 CHAPTER XVIII of the Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksi, the Trap, Richard Lambert, fortunately for his own peace of mind, and the retention of his dignity, was able to wave aside the handful of gold and silver coins which Sir Marmaduke extended towards him. I thank you, sir, he said calmly, I am able to bear the cost of my own unavoidable weakness, I have money of my own. From out his doublet he took a tiny leather wallet containing a few gold coins, his worldly all bequeathed to him the same as to his brother, so the old friend who had brought the lads up had oft explained by his grandmother. The little satchel never left his person from the moment that the old Quakerus had placed it in his hands. There were but five guineas in all to which he had added from time to time the few shillings which Sir Marmaduke paid him as salary. He chided his own weakness inwardly when he felt the hot tears surging to his eyes at thought of the unworthy use to which his little horde was about to be put. But he walked to the table with a bold step. There was nothing now of the country loud about him. On the contrary, he moved with remarkable dignity and bore himself so well that many a pair of feminine eyes watched him kindly as he took his seat at the bay's covered table. Well, one of you gentlemen teach me the game, he asked simply. It was remarkable that no one sneered at him again, and in these days of arrogance peculiar to the upper classes, this was all the more noticeable as these secret clubs were thought to be very exclusive. The resort preeminently of gentlemen and noblemen who were anti-perident, anti-Republican, and very jealous of their ranks and privileges, yet when after those few unpleasant moments of hesitation, Lambert boldly accepted the situation, and with much simple dignity took his seat at the table, everyone immediately accepted him as an equal, nor did anyone question his right to sit there on terms of equality with Lord Welterton or Sir Michael Isherwood. His own state of mind was very remarkable at the moment. Of course he disapproved of what he did. He would not have been the puritanically trained country bread lad that he was if he had accepted with an easy conscience the idea of tossing about money from hand to hand, money that he could in no sense afford to lose, or money that no one was making any honest effort to win. He knew somewhat vaguely perhaps yet with some degree of certainty that gambling was an illicit pastime, and that therefore he, by sitting at this table with these gentlemen, was deliberately contravening the laws of his country. Against all that it is necessary to note that Richard Lambert took two matters very much in earnest. First, his position as a paid dependent. Second, his gratitude to Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, and both these all-pervading facts combined to force him against his will into this anomalous position of gentlemanly gambler, which suited neither his temperament nor his principles. With it all, Lambert's was one of those dispositions often peculiar to those who have led an isolated and introspective life which never do anything have heartedly, and just as he took his somewhat empty secretarial duties seriously, so did he look on this self-imposed task against which his better judgment rebelled with earnestness and determination. He listened attentively to the preliminary explanations given him, Soto-Vose, by Endicott. Seagrave, in the meanwhile, had taken the latter's place at the head of the table. He had put all his money in front of him some two hundred and sixty pounds, all told, for his winnings during the last half-hour had not been as steady as heretofore, and he had not yet succeeded altogether in making up that sum of money for which he yearned with all the intensity of a disturbed conscience, eager to redeem one miserable fault by another hardly more avowable. He shuffled the cards and dealt just as Endicott had done. Now will you look at your card, young sir, said Endicott, who stood behind Lambert's chair, whispering directions in his ear, a splendid card begad, and one on which you must stake freely. Nay, nay, that is not enough, he added, hurriedly restraining the young man's hand, who had timidly pushed a few silver coins forward, tis thus you must do. And before Lambert had time to protest, the rotund man in the cinnamon doublet and the wide-laced cuffs had emptied the contents of the little leather wallet upon the table. Five golden guineas rested on Lambert's card. Seagrave turned up his own and declared, I pay queen, and upwards a two by gad, said Lord Walterton, too confused in his feeble head, now to display any real fury, did anyone ever see such a cursed luck. And look at this nine, quote Sir Michael, who had become very sullen, not a card to knight. I have a king, said Lambert quietly, and as I had the pleasure to remark before, my dear young friend, said Endicott Blandly, tis a mighty good card to hold. And see, he continued, as Seagrave, without comment, added five more golden guineas to Lambert's little hoard, see how wise it was to stake a goodly sum. That is the whole art of the game of Primero, to know just what to stake on each card in accordance with its value and the law of averages. But you will learn in time, young man, you will learn. The game doth not appear to be vastly complicated, assented Lambert lightly. I have played Primero on a system for years, quote Lord Walterton sententiously. But tonight, hick by gad, I cannot make the system work right, hick. But already Seagrave was dealing again. Lambert staked more coolly now. In his mind he had already set aside the original five guineas which came from his grandmother, with strange ease and through no merit of his own, yet perfectly straightforwardly and honestly he had become the owner of another five, these he felt more justified in risking on the hazard of the game. But the goddess of fortune smiling benignly on this country-bred lad had in a wayward mood apparently taken him under her special protection. He staked and won again, and then again pleased at his success, in spite of himself feeling the subtle poison of excitement creeping into his veins, yet remaining perfectly calm outwardly the while. Seagrave, on the other hand, was losing in exact proportion to the newcomer's winnings. Already his pile of gold had perceptibly diminished, whilst the hectic flush on his cheeks became more and more accentuated, the glitter in his eyes more unnatural and feverish, his hands as they shuffled and dealt the cards more trembling and febrile. Upon my honor, quotes Sir Marmaduke, throwing a careless glance at the table, me seems you are in luck, my good Lambert. Doubtless you are not sorry now that you allowed yourself to be persuaded. Tis not unpleasant to win, rejoined Lambert lightly, but believe me, sir, the game itself gives me no pleasure. I pay nave and upwards, declared Seagrave in a dry and hollow voice, and with burning eyes fixed upon his new and formidable opponent. My last sovereign, pardue, swore Lord Walterton, throwing the money across to Seagrave with an unsteady hand. And one of my last said Sir Michael, as he followed suit. And what is your stake, Master Lambert? queried Seagrave. Twenty pounds, I see, replied the young man, as with a careless hand he counted over the gold which lay palmel on his card. I staked on the king without counting. Seagrave, in his turn, pushed some gold towards him. The pile in front of him was not half the size it had been before this stranger from the country had sat down to play. He tried to remain master of himself, not to show before these egotistical, careless cavaliers all the agony of mind which he now endured and which had turned to positive physical torture. The ghost of stolen money, of exposure, of pillory and punishment which had so perceptibly paled as he saw the chance of replacing by his unexpected winnings that which he had purloined once more rose to confront him. Again he saw before him the irresistible employer pointing with relentless finger at the deficiency in the accounts. Again he saw his weeping mother, his stern father, the disgrace, the irretrievable past. You are not leaving off playing, sir Michael. He asked anxiously as the latter, having handed him over a golden guinea, rose from the table and without glancing at his late partners in the game, turned his back on them all. Pardue he retorted speaking roughly and none too civilly over his shoulder. My pockets are empty, like Master Lambert here he added with an unmistakable sneer. I find no pleasure in this sort of game. What do you mean, queried Seagrave Hotley? Oh, nothing rejoined the other dryly. You need not heed my remark. Are you not losing too? What does he mean, asked Lambert, with a puzzled frown, instinctively turning to his employer? Not, not, my good Lambert, replied Sir Marmaduke, dropping his voice to a whisper. Sir Michael Isherwood hath lost more than he can afford, and is somewhat choleric of temper, that is all. And in a little quiet game my good young friend, added Endicott, also in a whisper, to his wisest, to take no heed of a loser's vapors. I pay ace only, quotes Seagrave triumphantly, who in the meantime had continued the game. Lord Walter Tentz swore aloud, and prolonged oath, he had staked five guineas on a king and had lost. Ventra sank grace, and likewise par lay sang blue. He said, the first time I have had a king, Seagrave ye must leave me, these few little yellow toys, else I cannot pay for my lodgings tonight. I'll give you a bill, but I've had enough of this by gad. And somewhat sobered, though still unsteady, he rose from the table. Surely, my lord, you are not leaving off too, asked Seagrave. Nay, how can I continue? He turned his breeches, pockets, ostentatiously inside out. Behold, friend, these two beautiful and innocent little deers. You can give me more bills, urged Seagrave, and you lose, you may not lose after this, tis lucky to play on credit, and your bills are always met, my lord. He spoke with feverish volubility, though his throat was parched, and every word he uttered caused him pain. But he was determined that the game should proceed. He had won a little of his own back again, the last few rounds. Certainly his luck would turn once more. His luck must turn once more, or else. Nay, nay, I've had enough, said lord Walterton, nodding a heavy head up and down. There are too many of my bills about, as it is, I've had enough. Me thinks of a truth, said Lambert decisively, that this game has indeed lasted long enough, and if some other gentleman would but take my place. He made a movement, as if to rise from the table, but was checked by a harsh laugh and a peremptory word from Seagrave. Impossible, said the latter, you, master Lambert, cannot leave off in any case, my lord, another hand, he urged again. Nay, nay, my dear Seagrave, replied lord Walterton, shaking himself like a sleepy dog, the game hath ceased to have any pleasure for me, as our young friend here hath remarked, I wish you good luck and good night, whereupon he turned on his heel and straddled away to another corner of the room, away from the temptation of that green-covered table. We too, then, master Lambert, said Seagrave, with ever-growing excitement, what say you, double or quits, and he pointed with that same feebrile movement of his to the heap of gold standing on the table beside Lambert. As you please, replied the latter quietly, as he pushed the entire pile forward, Seagrave dealt, then turned up his card. Ten, he said curtly. Mine is a nave, rejoined Lambert. How do we stand? queried the other, as with a rapid gesture he passed a trembling hand over his burning forehead. Me thinks you owe me a hundred pounds, replied Richard, who seemed strangely calm in the very midst of this inexplicable and volcanic turmoil which he felt was seething all round him. He had won a hundred pounds of fortune in those days for a country lad like himself, but for the moment the thought of what that hundred pounds would mean to him and to his brother Adam was lost in the whirl of excitement which had risen to his head like wine. He had steadily refused the glasses of muskadel or sac, which Mistress Endicott had insinuatingly and persistently been offering him, ever since he began to play, yet he felt intoxicated with strange currents of fire which seemed to run through his veins. The subtle poison had done its work, any remorse which he may have felt at first for thus acting against his own will and better judgment and for yielding like a weakling to persuasion which had no moral rectitude for basis was momentarily smothered by the almost childish delight of winning, of seeing the pile of gold growing in front of him. He had never handled money before. It was like a fascinating yet insidious toy which he could not help but finger. Are you not playing rather high, gentlemen? came indulged at tones from Mistress Endicott. I do not allow high play in my house. Master Lambert, I would feign ask you to cease. I am more than ready, madame, said Richard with alacrity. Nay, but I am not ready, interposed sea-grave vehemently. Nay, nay, he repeated with feverish insistence. Master Lambert cannot cease playing now. He is bound in honor to give me a chance for revenge. Double or quits, Master Lambert. Double or quits, as you please, quote Lambert imperturbably. Ye cannot cut to each other, here interposed Endicott didactically. The rules of Primero moreover demand that if there are but two players, a third and disinterested party, shall deal the cards. Then will you cut and deal, Master Endicott, said sea-grave impatiently. I care not, so long as I can break Master Lambert's luck and redeem mine own. Double or quits, Master Lambert. Double or quits, I shall either owe you two hundred pounds or not one penny, in which case we can make a fresh start. Lambert eyed him with curiosity, sympathetically too, for the young man was in a state of terrible mental agitation, whilst he himself felt cooler than before. Endicott dealt each of the two opponents a card face downwards, but even as he did so, the one which he had dealt to Lambert fluttered to the ground, he stooped and picked it up. Sea-grave's eyes at the moment were fixed on his own card, Lambert's on the face of his opponent. No one else in the room was paying any attention to the play of the two young men, for every one was busy with his own affairs. Play was general, the hour late. The wines had been heady, and all tempers were at fever pitch. No one, therefore, was watching Endicott's movements at the moment when he ostensibly stooped to pick up the fallen card. It is not faced. He said, What shall we do? Give it to Master Lambert forsooth, quote Mistress Endicott, tis unlucky to re-deal. Providing, she added artfully, that Master Sea-grave hath no objection. Nay, nay, said the latter, begad, why should we stop the game for a trifle? Then as Lambert took the card from Endicott, and casually glanced at it, Sea-grave declared, Queen, King, retorted Lambert with the same perfect calm, King of diamonds, that card has been persistently faithful to me tonight. The devil himself hath been faithful to you, Master Lambert, said Sea-grave tonelessly, you have the hell's own luck, what do I pay you now? It was double, or quits, Master Sea-grave rejoined Lambert, which brings it up to two hundred pounds, you will do me the justice to own that I did not seek this game. In his heart he had already resolved not to make use of his own winnings. Somehow, as in a flash of intuition, he perceived the whole tragedy of dishonor and of ruin, which seemed to be writ on his opponent's face. He understood that what he had regarded as a toy, welcome no doubt, but treacherous for all that, was a matter of life or death. Nay, more may hap to that pallid youth, with the hectic flush, the unnaturally bright eyes, and trembling hands. There was silence for a while round the green-topped table, whilst thoughts, feelings, presentiments of very varied kinds congregated there, with Endicott and his wife, and also with Sir Marmaduke, it was acute tension, the awful nerve strain of anticipation. The seconds for them seemed an eternity. The obsession of waiting was like lead on their brains. During that moment of acute suspense, Richard Lambert was quietly coordinating his thoughts. With that one mental flashlight which had shown up to him, the hitherto unsuspected tragedy, the latent excitement in him had vanished. He saw his own weakness in its true light, despised himself for having yielded, and looked upon the heap of gold before him as so much ill-gotten wealth, which it would be a delight to restore to the hand from once it came. He heartily pitied the young man before him, and was forming vague projects of how best to make him understand in private and without humiliation that the money which he had lost would be returned to him in full. Strangely enough, he was still holding in his hand that king of diamonds which Endicott had dealt to him. Disgrace Seagrave, too, had been silent, of course. In his mind there was neither suspense nor calm. It was utter dull and blank despair which assailed him, the ruin of his fondest hopes, an awful abyss of disgrace, of punishment, of death at best, which seemed to yawn before him from the other side of the bay's covered table. Instinct, that ever-present instinct of self-control, peculiar to the gently bred race of mankind, caused him to make frantic efforts to keep himself and his nerves in check. He would, even at this moment of complete ruin, have given the last shreds of his worldly possessions to be able to steady the febrile movements of his hand. The pack of cards was on the table just as Endicott had put it down, after dealing with the exception of the queen of hearts in front of Seagrave and the lucky king of diamonds on which Lambert was still mechanically gazing. He was undoubtedly moved by the desire to hide the trembling of his hands and the gathering tears in his eyes when he began idly to scatter the pack upon the table, spreading out the cards, fingering them one by one, setting his teeth the while lest that latent cry of misery should force its way across his lips. Suddenly he paused in this idle fingering of the cards, his eyes which already were burning with hot tears seemed to take on an almost savage glitter. A hoarse cry escaped his parched lips. In the name of heaven, Master Seagrave, what ails you, cried Endicott, with well-famed concern. Seagrave's hand wandered mechanically to his own neck. He tugged at the fastening of his lace collar as if in truth he were choking. The king, the king of diamonds, he murmured in a hollow voice, two, two kings of diamonds. He laughed, a long, harsh laugh, the laugh of a maniac or of a man possessed whilst one long, thin finger pointed tremblingly to the card still held by Richard Lambert and then to its counterpart in the midst of the scattered pack. That laugh seemed to echo all round the room. Dames and cavaliers, players and idlers, looked up to see whence that weird sound had come. Instinctively the crowd drew nigh. Dice and cards were pushed aside. Some strange drama was being enacted between two young men, more interesting even than the caprices of fortune. But already Endicott and also Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse had followed the beckonings of Seagrave's feverish hand. There could be no mistake in what they saw nor yet in the ominous consequences which it foretold. There was a king of diamonds in the scattered pack of cards upon the table, and yet the card which Lambert held in consequence of which he had just won two hundred pounds was also the king of diamonds. Two kings of diamonds by all that's damnable, quote Lord Walterton who had been the first to draw nigh. But in heaven's name what does it all mean exclaimed Lambert gazing at the two cards hearing the comments round him yet utterly unable to understand. Seagrave jumped to his feet. It means young man he ejaculated in a wild state of frenzy maddened by his losses, his former crime, his present ruin. It means that you are a damned thief. And with frantic excited gesture he gathered up the cards and threw them violently into Richard Lambert's face. A curious sound went round the room. A gasp, hardly a cry, and all those present held their breath silent appalled at the terrible tragedy expressed by these two young men standing face to face on the brink of a deathly and almost blasphemous conflict. Mistress Endicott was the first to utter a cry. Silence, silence, she shouted shrilly. Master Seagrave, I adjure you to be silent. I'll not permit you to insult my guest. Already Lambert had made a quick movement to throw himself on Seagrave, the elemental instinct of self-defense, of avenging a terrible insult by physical violence rose within him whispering of strength and power of the freedom, muscle-giving life of the country as against the innervating weakening influence of the town. He knew that in a hand-to-hand struggle with the feverish emaciated townsmen he, the country bread lad, the haunter of woods and cliffs, the dweller of the Thanet Smithy would be more than a match for his opponent. But even as his whole body stiffened for a spring, his muscles tightened and his fists clenched, a dozen restraining hands held him back from his purpose whilst Mistress Endicott's shrill tones seemed to bring him back to the realities of his own peril. Mistress Endicott, he said, turning a proud yet imploring look to the lady whose virtues had been so loudly proclaimed in his ears, Madam, I appeal to you, I implore you to listen, a frightful insult which you have witnessed, an awful accusation on which I scarce can trust myself to dwell has been hurled at me. I entreat you to allow me to challenge these two gentlemen to explain. And he pointed both to Seagrave and to Endicott. The former, after his mad outburst of ungovernable rage, had regained a certain measure of calm. He stood, facing Lambert, with arms folded across his chest, whilst a smile of insulting irony curled his thin lips. Endicott's eyes seemed to be riveted on Lambert's breast, at mention of his own name, he suddenly darted forward and seemed to be plunging his hand, the hand which almost disappeared within the ample folds of the voluminous lace cough into the breast pocket of the young man's doublet. His movements were so quick, so sure, and so unexpected that no one, least of all Lambert, could possibly guess what was his purpose. The next moment, less than a second later, he had again withdrawn his hands, but now everyone could see that he held a few cards in it. These he dropped with an exclamation of loathing and contempt upon the table, whilst those around instinctively drew back a step or two, as if fearful of coming in contact with something impure and terrible. Endicott's movements, his quick gestures, well aided by the wide lace coughs which fell over his hand, his exclamation of contempt had all contributed to make it seem before the spectators, as if he had found a few winning cards secreted inside the lining of Richard Lambert's doublet. Nay, young sir, he said with an evil sneer, me seems that explanations had best come from you. Here he added, pointing significantly at the cards which he had just dropped out of his own hand. Here is a vastly pleasing collection, aces and kings passing serviceable in a quiet game of primaro among friends. Lambert had been momentarily dumbfounded for undoubtedly he had not perceived Endicott's treacherous movements and had absolutely no idea whence had come those awful cards which somehow or other seemed to be convicting him of lying and cheating. So conscious was he of his own innocence that never for a moment did the slightest fear cross his mind that he could not immediately make clear his own position and proclaim his own integrity. This is an infamous plot, he said calmly but very firmly. Sir Marmaduke de Chivas he added, turning to face his employer who still stood motionless and silent in the background. In the name of heaven I beg of you to explain to these gentlemen that you have known me from boyhood. Will you speak? He added insistently, conscious of a strange tightening of his heartstrings as the man on whom he relied remained impassive and made no movement to come to his help. Will you tell them I pray you sir that you know me to be a man of honor incapable of such villainy as they suggest you know that I did not even wish to play. That reluctance of yours my good Lambert seems to have made a pretty comedy for Seuth, replied Sir Marmaduke lightly, and you played to some purpose me seems when you once began. Nay, I pray you he added with unmitigated harshness do not drag me into your quarrels. I cannot of a truth champion your virtue. Lambert's cheeks became deathly pale. The first inkling of the deadly peril of his own situation had suddenly come to him with Sir Marmaduke's callous words. It seemed to him as if the very universe must stand still in the face of such treachery. The man whom he loved with all the fervor of a grateful nature. The man who knew him and whom he had wholly trusted was proving his most bitter most damning enemy. After Sir Marmaduke's speech his own employer's repudiation he felt that all his chances of clearing his character before these sneering gentlemen had suddenly vanished. This is cruel and infamous he protested conscious innocence within him still striving to fight a hard battle against overwhelming odds. Gentlemen, as I am a man of honor I swear that I do not know what all this means. It means, young man, that you are an accursed cheat, a thief, a liar, shouted sea-grave, whose last vestige of self-control suddenly vanished whilst mad frenzy once more held him in its grip. I swear by God that you shall pay me for this. He threw himself with all the strength of a raving maniac upon Lambert who for the moment was taken unawares and yielded to the suddenness of the onslaught. But it was indeed a conflict twixed town and country the simple life against nightly dissipations, the forests and cliffs of Thanet against the innervating atmosphere of the city. After that first onrush Lambert with marvelous agility and quick knowledge of a hand-to-hand fight had shaken himself free of his opponent's trembling grasp. It was his turn now to have the upper hand and in a trice he had with a vigorous clutch gripped his opponent by the throat. In a sense his calmness had not forsaken him. His mind was as quiet as clear as heretofore. It was only his muscle, his bodily energy in the face of a violent and undeserved attack which had ceased to be under his control. Man, man, he murmured, gazing steadily into the eyes of his antagonist, ye shall swallow those words or by heaven I will kill you. The tumult which ensued drowned everything, save itself everything, even the sound of that slow and measured tramp, tramp, tramp, which was wafted up from the street. The women shouted, the men swore, some ran like frightened sheep to the distant corners of the room. Fearful lest they be embroiled in this unpleasant frocus, others crowded round Seagrave and Lambert, trying to pacify them, to drag the strong youth away from his weaker opponent, almost his victim now. Some were for forcibly separating them, others for allowing them to fight their own battles and loud voiced arguments, subsidiary quarrels, mingled with the shrill cries of terror and caused a din which grew in deafening intensity, degenerating into a wild orgy as glasses were knocked off the tables, cards strewn about, candles sent flying and spluttering upon the ground, and still that measured tramp down the street, growing louder, more distinct, a muffled halt, the sound of arms, of men moving about beneath that yawning archway and along the dark and dismal passage with its hermetically closed front door. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Deon Jines Celtic City, Utah My Lord Protector's Patrol Alone Sir Marmadude de Chivas had taken no part in the confused turmoil which raged around the personalities of Seagrave and Richard Lambert. From the moment that he had with studied callousness turned his back on his erstwhile protégé, he had held aloof from the crowd which had congregated around the two young men. He saw before him the complete success of his nefarious plan which had originated in the active brain of Aditha but had been perfected in his own of heaping dire and lasting disgrace on the man who had become troublesome and interfering of late who was a serious danger to his more important schemes. After the fracas of this night Richard Lambert forsooth could never show his face within two hundred miles of London the ugly story of his having cheated at cards and been publicly branded as a liar and a thief by a party of gentlemen would of assurity penetrate even within the fastnesses of then it. So far everything was for the best. Nay, it might be better still for a sea-grave enraged and maddened at his losses might succeed in getting Lambert imprisoned for stealing and cheating even at the cost of his own condemnation to a fine for gambling. The endicots had done their part well the man especially with his wide cuffs and his quick movements no one there present could have the slightest doubt but that Lambert was guilty satisfied therefore that all had gone according to his own wishes Sir Marmaduke withdrew from further conflict or argument with the unfortunate young man whom he had so deliberately and so hopelessly ruined. And because he thus kept aloof his ears were not so completely filled with the dim nor his mind so wholly engrossed by the hand-to-hand struggle between the two young men that he did not perceive that other sound which in spite of barred windows and drawn curtains came up from the street below. At first he had only listened carelessly to the measured tramp but the cry of halt issuing from immediately beneath the windows caused his cheeks to blanch and his muscles to stiffen with a sudden sense of fear. He cast a rapid glance all around. Seagrave and Lambert both flushed and panting were forcibly held apart. Sir Marmaduke noted with a grim smile that the latter was obviously the center of a hostile group whilst Seagrave was surrounded by a knot of sympathizers who were striving outwardly to pacify him whilst in reality urging him on through their unbridled the tuperations directed against the other man. The noise of arguments of shrill voices of admonitions and violent abuse had in no sense abated. Over the sea of excited faces Sir Marmaduke caught the wide open terrified eyes of Aditha de Chivas. She too had heard. He beckoned to her across the room with a slight gesture of the hand and she obeyed the silent call as quickly as she dared working her way round to him without arousing the attention of the crowd. Do not lose your head he whispered as soon as she was near him and seeing the wild terror expressed in every line of her face slip into the next room and leave the door ajar do this as quietly as may be now at once then wait there until I come. Again she obeyed him silently and swiftly for she knew what that cry of halt meant uttered at the door of her house. She had heard it even as Sir Marmaduke had done and after it the peremptory knocks the loud call the word of command followed by the sound of an odd and supplicating voice entering a feeble protest. She knew what all that meant and she was afraid. As soon as Sir Marmaduke saw that she had done just as he had ordered he deliberately joined the noisy groups which were congregated around Seagrave and Lambert. He pushed his way forward and a non-stood face-to-face with the young man on whom he had just read such an irreparable wrong. Not a thought of compunction or remorse rose in his mind as he looked down at the handsome flushed face quite calm and set outwardly in spite of the terrible agony raging within heart and mind. Lambert, he said gruffly, listened to me. Your conduct hath been most unseemly. Mistress Endicott has for my sake already shown you much kindness and forbearance had she acted as she had the right to do she would have had you kicked out of the house by her servants. In your own interest now I should advise you to follow me quietly out of the house. But this suggestion raised a hot protest on the part of all the spectators. He shall not go, declared Seagrave violently, not without leaving behind him what he has deliberately stolen, commented Endicott, raising his oily voice above the din. Lambert had waited patiently whilst his employer spoke, the last remnant of that original sense of deference and of gratitude caused him to hold himself in check lest he should strike that treacherous coward in the face. Sir Marmaduke's callousness in the face of his peril and unmerited disgrace had struck Lambert with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment and loneliness. But his cruel insults now quashed despair and roused dormant indignation to fever pitch. One look at Sir Marmaduke's sneering face had told him, not only that he could expect no help from the man who, by all the laws of honour, should have stood by him in his helplessness, but that he was the fount and source, the instigator of the terrible wrong and injustice which was about to land an innocent man in the various abyss of humiliation and irretrievable disgrace. And so this was your doing, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, he said, looking his triumphant enemy boldly in the face, even whilst compelling silent attention from those who were heaping appropriate appetites upon him, you enticed me here, you persuaded me to play, then you tried to rob me of my honour, of my good name, the only valuable assets which I possess, hell and all its devils alone, know why you did this thing, but I swear before God that your hideous crime shall not remain unpunished. Silence commanded Sir Marmaduke, who was the first to perceive the strange, almost supernatural, effect produced on all those present by the young man's earnestness, his impressive calm, sea-grave himself stood silent and abashed, whilst everyone listened, unconsciously awed by that unmistakable note of righteousness which somehow rang through Lambert's voice, nay, but I'll not be silent, quote Richard, unperturbed, I have been condemned and I have the right to speak, you have disgraced me, and I have the right to defend my honour by protesting my innocence, and now I will leave this house, he said loudly and firmly, for it is accursed and infamous, but God is my witness that I leave it without a stain upon my soul. He pointed to the fateful table whereon a pile of gold lay scattered in an untidy heap with the tiny leather wallet containing his five guineas conspicuously in its mists. There lies the money, he said, speaking directly to sea-grave, take it, sir, for I had never the intention to touch a penny of it. This I swear by all that I hold most sacred, take it without fear or remorse, even though you thought such evil things of me, and let him, who still thinks me a thief, repeat it now to my face, and he dare, even as the last of his loudly uttered words resounded through the room, there was a loud knock at the door and a peremptory voice commanded, open in the name of his highness, the Lord Protector of England. In the dead silence that followed, the buzz of a fly, the spluttering of wax candles, could be distinctly heard. In a moment, with the sound of that peremptory call outside, tumultuous passions seemed to sink to rest, every cheek paled, and masculine hands instinctively sought the handles of swords, whilst lace handkerchiefs were hastily pressed to trembling lips, in order to smother the cry of terror which had risen to feminine throats, open in the name of his highness, the Lord Protector of England. Mistress Endicott was the color of wax, her husband was gripping her wrist with a clutch of steel, trying, through the administration of physical pain, to keep alive her presence of mind, and for the third time came the loud summons, open in the name of his highness, the Lord Protector of England. Still that deathly silence in the room, broken only now by the firm step of Endicott, who went to open the door. Resistance would have been worse than useless, the door would have yielded at the first blow. There was a wailing smothered cry from a dozen terrified throats, and a general rush for the inner room, but this door was now bolted and barred. Sir Marmaduke, unperceived, had slipped quickly within, even whilst everyone held his breath in the first moment of paralyzed terror. Had there been time, there would doubtless have ensued a violent attack against that locked door, but already a man in leather doublet, and wearing a steel cap and collar, had peremptorily pushed Endicott aside, who was making a futile effort to bar the way, after he had opened the door. This man now advanced into the center of the room, whilst a couple of soldierly looking, stalwart fellows, remained at attention on the threshold. Let no one attempt to leave this room. He commanded, here, Braden, he added, turning back to his men, take Pia with you, and search that second room there, then seize all those cards and dice, and also that money. It was not likely that these hot-headed cavaliers would submit thus quietly to an arbitrary act of confiscation and of arrest, hardly were the last words out of the man's mouth, than a dozen blades flashed out of their scabbards. The women screamed, and like so many frightened hens, ran into the corner of the room, furthest out of reach of my Lord Protector's police patrol, the men immediately forming a bulwark in front of them. The whole thing was not very heroic, perhaps a few idlers caught in an illicit act and under threat of arrest. The consequences of a truth would not be vastly severe for the frequenters of this secret club, fines may have, which most of those present could ill afford to pay, and at worst a night's detention in one of those horrible wooden constructions which had lately been erected on the river-bank for the express purpose of causing sundry lordly offenders to pass an uncomfortable night. These were days of forcible levelings, and my Lord, who had contravened old Knoll's laws against swearing and gambling, fared not one whit better than the tramp who had perloined a leg of mutton from an eating-house. Nay, in a measure, my Lord fared a good deal worse, for he looked upon his own detention through the regicide usurper's orders as an indignity to himself, hence the reason why, in this same house, wherein a few idle scions of noble houses indulged in their favorite pastime, when orders rang out in the name of his highness, swords jumped out of their sheaths, and resistance was offered out of all proportion to the threat. The man who seemed to be the captain of the patrol smiled somewhat grimly when he saw himself confronted by this phalanx of gentlemanly weapons. He was a tall, burly fellow, broad of shoulder, and well-looking in his uniform of red with yellow facings, his round, bullet-shaped head, covered by the round steel cap, was suggestive of obstinacy, even of determination. He eyed the flushed and excited throng with some amusement, not wholly unmixed with contempt. Oh, he knew some of the faces well enough by sight, for he had originally served in the train-bands of London, and had oft seen my Lord Walterton, for instance, conspicuous at every entertainment, now pronounced illicit by his highness, and Sir Anthony Bridport, a constant frequenter at Exeter House, and young Lord Nathemire, the son of the Judge. He also had certainly seen young Seagrave before this, whose father had been a member of the long Parliament. The only face that was totally strange to him was that of the youngster in the dark suit of Grogram, who stood somewhat aloof from the irate crowd, and seemed to be viewing the scene with astonishment rather than with alarm. Lord Walterton, flushed with wine, more than anger, constituted himself the spokesman of the party. Who are you? he asked somewhat unsteadily, and what do you want? My name is Gunning, replied the man curtly, Captain commanding his highness's police. What I want is that you gentlemen offer no resistance, but come with me quietly to answer on the morrow, before Judge Perry, a charge of contravening the laws against bedding and gambling. A ribald and prolonged laugh greeted this brief announcement, and some twenty pairs of gentlemanly shoulders were shrugged in token of derision. Hark at the man! Sir James Overbury lightly, me thinks, gentlemen, that our wisest course would be to put up our swords and to throw the fellows downstairs. What say you? I, I, came in cheerful accents from the defiant little group. Out with you, fellow, we've no time to waste in bandying words with ye, said Walterton, with the tone of one accustomed to see the churl ever cringe before the Lord, and let one of thy murmidons touch a thing in this room if he dare. The young Cavalier was standing somewhat in advance of his friends, having stepped forward in order to emphasize the peremptoriness of his words. The women were still in the background well protected by a phalanx of resolute defenders, who, encouraged by the captain's silence and Walterton's haughty attitude, were prepared to force the patrol of police to beat a hasty retreat. Endicott and his wife had seemed to think it prudent to keep well out of sight. The former, having yielded to Gunning's advance, had discreetly retired amongst the petticoats. No one, least of all Walterton, who remained the acknowledged leader of the little party of Gamesters, had any idea of the numerical strength of the patrol whose interference with gentlemanly pastimes was unwarrantable and passing insolent. In the gloom, on the landing beyond, a knot of men could only be vaguely discerned, Captain Gunning and his Lieutenant Braden had alone advanced into the room. But now, apparently, Gunning gave some sign, which Braden then interpreted to the men outside. The sign itself must have been very slight, for none of the Cavaliers perceived it. Certainly no actual word of command had been spoken. But the next moment, within thirty seconds of Walterton's defiant speech, the room itself, the doorway, and apparently the landing and staircase, too, were filled with men, each one attired in scarlet and yellow, all wearing leather doublets and steel caps, and all armed with muscatunes, which they were even now pointing straight at the serried ranks of the surprised and wholly unprepared Gamesters. I would feign not give an order to fire, said Captain Gunning curtly, and if you, gentlemen, will follow me quietly, there need be no bloodshed. It may be somewhat unromantic, but it is certainly prudent to listen at times to the dictates of common sense, and one of Wisdom's most cogent axioms is undoubtedly that it is useless to stand up before a volley of muscatry at a range of less than twelve feet, unless a heroic death is in contemplation. It was certainly very humiliating to be ordered about by a close cropped Puritan, who spoke in nasal tones, and whose father probably had mended boots, or killed pigs, in his day. But the persuasion of twenty-four muscatunes, whose muzzles pointed collectively in one direction, was bound, in the name of common sense, to prevail, ultimately, of a truth none of these gentlemen, who were now content to oppose a comprehensive vocabulary of English and French oaths to the brand new weapons of My Lord Protector's police, were cowards in any sense of the word. Less than a decade ago they had proved their metal not only sword in hand, but in the face of the many privations, sorrows, and humiliations consequent on the failure of their cause, and the defeat and martyrdom of their king. There was therefore nothing mean or pusillanimous in their attitude when having exhausted their vocabulary of oaths, and still seeing before them the muzzles of four and twenty muscatunes pointed straight at them, they one after another dropped their sword points and turned to read in each other's faces uniform desire to surrender to force majeure. The captain watched them impassive and silent until the moment when he, too, could discern in the sullen looks cast at him by some twenty pairs of eyes that these elegant gentlemen had conquered their impulse to hot-headed resistance, but the four and twenty muscatunes were still leveled, nor did the round-headed captain give the order to lower the firearms. I can release most of you gentlemen on parole, he said, and you'll surrender your swords to me. You may go home this night under promise to attend the court tomorrow morning. Braden, in the meantime, had gone to the inner door, and finding it locked, had ordered his companion to break it open. It yielded to the first blow dealt with a vigorous shoulder. The lieutenant went into the room, but finding it empty, he returned and soon was busy in collecting the various pieces' day convictions, which would go to substantiate the charges of gambling and betting against these noble gentlemen. No resistance now was offered, and after a slight moment of hesitation and a brief consultation twixed the more prominent cavaliers, their present, Lord Walterton stepped forward, and having unbuckled his sword through it with no small measure of arrogance and disdain at the feet of Captain Gunning. His example was followed by all his friends, Gunning with arms folded across his chest, watching the proceeding in silence, when Endicott stood before him. However, he said curtly, Not you, I think. Me seems I know you too well, fine sir, to release you on parole. Braden, he added, turning to his lieutenant, have this man duly guarded and conveyed to Queen's Head Alley to-night. Then as Endicott tried to protest, and Gunning gave a sharp order for his immediate removal, Seagrave pushed his way forward. He wore no sword, and like Lambert he had stood aloof throughout this brief scene of turbulent yet futile resistance, silent, silent, and burning with a desire for revenge against the man who had turned the current of his luck, and brought him back to that abyss of despair, once he now knew there could be no release. Captain, he said firmly, Though I wear no sword, I am at one with all these gentlemen, and I accept my release on parole. Tomorrow I will answer for my offense of playing cards, which apparently is an illicit pastime. I am one of the pigeons who have been plucked in this house. By that gentleman queried Gunning with a grim smile, and nodding over his shoulder in the direction where Endicott was being led away by a couple of armed men. No, not by him, replied Seagrave boldly, with a somewhat theatrical gesture he pointed to Lambert, who, more of a spectator than a participant in the scene, had been standing mutely by outside the defiant group, absorbed in his own misery, wondering what effect the present unforeseen juncture would have on his future chances of rehabilitating himself. He was also vaguely wondering what had become of Sir Marmaduke and Mistress de Chavasse, but now Seagrave's voice was raised, and once more Lambert found himself the signisher of a number of hostile glances. There stands the man who has robbed us all, said Seagrave wildly, and now he has heaped disgrace upon us, upon me and mine, curse him, curse him, I say. He continued, whilst all the pent-up fury forcibly kept in check, all this while, by the advent of the police, now once more found vent in loud fituporation, and almost maniacal expressions of rage. Liar, cheat, look at him, Captain! There stands the man who must bear the full brunt of the punishment, for he is the decoy, he is the thief, the pillory for him, the pillory, the lash, the brand, curse him, curse him, the thief. He was surrounded and forcibly silenced. The foam had risen to his lips, impotent, fury, and agonized despair had momentarily clouded his brain. Lambert tried to speak, but the Captain, unwilling to prolong a conflict, over which he was powerless to arbitrate, gave a sign to Brayden, and anon the two young men were led away in the wake of endocot. The others, on giving their word that they would appear before the court on the morrow, and answer to the charge preferred against them, were presently allowed to walk out of the room in single file, between a double row of soldiers whose muskatoons were still unpleasantly conspicuous. Thus they passed out one by one across the passage, and down the dark staircase. The door below they found was also guarded, as well as the passage and the archway giving on the street. Here they were permitted to collect or disperse at will. The ladies, however, had not been allowed to participate in the order for release. Gunning knew most of them by sight. They were worthy neither of consideration nor respect, paid satellites of mistress endocots employed to keep up the good spirits of that lady's clientele. The soldiers drove them all together before them in a compact, shrinking, and screaming group. Then the word of command was given. The soldiers stood at attention, turned and finally marched out of the room with their prisoners, Gunning being the last to leave. He locked the door behind him, and in the wake of his men, presently wended his way down the tortuous staircase. Once more the measured tramp was heard reverberating through the house, the cry of attention, of quick march echoed beneath the passage and the tumble down archway, and anon, the last of these ominous sounds, died away down the dismal street in the direction of the river, and in one of the attics at the top of the now silent and lonely house in Bath Street, lately the scene of so much gaiety and joy of such turmoil of passions and intensity of despair, two figures, a man and a woman, crouched together in a dark corner, listening for the last dying echo of that measured tramp. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. In the meanwhile, the news of the police raid on a secret gambling club in London, together with the fracas which it entailed, had of necessity reached even as far as Seagirt Thanet. Squire Boatfield had been the first to hear of it. He spread the news as fast as he could, for he was overfond of gossip, and Dame Harrison, over at St. Lawrence, had lent him able assistance. Sir Marmaduke had, of course, the fullest details concerning the affair, for he himself owned, to having been present, in the very house where the disturbance had occurred. He was not averse to his neighbors, knowing that he was a frequenter of those exclusive and smart gambling clubs, which were avowedly the resort of the most elegant cavaliers of the day. And his account of some of the events of that memorable night had been as entertaining as it was highly colored. He avowed, however, that disgusted at Richard Lambert's shameful conduct, he had quitted the place early, some little while, before my Lord Protector's police had made a dissent upon the gamblers. As for Mr. Estée Chevasse, her name was never mentioned in connection with the affair. She had been in London at the time, certainly staying with a friend who was helping her in the choice of a new gown for the coming autumn. She returned to Acle Court with her brother-in-law, apparently as horrified as he was at the disgrace which she vowed Richard Lambert had heaped upon them all. The story of the young man being caught in the very act of cheating at cards lost nothing in the telling. He had been convicted before Judge Perry of obtaining money by lying and other illicit means, had been condemned to fine and imprisonment, and as he refused to pay the former, most obstinately declaring that he was penniless, he was made to stand for two hours in the pillory, and was finally dragged through the streets in a rickety cart in full sight of a jeering crowd, sitting with his back to the nag in company of the public hangman, and attired in shameful and humiliating clothes. What happened to him after undergoing this wonderfully lenient sentence, for many there were who thought he should have been publicly whipped and branded as a cheat, nobody knew or cared. They kept him in prison for over ten weeks, it seems, but Sir Marmaduke did not know what had become of him since then. The other gentleman got off fairly lightly with fines and brief periods of imprisonment. Young Seagrave, so twas said, had been shipped to New England by his father, but Master and Mistress Endicott had gone beyond the seas at the expense of the State, and not for their own pleasure or advancement. It appears that my Lord Protector's vigilance patrol had kept a very sharp eye on these two people, who had more than once had to answer for illicit acts before the courts. They tried in a most shameful manner, it appears, to implicate Sir Marmaduke and Mistress de Chevasse in their disgrace, but as the former very pertinently remarked, how could he, as simple Kentish squire, have ought to do with a smart London club, and people of such evil repute as the Endicott's could of a truth never be believed. All these rumors and accounts had, of course, also reached Sue's ears. At first she took up an attitude of aggressive incredulity when her former friend was accused. Nothing but the plain facts, as set forth in the public advertiser of August the Fifth, would convince her that Richard Lambert could be so base and mean as Sir Marmaduke had avirred. Even then, in her innermost heart, a vague and indefinable instinct called out to her, in Lambert's name, not to believe all that was said of him. She could not think of him as lying and cheating at a game of cards, when common sense itself told her that he was not sufficiently conversant with its rules to turn them to his own advantage. Her hot-headed partisanship of him gave way of necessity as the weeks sped by to a more passive disapproval of his condemnation, and this in its turn to a kindly charity for what she thought must have been his ignorance rather than his sin. What worried her most was that he was not nigh her, now that her sentimental romance was reaching its super-acute crisis. During her guardian's temporary absence from Acle, she had made earnest and resolute efforts to see her mysterious lover. She thought that he must know that Sir Marmaduke and Mistress de Chevasse were away, and that she herself was free momentarily from watchful eyes. Yet, though with pathetic persistence she haunted the park and the woodlands around the court, she never even once caught sight of the broad-brimmed hat and drooping plume of her romantic prince. It seemed as if the earth had swallowed him up. Upset and vaguely terrified she had on one occasion thrown prudence to the winds and sought out the old Quakerus and Adam Lambert with whom he lodged. But the old Quakerus was very deaf, and explanations with her were laborious and unsatisfactory, whilst Adam seemed to entertain a sullen and irresponsible dislike for the foreigner. All she gathered from these two was that there was nothing unusual in this sudden disappearance of their lodger. He came and went most erratically, went no one knew whether, returned at most unexpected moments, never slept more than an hour or two in his bed, which he quitted at amazingly early hours, strolling out of the cottage when all decent folk were just beginning their night's rest, and wandering off unseen, unheard, only to return as he had gone. He paid his money for his room regularly, however, and this was vastly acceptable these hard times. But to Sue it was passing strange that her prince should be out of her reach, just when Sir Marmaduke's and Mistress de Chevasse's absence had made their meetings more easy and pleasant. Yet with it all she was equally conscious of an unaccountable feeling of relief, and every evening when at about eight o'clock she returned homewards after having vainly awaited the prince, there was nothing of the sadness and disappointment in her heart which Amade should feel when she has failed to see her lover. She was just as much in love with him as ever. Oh, of that she felt quite sure. She still thrilled at thought of his heroic martyrdom for the cause which he had at heart. She still was conscious of a wonderful feeling of elation when she was with him, and of pride when she saw this remarkable hero, this selfless patriot at her feet, and heard his impassioned declarations of love, even when these were alloyed with frantic outbursts of jealousy. She still yearned for him when she did not see him, even though she dreaded his ill-humour when he was nigh. She had promised to be his wife soon and in secret, for he had vowed that she did not love him if she condemned him to three long months of infinite torture from jealousy and suspense. This promise she had given him freely and wholeheartedly more than a fortnight ago. Since that memorable evening, when she had thus plighted her trust to him, when she had without a shadow of fear or a tremor of compunction entrusted her entire future, her heart and soul to his keeping, since then she had not seen him. Sir Marmaduke had gone to London, also Mistress de Chevasse, and she had not even caught sight of the weird silhouette of her French prince. Lambert too had gone, put out of her way temporarily, or may have forever, through the irresistible force of a terrible disgrace. There was no one to spy on her movements, no one to dog her footsteps, yet she had not seen him. When her guardian returned, he seemed so engrossed with Lambert's misdeeds that he gave little thought to his ward. He and Mistress de Chevasse were closeted together for hours in the small withdrawing room, whilst she was left to roam about the house and grounds unchallenged. Then at last one evening it was late August then, when despair had begun to grip her heart, and she herself had become the prey of vague fears, of terrors for his welfare, his life may have, on which he had oft told her that the vengeful king of France had set a price. One evening he came to greet her, walking through the woods, treading the soft carpet of moss with a light elastic step. Oh, that had been a rapturous evening, one which she oft strove to recall, now that sadness had once more overwhelmed her. He had been all tenderness, all love, all passion. He vowed that he adored her, as an idolater would worship his divinity. Jealous, oh yes, madly, insanely jealous, for she was fair above all women, and sweet, and pure, and tempting to all men, like some ripe and juicy fruit, ready to fall into a yearning hand. But his jealousy took on a note of melancholy and of humility. He worshiped her so, and wished to feel her all his own. She listened and tranced, forgetting her terrors, her disappointments, the vague ennui which had assailed her of late. She yielded herself to the delights of his caresses, to the joy of this hour of solitude and rapture. The night was close and stormy. From afar muffled peals of thunder echoed through the gigantic elms, whilst vivid flashes of lightning weirdly lit up at times the mysterious figure of this romantic lover, with his face forever in shadow, one eye forever hidden behind a black band, his voice forever muffled. But it was a tempestuous wooing, a renewal of that happy evening in the spring. Oh, so long ago it seemed now, when first he had poured in her ear the wild torrents of his love. The girl, so young, so inexperienced, so romantic, was literally swept off her feet. She listened to his wild words, yielded her lips to his kiss, and whilst she half feared the impetuosity of his mood, she delighted in the very terrors it evoked. A secret marriage? Why, of course, since he suffered so terribly through not feeling her all his own. Soon, at once, at Dover, before the clergyman, at all souls with whom he, her prince, had already spoken. Yes, it would have to be at Dover, for the neighboring villages might prove too dangerous, Sir Marmaduke might hear of it, may have it would rest with her to free herself for one day. Then came that delicious period of scheming, of stage managing everything for the all important day. He would arrange about a chase, and she would walk up to the Canterbury road to meet it. He would await her in the church at Dover, for it was best that they should not be seen together until after the happy knot was tied, when he declared that he would be ready to defy the universe. It had been a long interview, despite the tempest that raged above and around them. The great branches of the elms groaned and cracked under fury of the wind. The thunder peeled overhead, and then died away with slow majesty out towards the sea. From afar could be heard the angry billows dashing themselves against the cliffs. They had to seek shelter under the collinated porch of the summer house, and Sue had much ado to keep the heavy drops of rain from reaching her shoes and the bottom of her curdle. But she was attuned with the storm. She loved to hear the weird sh-sh-sh of the leaves, the monotonous drip of the rain on the roof of the summer house, and in the intervals of intense blackness to catch sight of her lover's face, pale of hue, with one large eye glancing cyclops-like into hers as a vivid flash of lightning momentarily tore the darkness asunder and revealed him still crouching at her feet. Intense lassitude followed the wild mental turmoil of that night. She had arranged to meet him again two days hence in order to repeat to him what she had heard the while of Sir Marmaduke's movements and when she was like to be free to go to Dover. During those intervening two days she tried hard to probe her own thoughts, her mind, her feelings, but what she found buried in the innermost recesses of her heart frightened her so that she gave up thinking. She lay awake most of the night telling herself how much she loved her prince. She spent half a day in the perusal of a strange book called The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by one William Shakespeare who had lived not so long ago and found herself pondering as to whether her own sentiments with regard to her prince were akin to those so exquisitely expressed by those two young people who had died because they loved one another so dearly. Then she heard that towards the end of the week Sir Marmaduke and Mistress de Chevasse would be journeying together to Canterbury in order to confer with Masters Giffington the lawyer and net her own fortune which was to be handed to her in its entirety in less than three months when she would be of age. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah Breaking the news Sir Marmaduke talked openly of this plan of going to Canterbury with Edith de Chevasse mentioning the following Friday as the most likely date for his voyage. Full of joy she brought the welcome news to her lover that same evening, nor had she caused to regret then her ready acquiescence to his wishes. He was full of tenderness then of gentle discretion in his caresses showing the utmost respect to his future princess. He talked less of his passion and more of his plans in which now she would have her full share. He confided some of his schemes to her. They were somewhat vague and not easy to understand, but the manner in which he put them before her made them seem wonderfully noble and selfless. In a measure this evening so calm and peaceful in contrast to the turbulence of the other night, marked one of the great crises in the history of her love, even when she heard that fate itself was conspiring to help on the clandestine marriage by causing Sir Marmaduke and Mr. Estée Chevasse to absent themselves at a most opportune moment, she had resolved to break the news to her lover of her own immense wealth. Of this he was still in total ignorance, one or two innocent remarks which he had let fall at different times, convinced her of that. Nor was this ignorance of his to be wondered at. He saw no one in or about the village except the old Quakerus and Adam Lambert with whom he lodged. The woman was deaf and uncommunicative, whilst there seemed to be some sort of tacit enmity against the foreigner, latent in the mind of the blacksmith. It was therefore quite natural that he should suppose her no wit less poor than Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse or the other neighbouring Kentish squires whose impecuniousness was too blatant a fact to be unknown even to a stranger in the land. Sue therefore was eagerly looking forward to the happy moment when she would explain to her prince that her share in the wonderful enterprise which he always vaguely spoke of as his great work would not merely be one of impassiveness where he could give the benefit of his personality, his eloquence, his knowledge of men and things she could add the weight of her wealth. Of course she was very, very young, but already from him she had realised that it is impossible even to regenerate mankind and give it political and religious freedom without the help of money. Prince Amade de Orleans himself was passing rich. The fact that he chose to hide in a lonely English village and to live as a poor man would live was only a part of his schemes. For the moment, too, owing to that ever-present vengefulness of the King of France, his estates and revenues were under sequestration. All this, Sue understood full well and it added quite considerably to her joy to think that soon she could relieve the patriot and hero from penury and that the news that she could do so would be a glad surprise for him. Nor must Lady Sue Altmarsh on this account be condemned for an ignorant or a vain fool. Though she was close on twenty-one years of age, she had had absolutely no experience of the world or of mankind. All she knew of either had been conceived in the imaginings of her own romantic brain. Her entire childhood, her youth and maidenhood had gone by in silent and fanciful dreamings, whilst one of the greatest conflicts the world had ever known was raging between men of the same kith and the same blood. The education of women, even those of rank and wealth, was avowedly upon a very simple plan. Most of the noble ladies of that time knew not how to spell. Most of them were content to let the world go by them without giving it thought or care. Others had accomplished prodigies of valor, of heroism, eye, and of determination to help their brothers, husbands, fathers during the worst periods of the civil war. But Sue had been too young when these same prodigies were being accomplished, and her father died before she had reached the age when she could take an active part in the great questions of the day. A mother she had never known, she had no brothers and sisters, a brief time under the care of an old aunt and adwana in a remote Surrey village, and her stay at Pegwell Court under Sir Marmaduke's guardianship was all that she had ever seen of life. Prince Amidae de Orleans was the embodiment of all her dreams, or nearly so. The real hero of her dreams had been handsomer and also more gentle and more trusting, but on the whole he had not been one whit more romantic in his personality and his doings. The manner in which he received the news that unbeknown to him he had been wooing one of the richest brides in the land was characteristic of him. He seemed boundlessly disappointed. It was a beautiful, clear night, and she could see his face quite distinctly and could note how its former happy expression was marred suddenly by a look of sorrow. He owned to being disappointed. He had loved the idea, so he explained, of taking her to him just as she was beautiful beyond compare, but penniless having only her exquisite self to give. Oh, the joy after that of coaxing him back to smiles, the pride of proving herself his aguria for the nonce teaching him how to look upon wealth merely as a means for attaining his great ends for continuing his great work. It had been perhaps the happiest evening in her short life of love. For that day at Dover now only seemed a dream, the hurried tramp to the main road in a torrent of pouring rain, the long drive in the stuffy chase, the arrival just in time for the brief, very brief ceremony in the dark church, with the clergyman in a plain black gown muttering unintelligible words, and the local verger, and the church cleaner acting as the witnesses to her marriage. Her marriage how differently had she conceived that great, that wonderful day, the turning point of a maiden's life, music, flowers, beautiful gowns, and sweet scents filling the air, the sunlight peeping gold, red, purple, or blue, through the glass windows of some exquisite cathedral. The bridegroom arrayed in white, full of joy and pride. She, the bride, with a veil of filmy lace falling over her face to hide the happy blushes. It was a beautiful dream, and the reality was so very, very different. A dark little country church, with the plaster peeling off the walls, the drone of a bewiskered, bald-headed parson, being the sole music which greeted her ears, the rain beating against the broken windowpains, through which icy cold drafts of damp air reached her shoulders and caused her to shiver beneath her kerchief. She wore her pretty, dove-coloured gown, but it was not new, nor had she a veil over her face, only a straw hat such as country women wore. For though she was an heiress and passing rich, her guardian did but ill provide her with smart clothing. And the bridegroom, he had been waiting for her inside the church, and seemed impatient when she arrived. No one had helped her to alight from the rickety chase, and she had to run, in the pouring rain, through the miserable and deserted churchyard. His face seemed to scowl, as she finally stood up beside him, in front of that black, gowned man who was to tie between them the sacred and irrevocable knot of matrimony. His hand had perceptibly trembled when he slipped the ring on her finger, whilst she felt that her own was irresponsive and icy cold. She tried to speak the fateful, I will, buoyantly and firmly, but somehow, owing to the cold may have, the two little words almost died down in her throat. I, it had all been very gloomy and inexpressibly sad. The ceremony, the dear, sweet, sacred ceremony, which was to give her holy to him, him unreservedly to her, was mumbled and hurried through in less than ten minutes. Her bridegroom said not a word. Together they went into the tiny vestry, and she was told to sign her name in a big book, which the bald-headed person held open before her. The prince also signed his name, and then kissed her on the forehead. The clergymen also shook hands, and it was all over. She understood that she had been married by a special license, and that she was now legally and irretrievably the wife of Amade, Henry, Prince de Orleans, de Burgon, and several other places and dependencies abroad. She also understood from what the bald-headed clergymen had spoken when he stood before them in the church and read the marriage service, that she as the wife owed obedience to her husband in all things, for she had solemnly sworn to do so. She herself, body and soul and mind, her goods and chattels, her wealth and all belongings, were from henceforth the property of her husband. Yes, she had sworn to all that, willingly, and there was no going back on that now or ever. But oh, how she wished it had been different. Afterwards, when in the privacy of her own little room at Acle Court, she thought over the whole of that long and dismal day, she oft found herself wondering what it was, through it all, that had seemed so terrifying to her, so strange, so unreal. Something had struck her as weird, something which she could not then define, but she was quite sure that it was not merely the unusual chilliness of that rainy summer's day, which had caused her to tremble so when, in the vestry, her husband had taken her hand and kissed her. She had then looked into his face, which, though the vestry was but ill-lighted by a tiny, very dusty window, she had never seen quite so clearly before, and then it was that the amazing sense of something awful and unreal had descended upon her like a clammy shroud. He had very swiftly averted his own gaze from her, but she had seen something in his face which she did not understand, over which she had pondered ever since, without coming to any solution of this terrible riddle. She had pondered over it during that interminable journey back from Dover to Acle. Her husband had not even suggested accompanying her on her homeward way, nor did she ask him to do so. She did not even think it strange that he gave her no explanation of the reason why he should not return to his lodgings at Acle. She felt like a somnambulist and wondered how soon she would wake and find herself in her small and uncomfortable bed at the court. The next day that feeling of unreality was still there. That sensation of mystery, of something supernatural which persistently haunted her. One thing was quite sure that all the joy had gone out of her life. It was possible that love was still there, she did not know. She was too young to understand the complex sensations which suddenly had made a woman of her. But it was a joyless love now. And all that she knew of a certainty about her own feelings at the present was that she hoped she would never have to gaze into her lover's face again. And heaven help her that he might never touch her again with his lips. Abedient to his behest, hurriedly spoken as she stepped into the chase at Dover after the marriage ceremony she had wandered out every evening beyond the ha-ha into the park on the chance of meeting him. The evenings now were soft and balmy after the rain. The air carried a pungent smell of dahlias and a oak-leaved geraniums to her nostrils which helped her to throw off that miserable feeling of mental lassitude which had weighed her down ever since that fateful day at Dover. She walked slowly along treading the young tendrils of the moss watching with wistful eyes the fleecy clouds as they appeared through the branches of the elms scurrying swiftly out towards the sea, out towards freedom. But evening after evening passed away and she saw no sign of him. She felt the futility, the humiliating uselessness of these nightly peregrinations in search of a man who seemed to have a hundred more desirable occupations than that of meeting his wife. But she had not the power to drift out towards freedom now. She obeyed mechanically because she must. She had sworn to obey and he had bitten her come and wait for him. August yielded to September the oak-leaved geraniums withered whilst from tangled baskets the melancholy eyes of the Michaelmas daisies peeped out questioningly upon the coming autumn. Then one evening his voice suddenly sounded close to her ear, causing her to utter a quickly smothered cry. It had been the one dull day throughout this past glorious month. The night was dark and a warm drizzle had soaked through to her shoulders and wetted the bottom of her curdle so that it hung heavy and dang round her ankles. He had come to her as usual from out the gloom just as she was about to cross the little bridge which spanned the sunk fence. She realized then with one of those sudden quivers of her sensibilities to which, alas, she had become so accustomed of late that he had always met her thus in the gloom, always chosen nights when she could scarce see him distinctly, and this recollection still further enhanced that eerie feeling of terror which had assailed her since that fateful moment in the vestry. But she tried to be natural and even gay with him, though at the first words of tender reproach with which she gently chided him for his prolonged absence he broke into one of those passionate excesses of fury which had always frightened her, but now left her strangely cold and unresponsive. Was the subtle change in him as well as in her? She could not say, certain it is that though his hands had sought hers in the darkness and pressed them vehemently when first they met he had not attempted to kiss her. For this she was immeasurably grateful. He was obviously constrained and so was she, and when she opposed a cold silence to his outburst of passion he immediately and seemingly without any effort changed his tone and talked more reasonably, even glibly, of his work which he said was awaiting him now in France. Everything was ready there he explained for the great political propaganda which he had planned and which could be commenced immediately. All that was needed now was the money in what manner it would be needed and for what definite purpose he did not condescend to explain, nor did she care to ask, but she told him that she would be sole mistress of her fortune on the second of November, the date of her twenty-first birthday. After that he spoke no more of money, but promised to meet her at regular intervals during the six weeks which would intervene until the great day when she would be free to proclaim her marriage and place herself unreservedly in the hands of her husband. Chapter 23 of the Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy The prince kept his word and she was fairly free to see him at least once a week, somewhere within the leafy thicknesses of the park or in the woods, usually at the hour when dusk finally yields to the overwhelming embrace of night. Sir Marmaduke was away, in London or Canterbury she could not say, but she had scarcely seen him since that terrible time when he came back from town having left Richard Lambert languishing in disgrace and in prison. Oh, how she missed the silent and thoughtful friend who in those days of pride and of joy had angered her so, because he seemed to stand for conscience and for prudence when she only thought of happiness and of love. There was an almost humiliating isolation about her now. Nobody seemed to care whether she went, nor when she came home. Mr. Stéchevas talked from time to time about Sue's infatuation for the mysterious foreign adventurer, but always as if this were a thing of the past and from which Sue herself had long since recovered. Thus there was no one to say her nay when she went out into the garden after evening repast and stayed there until the shades of night had long since wrapped the old trees in gloom. And strangely enough this sense of freedom struck her with a chill sense of loneliness she would have loved to suddenly catch sight of Lambert's watchful figure and to hear his somewhat harsh voice warning her against the foreigner. This had been want to irritate her twelve weeks ago, how mysteriously everything had altered round her. And yearning for her friend she wondered what had become of him. The last she had heard was toward the middle of October when Sir Marmaduke, home from one of his frequent journeyings, one day said that Lambert had been released after ten weeks spent in prison, but that he could not say whether he had gone since then. All Sue's questionings and that the young man only brought forth violent vituperations from Sir Marmaduke and cold words of condemnation from Mr. Stéchevas. Therefore she soon desisted storing up in her heart pathetic memories of the one true friend she had in the world. She saw without much excitement and certainly without tremor the rapid advance of that date early in November when she would perforce have to leave a cold court in order to follow her husband whither so ever he chose to command her. The last time that they had met there had been a good deal of talk between them about her fortune and its future disposal. He declared himself ready to administer it all himself as he professed a distrust of those who had watched over it so far. Masters Giffington, the lawyer, and Sir Marmaduke Déchevas both under the control of the Court of Chancery, she explained to him that the bulk of her wealth consisted of obligations and shares in the Levant and Russian companies, her mother having been the only daughter and heiress of Peter Ford, the great Levantine and Oriental merchant, her marriage with the proud Earl of Dover having caused no small measure of comment in court circles in those days. There were also deeds of property owned in Holland, grants of monopolies for trading given by Yvonne the Terrible to her grandfather, and receipts for monies deposited in the great banks of Amsterdam and Vienna. Masters Giffington had charge of all those papers now. They represented nearly five hundred thousand pounds of money, and she told her husband that they would all be placed in her own keeping the day she was of age. He appeared to lend an inattentive ear to all these explanations which she gave in those timid tones which had lately become habitual to her. But once when she made a slip and talked about a share which she possessed in the Russian company being worth fifty thousand pounds, he corrected her and said it was a good deal more and gave her some explanations as to the real distribution of her capital which astonished her by their lucidity and left her vaguely wondering how it happened that he knew. She had finally to promise to come to him at the cottage in Eichel on the second of November, her twenty-first birthday, directly after her interview with the lawyer and with her guardian and having obtained possession of all the share papers, the obligations, the grants of monopolies, and the receipts from the Amsterdam and Vienna banks to forthwith bring them over to the cottage and place them unreservedly in her husband's hands. And she would, in her simplicity and ignorance, gladly have given every scrap of paper, now in Masters Giffington's charge, in exchange for a return of those happy illusions which had surrounded the early history of her love with a halo of romance. She would have given this mysterious prince, now her husband, all the money that he wanted for this wonderful great work of his if he would but give her back some of that enthusiastic belief in him which had so mysteriously been killed within her that fateful moment in the vestry at Dover. End of chapter 23