, looking very uncertain and rueful. The little man's complaisance had given me the greatest wonder of my life--Margaret's silent watching over me as I lay asleep, and I gave him a guinea with much gladness.
"The coat's too big for you, Timothy, and it's no good denying it. I'll speak to his worship about a new one of the right length."
"Thank yer, sir," he said, grinning oafishly as he pouched the guinea. "I'd rather have a new coat than a new missus, and, swelp me bob, I want both."
Margaret joined me, and we at once made our way to the "Rising Sun." Work for the day was over, and the street was now getting thronged and noisy. Many curious looks were bent on us, but no one dared to interfere with a man of my evil reputation, a horse-thief being the last thing in desperadoes. We had only a few yards to go, but my mistress apprised me in sweet whisperings that Master Freake's explanation was that Sultan had been innocently obtained from the real thief, that I was his servant, and, not knowing of the horse deal, had loyally kept silent lest I should make mischief--a happy and reasonably truthful rendering of the real facts.
"After his private talk with Master Mayor," she added, "that worthy man's knees were as hard worked as the hinges of an ale-house door."
"The poor cringeling is but a grocer," said I, as we turned in under the archway of the "Rising Sun." The host saw us through the kitchen window, and ran out to usher us in with the assurance of a brass weathercock.
"Sommat like a jail delivery, eh, y'r 'onour? Gom, if I wudna pinch fifty 'osses to be fetched out o' clink by such a bonny lady, begging your ladyship's pardon."
"She shall fetch you out," said I sourly, "when you're jailed for not stealing."
"His honour's commands are a law unto his handmaiden," said Margaret demurely and icily, addressing him, but aiming point-blank at me. Her shot blew me clean out of the water, and I stood there guggling like a born idiot. "Curse you, will you never get out of your yokel's ways?" said I to myself. It was as if I had said to the sergeant, speaking of Jane, "She shall draw you a mug of beer." I was clean nonplussed, and felt as uncomfortable as a boiling crawfish, but fortunately rattle-pate came to my aid and drowned my confusion in a flood of words.
"And all he said, y'r ladyship, was that Timothy's coat was too big for 'im. Gom, it beat cock-fighting, it did. Swelp me bob it did. I never saw a man so staggered as the Mayor, but he's got over it fine, and gone 'ome, good man, with a crick in his back and near on a pint of my best brandy in his belly. When these 'ere wild Highland rappers and renders come, he's just primed up to make 'em a grand speech at bridge yonder, and if that dunna frighten 'em off, nuthin' wull, and my cellars will be as ill filled with beer as Timothy's coat is with brawn. I'm getting the best supper on the Chester road for yer, y'r honour, and that'll mike you feel as bold as sixpence among sixpenn'orth o' coppers. But come along, y'r ladyship. The Colonel's upstairs. Follow me!"
Words ran out of him like ale out of a stunned barrel. He clacked on incessantly on the way upstairs, and clacked as boldly as ever as he ushered us into the room, where the Colonel was awaiting us alone.
"'Ere 'e is, y'r lordship," he said gustily. "'Ere's the nobby gentleman as didna steal yer 'oss. But yow'd best keep yer eye on 'im, on my say so. He'll pinch sommat o' yow'n yet afore 'e's done."
The Colonel, who was toasting his toes at a roaring fire, rose as I followed Margaret towards him. He made me a precise and formal bow, which I imitated farmer fashion. "This is Master Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards, father," said Margaret, in so low a tone that the host, lingering, hand on door-knob, nearly a dozen paces behind us, could not have heard her.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," he said, repeating his bow.
"The honour is mine, sir," I replied, repeating mine, and wondering the while if I ever should learn to bend like a willow instead of a jointed doll.
"Nay, I protest, sir." This suavely to me; then, stepping sharply towards the host, he stormed, "Damn ye, man, get on the landlord's side of the door, or I'll rout it down around your lazy ears. Slids! I've shot an innkepeer for less in the Rhineland."
"Them 'ere furriners--" began the host, but the Colonel swamped him with something of which I could make out nothing except that it was a fairly successful attempt to talk and sneeze at the same time. It finished off the host, who retired, beaten with his own weapon. The victor, waiting till the door was closed, tiptoed up to it and listened carefully.
"A rather interesting feature about dad," whispered Margaret with mischief in her eyes, "is that when he's angry he curses in French, and when he's mad he execrates in German."
"Neatly rounding off his daughter's accomplishments," said I.
"And how, sir?"
"Who gibes in English and loves in Italian."
She stabbed me with her eyes, and said, "Your services give you no privileges, sir."
"I know that, madam, but my yokelship does."
I spoke lightly, keeping the bitterness of my heart out of my voice, though it had surged up into my speech. I may have been mistaken, misled by the flickering fire-light, but the anger seemed to melt out of her eyes.
The return of the Colonel ended our cut-and-thrust.
"Soldiering," he said, "is nine-tenths caution and one-tenth devilment. Yon glavering idiot has long ears to match his long tongue. And now, sir, let me greet you as I should."
He seized my hand, shook it warmly, and continued, "A father's thanks, Master Wheatman, for your kindness to my Margaret. Anon she shall tell me the whole story, but I know already that you are a gallant gentleman whom I shall have the honour of turning into a fine soldier, and neither angel, man, nor devil could make you fairer requital."
Praise and promise were far beyond any desert or hope of mine, but I said boldly, "I am no gentleman, but just a plain, few-acred yeoman, who has tried to serve your daughter--"
"Tried?" he snorted. "Tried, indeed! I've been soldiering man and boy these forty odd years, and, slids, I've never known better work." He ran me up and down with his eyes and, turning to Margaret, continued, "By the beard of the prophet, Madge, Master Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards is a vast improvement on the Baron."
Margaret blushed daintily and hastily covered his mouth with her fingers.
"You dare, dad, and I won't kiss you good night."
"Damme," he said, freeing himself and grinning at me with delight. "This is rank mutiny. Prithee note, Master Wheatman, the prepare-to-receive-cavalry look in her eye! The last time I lost her was at Hanover, and she rejoined me, if you please, at Dresden."
"Magdeburg, you libellous old father," said Margaret, pouting.
"So it was," he said heartily, conceding the point. "Escorted by, or escorting, I was never clear which, a fat German baron nearly five feet high, who begged me to horsewhip her into marrying him."
"You shot him?" said I, so very energetically that Margaret's pout turned into a smile.
"Dear me, no," he said, pretending to yawn. "I left him to Madge, poor fellow! I hope you've given her every satisfaction, Master Wheatman."
"That he hasn't," said Margaret briskly. "He's spent far too much time putting me in what he considers my proper place."
"My friend," said he to me gravely, "you're in for a dog's life."
"You're right about the life, dad, but wrong about the dog. Good-bye till supper, you nasty ripper-up of your daughter's character!"
So saying, she kissed him on each cheek, smiled at me, and left us.
"I'd like to sluice the jail feeling off myself," said I to the Colonel.
"Right," he replied, looking at his watch. "You've just half an hour. I find England irksomely restful and law-abiding after the Continent, but I'm glad of it for once. I should be damnably vexed if I'd hanged you, and Madge wouldn't have liked it either."
He had a grave voice, like a judge's, and a quick, pert eye, like a jackdaw's. Outwardly he was as unlike Margaret as the haft of a pike is unlike a lily, but I already saw her spirit in him.
"Sir," said I, "when I am fortified by a good supper, I will venture to indicate my preferences on the subject."
He took out his snuff-box, tapped it carefully, opened it, and held it out to me.
"You have begun well, sir. I hear you are a great scholar, Latin and all that, quite pat. Damme, sir, those ancients understood things. They knew how to honour the gods, for they made soldiers of 'em and set 'em fighting in the clouds. There's divinity for you! You've got twenty-eight minutes."
I laughed and left him.
The room in which my introduction to the Colonel had taken place was immediately over the archway. Its window opened on to a balcony which, supported on thick oak balks, stood over the causeway of the street; its door was in a passage leading from one wing of the house to the other, and in the passage were three leaded lattice-windows of greenish glass, plentifully sprinkled with blobs and nodes, giving on the long inn-yard. The room was thus admirably situated for people in our precarious position, having a look-out back and front, and a way of escape right and left.
The cherry-cheeked lass who had thrown me the kiss was tripping past the door as I opened it. She told me that she had been attending on ''er ladyship,' and willingly led me to a bedroom and brought me thither the things I needed for my sluicing, among them a passable razor and a huckaback fit to fetch the hide off a horse.
"Give me now the kiss you threw me," said I, as she was turning to leave.
"Nay, sir," she said. "You're not in trouble now, and dunna need it."
"Lassie," said I, "that's a right womanly reply, and here's something to buy a ribbon with that shall be worthy of you." And I gave her one of the dead Major's guineas.
"Thank yer, sir," she said. "And besides there's no need for you to be kissing the likes of me."
"You're a sweetly pretty lassie," said I.
"Y' dunna want to be gawpin' around after pennies when there's guineas to be picked up," she replied, with a toss of her head. "Struth, I wish at times I wasna quite so pretty. There's some men, bless you, I know one myself, such fools that they think a pretty wench doesna want kissin'. But, sartin sure, there's never been the like of 'er ladyship in Newcastle in my time. I'll 'ave a ribbon on Sunday as near the colour and shine of 'er ladyship's hair as money can buy, and Sail'll wish 'er'd never been born. I'll Sim 'er."
With this terrible threat she flounced out of the room, and I laughed and wondered who and what 'Sim' was. A decent fellow and a good tradesman, I hoped, and wished him pluck and luck.
While I was tidying myself up, my mind was busy with the strange tangle things were got into. The mysterious Master Freake, after turning the Mayor into his pliant tool, had apparently disappeared. The Colonel had not breathed a word of explanation, and seemed to feel so secure that he was dawdling in the town as if no enemy were at hand. Of the state of affairs in the town itself I knew nothing. The one clear thing was that I had got my neck right into the noose, and Brocton could, and would, pull tight at the first opportunity. What did all this matter? What did any untoward event or result matter? I was going to be a soldier, and, after the fashion of love-lorn Cherry-Cheeks, I said to myself, "I'll Jack him!" I was going to be near Margaret, and, so rejoicing, bethought me of the hapless Roman's "Infelix, properas ultima nosse mala." And what did that matter either? I rubbed myself the colour of a love-apple, humming the while old-time ditties long since driven out of my head by the Latin rubbish. Jack was right. Of course it was rubbish. "Latin be damned," said I gleefully. "Nothing counts but life and love."
There was more than a pinch of swagger in me as I made my way back to the passage overlooking the yard. Arrived there, I cautiously opened the nearest lattice and peered out. The inn-yard was dark and silent, and I was on the point of closing the window when I heard the clatter of hoofs on the stone-paving under the archway. A moment later a man on foot came in sight, and was followed into the yard by two men on horseback, one of them in charge of a led horse.
At once all was bustle. Ostlers ran up with lanterns, and the host came forward, candle in hand and a multitude of words on his tongue, to order things aright.
The man afoot was Master Freake, and it was clear that the riders were men of his, for I heard him ask them if they were quite clear as to their instructions, and both answered respectfully that they were. I could see they wore swords and that their horses were splendid, powerful animals, not much inferior to Sultan himself. Who and what was this man--"plain John Freake," as he called himself,--who carried large sums of money, domineered over self-important burgesses and mayors, who was served by such well-appointed horsemen, whom Master Dobson, a parliament man, feared, and my Lord Brocton had thought it worth while to attempt to put out of the way?
It was a riddle I could not read, but as I stood there, peering round the half-open lattice at the scene below, I was happier than ever I had been in my life. "Poor old Jack," said I to myself, "sweating and swearing over your riff-raff dragooners, and here am I, who envied you yester-morn, on the top rung of life."
"We shall get it if we're late," said Mistress Margaret playfully in my ear. "Not because dad worries whether he eats or not, but because he's so strong on mil-it-ary dis-cip-line." I write the words so, as a poor, paper imitation of the mincing gait she could put into her speech, which was ever one of her delightfulnesses. "You'd have been the better," she went on, "for a bringing-up on a troop-sergeant's switch. See what it's done for me!"
So she challenged me to admire her, and indeed I think that the witch was verily bent on casting a spell over me. No words can paint her as she stood in the dim-lit passage, the infinite sum of womanhood, peerless in every grace and gift; not now the tense, proud Margaret of the quick rebuke and the shattering sarcasm, but the mirthful, trustful, grateful companion of our boy-and-girl escapade.
"I think you're right, madam," said I. "Bloggs, dear old chap, flogged the meaning of Virgil into me, but I wish he had flogged in some of the meaning of life along with it. I feel as helpless as Saul would have felt with David's sling and stones."
"Are you as one fighting a Goliath?"
"I am," said I, not able now to speak lightly, and not daring to look at her. Could any enterprise be more hopeless than the one my heart, against all the strivings of sense and reason, was beginning to set me? Through the open lattice I watched the flicker of lanterns in the yard, where the horses were being upped and whoaed stablewards.
"You will favour me, sir, with your escort into supper," said Margaret.
This brought me to myself with a jerk. I closed the lattice, offered her my arm, and we walked towards the guest-room where the Colonel was awaiting us.
"I think you'd better revise your knowledge of the Scriptures, Master Oliver," said she very quietly as I led her into the room.
"In what respect, Mistress Margaret?"
"You seem to have an imperfect recollection of the way in which Goliath met his death. It's idle to say we're late, dad, when supper's not yet served."
He exploded into words I did not understand. "It's all right, only French," whispered Margaret mischievously. "It means 'name of a dog.' I could swear better myself."
"That's right," stormed the Colonel. "As fast as I curse soldiering into one ear of him, you coax it out of the other! I'll be thankful when you're under Mother Patterson's wing in Chester."
The coming of Cherry-Cheeks and one of the hard-favoured maids with the supper, followed by our host with the wine, followed in turn by Master Freake, put an end to my first lesson in soldiering and the imprecatory wealth of continental languages, and straightway the host slopped over with apologies for the delay in serving the supper.
"Things are a bit upset in the town, y' mun know," he said, "and every wench in the 'Rising Sun' 'as been a devil unknobbed all day. This red-faced hussy here, when 'er was wanted to set the table, was off to see if that spindle-shanked Sim across at the Mayor's was safe and sound. And besides, my lady and y'r 'onours, the famous steak-and-kidney puddin' o' the 'Rising Sun' must be boiled to a bubble or it's dummacked. If one got spiled, the news 'ud run down to Chester and up to London in no time, and the 'Red Lion' 'ud get all my customers. His Grace of Kingston put up at the 'Red Lion' in all innocence until his worship, for old friendship's sake and a bottle of brandy, 'ticed 'im over 'ere to one of my puddin's. 'E started an inch off the table and ate till 'e touched, as we say in Staffordsheer, and then sent for 'is baggage, and 'as lain 'ere ever since in the great bedchamber over y'r yeds, an' I'm thinking to call it the Duke's Room an' charge sixpence extra for it. It's worth another sixpence to sleep in the same bed as a duke's slep' in. If it ain't, by gom, I'd like to know what he is for. Damn if y'r can tell by lukkin' at 'im."
What I have for convenience' sake set down here as a continuous speech addressed to us all, was really a series of remarks addressed to whichever of us appeared for the moment to be listening, and broken by commands, scoldings, and threats addressed to the women. The tail-end of his remarks made me cock my ear, for it indicated that we were at the centre of the danger zone.
"If I were you," interposed Master Freake at last, "I'd coax Prince Charlie to sleep in it and then charge a shilling extra. A prince, and my dislike of his ways doesn't unprince him, is surely worth twice as much as a duke."
"Swelp me bob," cried the delighted host, slapping his thigh in high glee, "that 'ud be better than a murder. It's wunnerful how a murder 'elps a 'ouse. Tek the 'Quiet Woman' o' Madeley. There was a murder there, and a damn poor thing of a murder it was, nothing but a fudge-mounter cuttin' a besom-filer's throat; poor wench, 'er lived up on th' Higherland yonder, and I'll bet it was wuth two-and-twenty barrel of beer to owd Wat. A murder's clean providential to a pub--"
"Damn, get out," vociferated the Colonel, "or I'll provide the murder and you the corpse."
The meal, be it said, was thoroughly good in every way. I'm not the man to despise my belly, and I don't hold with those that do. There are better things in life than steak-and-kidney puddings, but my experience is they want a lot of finding. The Colonel would not hear of any talk about our affairs till supper was over. "I dare say you're all agog to know what I've been doing and what we are going to do," he said to me. "That's because you're a youngster at everything and a mere infant-in-arms at soldiering. When you've had a month's campaigning you'll know that the only things really worth bothering about are supper and bed."
To my great content he immediately fell head over heels into argument with Master Freake, something about bounties on herring busses, if I remember aright, and Margaret and I were left to each other, and a rare treat I had in hearing her lively talk and watching her glowing beauty.
At last, with almost a sigh of satisfaction, and then with a mischief-glint in her eyes, she said, "The pudding has been very good, but I prefer ham and eggs, provided that the right person cooks them."
"I should agree," I replied, "with one other proviso."
"To wit," said she, with a glass of wine half-way to her lips.
"That the right person saves them from frizzling to a cinder."
She sipped her wine steadily, and then, leaning forward till the radiance of her yellow hair made me quiver, she whispered calmly, "Oliver, you're a brute."
"Nay, madam," said I, "only a yokel."
She looked at me again as she had looked at me when I had kissed her hand beneath the hawthorns.
"Hello, there," broke in the Colonel, addressing himself to me, "who was right about the dog's life?"
"I was, of course," said Margaret promptly.
The host was rung for, his supper praised to his heart's content, the table cleared, and a dish of tea ordered for Margaret. Bethinking me of the sergeant's tuck, which might be useful, I asked the host to bring it up, and he did so.
When we were again left to ourselves, the Colonel took the sword, and examined it with his skilful eyes and practised hands.
"Somewhat heavy," said he, "but well balanced and well made, and of the truest steel. Are you a swordsman, Master Wheatman?"
"I never had one in my hand in my life till to-day," was my reply.
"Gird him for the wars, Margaret," said he. "So much of the ancient rules and customs of chivalry as can be observed in these mechanic days shall, by us at any rate, be observed. In strict law you ought to have spent a night in prayer and fasting, but your loyal service to Margaret is a good equivalent. To labour is to pray, say the parsons, and, my lad, always remember in your soldiering that a so-minded man can offer up a powerful prayer between pull of trigger and flash of priming. Kneel, Oliver, and in God's sight you shall be more truly knighted than any capering and chattering of German Geordie's can contrive."
And so, in the guest-room of the "Rising Sun," I knelt to my sweet mistress, and, before God and in the presence of Christopher Waynflete, Colonel of Horse in the service of the King of Sweden, and John Freake, citizen of London, Margaret, gravely and serenely beautiful, touched my shoulder with the sword and then girded it upon me.
"Sirs," she said, addressing her father and Master Freake, "the accolade has never been given to a worthier." Then, bending swiftly as a swallow dips in its flight over the meadows, she whispered emphatically in my ears, "Yokel it no more!"
