 CHAPTER XXI of Boe Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksie, a thrilling narrative. Mr. Ench, beetle of the parish of Brassington, was altogether in his element, dressed in his gold-laced coat, bobtail wig and three-cornered hat, his fine calves encased in the whitest of cotton stockings, his buckled shoes veritable mirrors of shiny brilliancy. He was standing, wand of office in hand, outside the door of the tiny courthouse where Colonel West, squire of Brassington, was sitting in judgment on the poachers and foot-pads of the neighborhood. Before Mr. Ench stood no less a person than Master Middichip, attorney-at-law. Master Middichip desired to speak with Squire West, and the pompous beetle was in the proud position of standing between this presumptuous desire and the supreme majesty of the law. Them's my orders, sir, he said, with all the solemnity which this extraordinary event demanded. Them's my orders, Squire West's own orders. Ench, he says to me, my name being Jeremiah Ench, sir. Ench, he says, the odors which perambulate the courtroom, and mind ye, sir, he didn't use such polite language either. The odors is more than I can andurate this hot morning. As a matter of fact, sir, truth compelates me to state that Squire West's own words were, Ench, this room stinks like hell, too many sweating yokels about. When he gave me his orders, the room is too full as it is, don't admit anyone else on any pretext or cause whatsoever. Master Middichip had made various misguided efforts to interrupt Mr. Ench's wonderful flow of eloquence. It was only when the worthy beetle paused to take breath that the attorney got in a word edgewise. Harky, my good man, he began impatiently. I am extra ordinarily grieved, sir, interrupted Master Ench, who had not nearly finished, taking into consideration that I am somewhat doobersome, whether what his honor said about the odors could apply individually to you, but orders is orders, sir, and the Squire as a legal luminosity must be obeyed in all things. Mr. Ench heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. It was not often that he had the opportunity of showing off his marvelous eloquence and wonderful flow of language before so distinguished a gentleman as Master Middichip, attorney at law. But the latter seemed not to appreciate the elegance of the worthy beetle's diction. On the contrary, he had throughout shown signs of the greatest impatience, and now, directly Mr. Ench heaved this one sigh, Master Middichip produced a silver half-crown, and toying with it in apparent indifference, said significantly, I am sure, friend beetle, that if you were to acquaint Squire West, that his honor, Sir Humphrey Chaloner, desired to speak with him. Mr. Ench stroked his fat, clean-shaven chin, and eyed the silver half-crown with an anxious air. Ah, perhaps he suggested, with as much dignity as the new circumstance allowed, perhaps if I did so far contraven my orders. I feel that Sir Humphrey would see fit to reward you, suggested the attorney, still idly fingering that tempting half-crown. But Master Ench was still duborsome. But then you understand, he said, it is against the regulations that I should vacuate my post until after the sitting is over, so Sir Humphrey Chaloner is partaking of breakfast at the Royal George, Master Ench, he would wish Squire West to know that he'll attend on him here in half an hour. Mr. Ench closed one eye, and with the other keenly watched Master Midichip's movements, the attorney turned the half-crown over in his lean hand once or twice, then he made as if he would put it back in his pocket. This decided the beetle, I'll go and reconnoitre eight, he said, and perhaps I can dispatch a menial to impart to the Squire, Sir Humphrey's wishes, and Cognomin. Thus the majestic beetle felt that his dignity had not been impaired. With a magnificent turn of his portly person and an imposing flourish of his wand of office, he disappeared within the precincts of the court. Mr. Midichip slipped the half-crown back in his pocket and did not wait for the beetle's return. He was quite satisfied that Sir Humphrey's wishes would be as seated, too. He turned his back on the courthouse and slowly crossed the green. Opposite to him was the Royal George where he and Master Duffy had put up for the night. Within the small hours of the morning he had been aroused from peaceful slumbers by a great disturbance at the inn. Sir Humphrey Challener booted and spurred, but alone on foot and covered with mud was peremptorily demanding admittance. Since then Master Midichip had had an interview with his employer wherein his honor had expressed the desire to speak with Squire West after he himself had partaken of late breakfast. That interview had been a very brief one, but it had sufficed to show to the lean attorney that Sir Humphrey's temper was none of the best this morning. His honor had desired Master Midichip's presence again, and the latter was now making his way slowly back to the Royal George, his knees quaking under him, his throat dry, and his tongue parched with terror. Sir Humphrey Challener was not pleasant to deal with when his temper was up. The attorney found his honor installed at breakfast in the private parlor of the inn, and consuming large mugs full of ale and several rushers of fried bacon. Well queried Sir Humphrey impatiently, as soon as the attorney's lean bird-like face appeared in the doorway, I sent word to his honor, Squire West, explained the latter, coming forward timidly, saying that you would wish to see him at the courthouse in half an hour, and unless your honor would wish me to speak to the Squire for you, no rejoined his honor curtly. Sedeath, don't stand there fidgeting before me, he added, sit down. Master Midichip meekly obeyed. He selected the straightest chair in the room, placed it as far away from his honor as he could, and sat down on the extreme edge of it. Well you lean-faced coward began his honor, whose temper did not seem to have improved after his substantial breakfast. You allowed yourself to be robbed of my money last night, eh? Thus much Sir Humphrey knew already, for his first inquiry on meeting Midichip at the inn had been after his rents, since then the attorney had had half an hour in which to reflect on what he would say when his honor once more broached the subject. Therefore he began to protest with a certain degree of assurance. On my honor, Sir Humphrey, you misjudge me, he said deliberately. As my clerk and I passed the loneliest spot on the heath and without any previous warning, two masked men leapt into the path in front of us and presented pistols, a third man called to us to stand. Here Master Midichip made an effective pause, the better to watch the impression which his narrative was making on his employer. The latter was quietly picking his teeth and merely remarked quietly, well, and what did you do? Thus encouraged Midichip waxed more bold. In a flash I drew a pistol, he continued glibly, and so did Duffy, for I must say he bore himself bravely. We both fired, and my ball knocked the hat off the fellow nearest to me, but Master Duffy's ball unfortunately missed. I was drawing my other pistol, determined to make a desperate fight, and I believe Duffy did as much. I was amazed that the fellows did not fire upon us in return. He was distinctly warming up to his subject, but here he was interrupted by a loud guffaw. Master Humphrey was evidently vastly amused at the thrilling tale, and his boisterous laugh went echoing along the blackened rafter of the old village inn. Odds my life, tis perfect, marvelous I call it, and tell me, Master Midichip, added his honour, whose eyes were streaming and whose sides were shaking with laughter, tell me why they did not fire, eh? From past experience Master Midichip should have known that when Sir Humphrey Chaloner laughed his loudest, then he was mostly to be dreaded. Yet in this instance the attorney's delight at his own realistic story drowned the wiser councils of prudence. He took his honour's hilarity as a compliment to his own valor and continued proudly. The reason was not far to seek, for at that very moment we were both seized upon from behind by two big fellows, then all five of them fell upon us and dragged us aside into the darkness. They tied scarves about our mouths so that we could not cry out, I, and had some difficulty in doing it, for believe me, Sir Humphrey, I fought like mad. Then they rifled us of everything, despoiled us absolutely. At this point it struck Master Midichip that his honour's continued gaiety was somewhat out of place. The narrative had become thrilling, surely exciting, and blood-curdling too, and yet Sir Humphrey was laughing more lustily than ever. Go on, man, go on, he gasped between his paroxysms of merriment. Odds, fish, but tis the best story I've heard for many a day. I will swear to the truth of it in any court of law protested the attorney with somewhat less assurance the fifth man was Beau Brocaid. I heard the others address him so while I was lying gagged and bound. I, you would, lie anywhere, commented his honour, gagged and bound, or not. From your observation, Sir Humphrey, I gather that you somewhat, or doubt my story, murmured Master Midichip in a quavering voice. Doubt it, man, doubt it, laughed his honour, holding his sides. Nay, how can I doubt it? I saw it all. You, Sir Humphrey? I was there, man, on the heath, I saw it all. Your vigorous defence, your noble valor, your Master Midichip's sallow face had assumed a parchment like hue. He passed his dry tongue over his parched lips. Great drops of moisture appeared beneath his wig, that his fears were not unfounded, as presently proved by Sir Humphrey's sudden change of manner. The hilarious laugh died down in his honour's throat, an ugly frown gathered above his deep-set eyes, and with a violent curse he brought his heavy fist down crashing upon the table. And now, you lying, lumbering paultron, where's my money? But Sir Humphrey stammered the attorney, now pallid with terror. There's no but about it. You collected some rents for me, thirty guineas in all. That money must lie to my account in the bank at Worxworth tomorrow. Or by God, I'll have you clapped in jail like the thief that you are. But your honour, silence, I've said my last word. If that money is not in the bank by noon tomorrow, I'll denounce you to the Worxworth magistrate as a fraudulent agent. Now hold your tongue about that. I've said my last word. The rest is your affair, not mine. I've more important matters to think on. Master Middichip, half-dead with fear, dared not offer further argument or pleading. He knew his employer well enough to realize that his honour meant every word he said, and that he himself had nothing more to hope for in the matter of the money. The deficiency extracted from him by that rascal Beau Brocade would have to be made good somehow, and Master Middichip bethought him ruefully of his own savings made up of sundry little commissions extorted from his honour's tenants. No wonder the attorney felt none too kindly disposed towards the highwaymen. He watched Sir Humphrey's face as a hungry dog does his masters, and noted with growing satisfaction that his honour's anger was cooling down gradually and giving place to harder and more cruel determination. As he watched, the look of terror died out of his bony, sallow face, and his pale, watery eyes began to twinkle with keen and vengeful malice. CHAPTER XXI He waited a little while, and gradually a smile of the deepest satisfaction spread over his bird-like countenance. He rubbed his meager knees up and down with his thin hands in obvious delight, and as soon as he saw his opportunity, he remarked slyly, And your honour was on the heath last night. You can help me testify to Highway Robbery before Squire West. There are plenty of soldiers in this village. His honour will have out a posse or two. The rascal can't escape hanging this time. Sir Humphrey's florid sensual face suddenly paled with a curious intensity of hatred. I, he shall hang, sure enough, he muttered with a loud oath. He dragged a chair forward, facing middichip, and sat astride on it, drumming a devil's tattoo on the back. Listen here, you old scarecrow, he said more quietly. For I've not done with you yet. You don't understand, I suppose, what my presence here in Brassington means. I confess that I am somewhat puzzled. Your honour, replied the attorney meekly. I remarked on it to Master Duffy just before he started off for works worth this morning, but he could offer no suggestion. Odds, life, man, couldn't you guess that, having made my proposal to that rascally highwayman, I could not rest at Aldwart unless I saw him carry it through? Ah! I got a horse at the moorhen, and at nightfall I rode out on the heath. I feared to lose my way on the bridal path, and, moreover, I wished to keep her ladyship's coach in view. So I kept to the road. It must have been close on midnight, when I sighted it at last. It was at a standstill in the midst of a quagmire, and as I drew near I could see neither driver on the box nor groom at the horse's heads. Well, well, that's all. There was a wench inside the coach. I threw her out and searched for the letters. I found them. That rascally highwayman had played me false. Some distance from the road, I spied him dancing a rigadoon in the moonlight with her ladyship, whilst her men, the doltes, were watching the spectacle. Ha! Ha! Ha! It was a fine sight, too, I tell you. So now the sooner I get that chivalrous highwayman hanged, the better I shall like it. Then am I to understand that your honor has the letters? I, I have the letters right enough, said Sir Humphrey, with an oath between his clenched teeth. But I fear me her ladyship has cajoled the rogue into her service. Else why this dance? I do not know what to make of it. Madness, surely, or she never would have left the letters unprotected. He bewitched her, may have, and the devil, his master, lent him a helping hand. I'll see him hang, I tell you, hang, hang. Master Midditchip's attenuated frame quaked with terror. There was so much hatred, so much lust for revenge in Sir Humphrey's half-choked voice, that instinctively the attorney cowered as before some great and evil thing which he only half understood. After a while Sir Humphrey managed to control himself. He was ashamed of having allowed his agent this one peep into the darkness of his soul. His love for patience, though brutish and grasping, was as strong as his sensuous nature was capable of. His jealousy and hatred had been aroused by the strange scene he had witnessed on the heath, and he was as conscious now of the longing for revenge as of the desire to possess himself of Lady Patience and her fortune. Sedeath, he said more calmly, bobrocade and that rascal John Stitch were after me in a trice, and they'd have had the letters back from me had I not put a bullet into the damned thief, and wounded him your honour, queried Midditchip eagerly. Nay, I could not wait to see, but I hoped I had killed him for it was John Stitch who rode after me, fortunately. He was too big a fool to do me any harm, and I quickly made him lose my track. And you've destroyed the letters, Sir Humphrey? Destroyed them, you fool? Nay, it would ill suit my purpose if Stretton were to die. Can't you see that now? He said excitedly, with those letters in my hand I can force Lady Patience's acceptance of my suit. While her brother's life hangs in the balance, I can offer her the letters on condition that she consent to marry me, and threaten to destroy them if she refuse. I, I murmured the attorney, twer a powerful argument, and remember, out of his honour significantly, there'll be two hundred guineas for you the day that I wed Lady Patience, that is, if you render me useful assistance to the end. Two hundred guineas? Good luck, Sir Humphrey, I hope you've got those letters safe. I, safe enough for the present, about your person? Nay, you idiot, about my person, with so cunning a rascal as Bobrocade at my heels? Then in your valise, Sir Humphrey, what, in a strange inn, think you the fellow would be above breaking into my room? How do I know that my host is not one of his boon companions? The rascal has many friends hereabouts, but what have you done with them, Sir Humphrey? queried the attorney in despair. In your ear, Master Midditchip, quote his honour, instinctively lowering his voice, lest the walls of the old inn had ears. I thought the best plan was to hide the letters there, where Lady Patience and her chivalrous highwaymen would least expect to find them How so good, Sir Humphrey? I was hard-pressed, mind you, and had but a few seconds in which to make up my mind. I dismounted, then lashed my horse into a panic. As I expected, he made straight for his own stables, at any rate he galloped off like mad in the direction of Aldwark, whilst I remained cowering in the dense scrub, grateful for the mist, which was very dense in the hollow. There I remained hidden for about half an hour, until all sound died away on the heath. What happened to that damned highwayman or to John Stitch? I know not, but I did not feel that the letters were safe whilst they were about my person. I knew that I was some distance from this village, and still further from Aldwark, and feared that I should be pursued and overtaken. At any rate, I crept out of my hiding place and presently found myself close to a wooden hut, not far from the roadside, and there, underneath some ramble and thorny stuff, I hid the letters well out of sight. Oh, but they won't be safe there, Sir Humphrey, moaned middichip, who seemed to see the golden vision of two hundred guineas vanishing before his eyes. Think of it, any moment they might be unearthed by some dolt of a shepherd. Sadeath, I know that you fool, they're in a dry place now, but I only mean them to remain there until you can take them to your own house at Worxworth, and put them in your strong room till I have need of them. But this suggestion so alarmed Master Middichip that he lost his balance and nearly fell off the edge of his chair. I, Sir Humphrey, I cross that lonely heath again, and with those letters about my person, Tosh, man, the foot-pads wouldn't take letters from you, and Bo Brocade will be keeping an eye on me, and wouldn't again molest you. I, but he knows I enjoy the honor of your confidence, good Sir Humphrey, believe me, the letters would not be safe with me. Ad Spud, said his honor firmly, then I'll have to find someone else to take care of those letters for me, and he added significantly to earn the two hundred guineas. Master Middichip gave an anxious gasp that two hundred guineas the ultimate ambition of his sordid miserable existence. No, he would not miss that, and yet he dreaded the heath and was in terror of Bo Brocade, and he dreaded his honor's anger ten thousand times more than either. That anger would be terrible if, having taken charge of the letters, he should be robbed of them. The alternative was an awful one. He wracked his tortuous brain for a likely issue. Sir Humphrey had risen, kicked his chair to one side, and made as if he would go. Now Harky, friend Middichip, he said firmly, I want those letters placed somewhere in absolute safety, where neither Lady Patience's influence nor her chivalrous highwaymen could possibly get at them. If you find a way and means of doing this for me, the two hundred guineas are yours, but if I have to manage this business myself, if I have to take the almost certain risk of being robbed of the letters, if I carry them about my own person, then you shall not get another shilling from me. Now you can think this matter over. I'll across to speak to Squire West and see if I can't get that rascally highwaymen captured and clapped into jail before the day is done. He took up his hat and threw his coat over his arm. The situation was getting desperate. Then suddenly Master Middichip had an idea. I have it, Sir Humphrey. He cried excitedly. I have it. A perfectly safe way of conveying those letters to my strong room at Worksworth. Let's have it then. I have bought some sheep of a farmer from over Aldwark Way for a client at Worksworth. Here he added, pulling a paper out of his pocket and handing it up to Sir Humphrey. Is the receipt and tally for them? Jock Miggs, Master Crabtree Shepherd, is taking the sheep to the town today. He'll most likely put up for the night on the heath. Well, queried Sir Humphrey, well Jock Miggs can neither read nor write. Of course not. Let us send him to Worksworth and tell him to leave the packet of letters at my house in charge of my clerk, Master Duffy, who will put it in the strong room until you want them. Duffy started for Worksworth at daybreak this morning and should be there by nightfall. Shaw, man, would you have me trust such valuable letters to a fool of a shepherd? Nay, Sir Humphrey, but that is our safeguard. Boe Brocade never touches the poor or the peasantry and certainly would never suspect Jock Miggs of being in your honor's confidence, whilst the ordinary footpads would take no count of him. He is worth neither powder nor shot. That's true enough. I should tell Miggs that the papers are accounts for the sheep and promise him a silver crown if he delivers them safely at my door. We can put the letters in a sealed packet. No one would ever suspect him. There was silence in the inn parlor for a while. His honor stood with legs apart opposite the tiny leaded window gazing out into vacancy, whilst Master Meditia fixed his eyes meditatively on the broad back of his noble patron. What a deal depended on what was going on at the present moment in Sir Humphrey's active brain. Suddenly his honor turned on his heel. Odds fish, Master Meditia, he said, but your plan is none so bad after all. The attorney heaved a deep sigh of relief and began mopping his beady forehead. The tension had been acute. This lengthy agitating interview had been extremely trying. So much hung in the balance, and so much had depended upon that very uncertain quantity his honor's temper. But now the worst was over. Sir Humphrey was a man of determination, who never changed his mind once that mind was made up, and who carried any undertaking through with set purpose and unflinching will. Well, and when can I see that shepherd you speak of? He asked. If your honor would ride over on the heath with me this afternoon, suggested the attorney. I doubt not, but we should come across Jock Miggs and his sheep, and in any case he would be at the hut by nightfall. Very good rejoined his honor. Do you see that a couple of horses be ready for us? We can start as soon as I have spoken with Squire West and laid my information against that damned bow brocade. With a posse of soldiers at his heels, he's less likely to worry us, eh, old scarecrow? We shall not be safe, your honor, assented worthy master middichip, until the rascal is dangling six feet above the ground. In the meanwhile he added, seeing that Sir Humphrey was making for the door, your honor will be pleased to give me back that receipt and tally for the sheep I showed you just now. But already his honor was hurrying down the narrow passage, eager to get through the business that would lay his enemy by the heels and render him safe in the possession of the important letters which were to secure him Lady Patience's hand and fortune. All right, he shouted back lustily, it's safe enough in my pocket. I'll give it you back on my return. Left alone in the dingy black raftered parlor, master middichip sat pondering for a while, his pale watery eyes blinking at times with the intensity of his satisfaction. Now, for a little good luck, and he had no cause to fear the reverse, and that glorious vision of 200 golden guineas would become a splendid reality. The advice he had given Sir Humphrey was undoubtedly the safest which he could offer. Bo Brocade, even with a posse of soldiers at his heels, was still a potent personality on the heath, and it certainly looked as if her ladyship had cajoled him into her service. No one knew really who his friends and accomplices were. On and about bracing more, he could reckon on the help of most of the poorer villagers. But jock migs at any rate was safe, alike from the daring highwaymen and the more humble footpad. The former would not suspect him, and the latter would leave a poor shepherd severely alone. The footpath from the hut by the roadside to the town of worksworth was but a matter of three or four miles, and for a silver crown the shepherd would be ready enough to take a sealed packet to the house of Master Middichip in Folsom Street. Yes, it was all going to be for the best in this best possible world, and as Master Middichip thought over it all, he rubbed his thin claw-like hands contentedly together. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of Bo Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksey. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Celtic City, Utah, and interlude. The pack horse inn lower down the village was not nearly so frequented as was the royal George. Its meager, dilapidated appearance frightened most customers away. A few yokels only patronized it to the extent of sipping their small ale there in the parlor when it was wet, or outside the porch when it was fine. The few, very few, travelers whom accident mostly brought to Brassington invariably preferred the more solid substantial inn on the green. But when it was a question of finding safe shelter for his wounded friend, John Stitch unhesitatingly chose the pack horse. He had improvised a rough kind of stretcher with the help of the cushions from Lady Patience's coach, and on this, with the aid of Timothy the Groom, he had carried Bathurst all the way across two miles of Heath into Brassington. The march had been terribly wearisome. The wounded man, fevered with past excitement, had become lightheaded, and during intervals of lucidity was suffering acutely from his wound. Lady Patience could not bring herself to leave him. A feeling she could not have described seemed to keep her enchained beside this man whom but a few hours ago she had never seen, but in whom she felt now that all her hopes had centered. He had asked her to trust him, and since then had only recovered consciousness to plead to her with mute, aching eyes not to take away that trust which she had given him. Fortunately, the noted bad state of the roads on Brassington Moor, which at any time might prove impassable for the coach, had caused her to take her own saddle as part of her equipment for her journey to London. This John Stitch had fixed for her on Jacqueline Turnesback, and the faithful beast, as if guessing the sad plight of his master, carried her ladyship with Mistress Betty clinging on behind with lamb-like gentleness down the narrow bridal path to Brassington. Thomas the driver had been left in charge of the coach with orders to find his way as quickly as may be along the road to Workworth. It had been Bathurst's firmly expressed wish that they should put up at Brassington at any rate for the night, besides being the nearest point. It was also the most central. Once a sharp lookout could be kept on Sir Humphrey Chaloner's movements, everything depended now on how serious the young man's wound turned out to be. Patients felt that without his help she was indeed powerless to fight her cunning enemy. She was never for one moment in doubt as to the motive which prompted Sir Humphrey Chaloner to steal the letters. He meant to hold them as a weapon over her to enforce the acceptance of his suit. This she knew well enough. Her instincts rendered doubly acute by the imminence of the peril warned her that the squire of Harrington meant to throw all scruples to the wind, and would in wanton revenge sacrifice Philip by destroying the letters if she fought or defied him openly. Patients bethought her of this scene at the forge when Bathurst's ready wit had saved her brother from the officious and rapacious soldiers. Now that the terrible situation had to be met with keenness and cunning, she once more turned with hope in her heart to the one man who could save Philip again. But he alas lay helpless, and all along the weary way to Brazington she was listening with aching heart and throbbing temples to his wild delirious words and occasional quickly suppressed moans. However they reached the pack horse at last in the small hours of the morning. Money lavishly distributed by Lady Patience secured the one comfortable room in the inn for the wounded man. As soon as the day broke, John Stitch went in quest of Master Prosser, the leech, a gentleman famed for his skill and learning. Already the rest on a good bed and Lady Patience's cool hand and gentle words had done much to soothe the patient. Youth and an iron constitution quickly did the rest. The leech pronounced the wound to be neither deep nor serious, and the extraction of the ball caused the sufferer much relief. Within an hour after the worthy man's visit, Jack Bathurst had fallen into a refreshing sleep, and at John Stitch's earnest pleading, Lady Patience had thrown herself on a bed in this small room which she had secured for herself and Mistress Betty and had at last managed to get some rest. The sun was already well up in the heavens when Jack awoke, his eyes as soon as they opened, sought anxiously for her dear presence in the room. Feel better, Captain? asked John Stitch, who had been watching faithfully by his side. I feel a giant honest friend, replied the young man, help me up, will you? The leech said, you ought to keep quiet for a bit, Captain, protested this myth. Oh ho, he did, did he? laughed Jack gaily. Well, go tell him, friend, from me, that he is an ass. Where is she, John? he asked quietly after a slight pause. In the next room, Captain, resting, I, she never left your side since you fainted on the heath. I know, I know, friend, said Jack, with a short deep sigh, think you I could not feel her hand. He checked himself abruptly and with the help of John Stitch raised himself from the bed. He looked ruefully at his stained clothes and a quaint pleasant smile chased away the last look of weariness and suffering from his face. Nay, what a plight for Beau brocade in which to meet the lady of his dreams, eh, John? Here, help me to make myself presentable. Run down quickly to my host. Borrow brushes and combs and anything you can lay hands on. I am not fit to appear before her eyes. Then will you keep quite still, Captain, until I return and keep your arm quietly in the sling? The leech said, never mind what the leech said. Run, John, the sight of myself in that glass there causes me more pain than this stupid scratch. Run quickly, John, for I hear her footstep in the next room. I'll not move from the edge of this bed, I swear it, if you'll only run. He kept his word and never stirred from where he sat, but he strained his ears to listen. For through the thin partition wall he could just hear her footstep on the rough wooden floor and occasionally her voice when she spoke to Betty. Half an hour later, when John Stitch had done his vest to valet and dress him, he waited upon her ladyship at breakfast in the parlor downstairs. She came forward to greet him, her dainty hand outstretched, her eyes anxiously scanning his face. You should not have arisen yet, sir, she said half shyly as he pressed her fingertips to his lips, your poor wounded shoulder. Nay, with your pardon, madame, he said lightly, tis well already since your sweet hand has tended it, twas my desire to nurse you a while longer and not allow you to risk your life for me again. My life, nay, I'll trust that to my old enemy fortune. She has taken care of it all these years that I might better now place it at your service. She said nothing, for she felt unaccountably shy. She who had had half the gilded youth of England at her feet found no light bantering word with which to meet this man, and beneath his ardent gaze she felt herself blushing like a school miss at her first ball. Will you honor me, sir, she said at last, by partaking of breakfast with me. All cares and troubles seemed forgotten. He sat down at the table opposite to her, and together they drank tea and ate eggs and bread and butter, and there was so much to talk about that often they would both become quite silent and say all there was to say just with their eyes. He told her about the heath which he knew and loved so well, the beauty of the sunrise far out behind the tours, the birds and beasts and their haunts and habits, the heron on the marshy ground, the cheeky robins on the branches of the bramble, the lizards and tiny frogs and toads, all that enchanting world which peopled the moor and had made it a home for him, and she listened to it all, for he had a deep, tender, caressing voice which was always good to hear, and she was happy, for she was young, and the world in which she dwelt was very beautiful. Yet she found this happiness she felt quite incomprehensible. She even chid herself for feeling it for the outside world was still the same, and her brother still in peril. He, the man, alone knew whether he was drifting. He knew that he loved her with every fiber of his being, and that she was as immeasurably beyond him as the stars. He knew what this happiness meant, and that it could but live a day, an hour. Therefore he drained the cup to its full measure, enjoying each fraction of a second of this one glorious hour, watching her as she smiled, as she sipped her tea, as she blushed, when she met his eyes, and sometimes for he was clumsy with his one arm in a sling, sometimes as she helped him in the thousand and one little ways of which women alone possess the enchanting secret, her hand would touch his just for one moment, like a bird on the wing, and he, the poor outlaw, saw heaven open before him, and seeing it was content. Outside an early September sun was flooding the little village street with its golden light. They did not dare to show themselves at the window lest either of them should be recognized, so they had drawn the thin muslin curtain across the casement and shut out the earth from this little kingdom of their own. Only at times the bleeding of a flock of sheep, or the melancholy lowing of cattle, would come to them from afar, or from the windowsill, the sweet fragrance of a pot of mignonnette. Chapter 23 of Bobrocade by Baroness Emma Orksy This liprivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion John's Sutleck City, Utah. A daring plan. It was close on ten o'clock when they came back to earth once more. A peremptory knock at the door had roused them both from their dreams. Bathurst rose to open, and there stood John Stitch and Mistress Betty, both looking somewhat flurried and guilty, and both obviously brimming over with news. My lady, my lady, cried Betty excitedly as soon as she caught her mistress's eye. I have just spied Sir Humphrey Chaloner at the window of the royal George, just over the green yonder. Give me leave, Captain, added John Stitch, who was busy rolling up his sleeves above his powerful arms. Give me leave, and I'll make the rogue disgorge those letters in a trice. You'd not succeed, honest friend, mused Bathurst, and might get yourself in a devil of a hole to boot. Nay, Captain, asserted John emphatically, tis no time now for the wearing of kid gloves. I was on the green a moment ago, and spied that ravenous scarecrow middichip conversing with the beetle outside the courthouse where Squire West is sitting. Well, when the beetle had gone, Master Middichip walked across the green and went straight to the royal George. Be guy, what does that mean, Captain? Oh, ho! laughed Jack, much amused at the Smith's earnestness. It means that Sir Humphrey Chaloner intends to lay information against one bobrocade, the noted highwayman, and to see how nice he'll look with a rope round his neck and dangling six foot from the ground. An involuntary cry from Lady Patience, however, drowned the laughter on his lips. Tash, man, he added seriously, here's a mighty fine piece of work we're doing, frightening her ladyship. But John Stitch was scowling more heavily than ever. If the scoundrel should dare, he muttered, clenching his huge fists. His attitude was so threatening, and his expression so menacing that in the midst of her new anxiety, Lady Patience herself could not help smiling. Bo Brocade laughed outright. Dare, he said lightly, why, of course, he'll dare. He's eager enough in the pursuit of mischief and must save the devil all the trouble of showing him the way. But now, he added more seriously and turning to Mistress Betty, tell me, child, saw you, Sir Humphrey, clearly? I, clear as daylight, she retorted the old beast. How was he dressed? Just like he was yesterday, sir, a brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding boots, three-cornered hat, and he had in his hand a gold-headed riding crop. Child, child, cried Bathurst joyfully, and those bright eyes of yours have not deceived you, yours will be the glory of having saved us all. What are you going to do, asked Patience eagerly? Pit my poor wits against those of Sir Humphrey Chaloner, he replied gaily. I don't quite understand. He came up quite close to her and tried to meet her eyes. But you trust me, he asked, and she murmured, absolutely. May heaven bless you for that word, he said earnestly, then you will deign to do as I shall direct, entirely. Very well, then whilst Friend Stitch will fetch my hat for me, will you write out a formal plain, signed with your full name, stating that last night on the heath you were waylaid and robbed by a man whom I, your courier, saw quite plainly, and whom you have desired me to denounce. But I entreat you, there's not a moment to be lost, he urged, taking pan, ink, and paper from the old-fashioned desk, close by, and placing them before her. I'll do as you wish, of course, she said, but what is your purpose? For the present to take your ladyship's plain over to his honor, squire west, at the courthouse, you'll be seen and recognized, and not I, one or two of the yokels may perhaps guess who I am, but they do me no harm. I entreat you, do as I bid you, every second wasted may imperil our chance of safety. He had such an air of quiet command about him that she instinctively obeyed him, and wrote out the plain as he directed, then gave it in his charge. He seemed buoyant and full of hope, and though her heart misgave her, she managed to smile cheerfully when he took leave of her. I humbly beg of you, he said, finally, as having kissed her fingertips, he prepared to go, to wait here against my return, and on no account to take heed of anything you may see or hear for the next half hour. And I mistake not, he added, with a merry twinkle in his gray eyes, there will be strange doings at Brassington this noon. But you, she cried anxiously, nay, I pray you have no fear for me. In your sweet cause I would challenge the world, and if you desired it, would remain unscathed. When he had gone, she sighed, and obedient to his wish, sat waiting patiently for his return in the dingy little parlor, which a while ago his presence had made so bright. It was at this moment that Master Middichip, after his interview with the beetle, was in close conversation with Sir Humphrey Chaloner at the Royal George. Outside the inn, Bathurst turned to John Stitch, who had closely followed him. How's my jack-o'-lantern, he asked quickly. As fresh as a daisy captain, replied the Smith, I've rubbed him down myself, and he has had a lovely feed. That's good, you have my saddle with you. Oh, I knew you'd want it soon enough. Jack-o'-lantern carried it for you himself, bless his art, along with her ladyship, and Mistress Betty. Then do you see at once to his being-saddled friend, and bring him along to the courthouse as soon as may be. Hold him in readiness for me, so that I may mount at a second's notice. You understand? Yes, Captain, I understand that you are running your head into a damned noose. And easy, easy, friend, remember. Nay, I'll not forget for whose sake you do it. But you are at a disadvantage, Captain, with only one good arm. Nay, friend, rejoined Bathurst lightly. There's many a thing a man can do with one arm. He can embrace his mistress or shoot his enemy. The sleepy little village of Brassington lay silent and deserted in the warmth of the noonday sun, as Bathurst, having parted from John Stitch, hurried across its narrow streets. As he passed quickly through the outer passage of the pack horse, he had caught sight of a few red coats at the dingy bar of the inn, and presently, when he emerged on the green, he perceived another lot of them over at the royal George yonder. But at this hour the worthy soldiers of his majesty, King George, were having their midday rest and their customary glasses of ale, and were far too busy recounting their adventure with the mysterious stranger at the forge to the gaffers of Brassington to take heed of anyone hurrying along its street. And thus Bathurst passed quickly and unperceived. The one or two yokels whom he met gave him a rapid glance. Only the women turned round, as he went along, to have another look at the handsome stranger with one arm in a sling. Outside the courthouse he came face to face with Master Inch, whose pompous dignity seemed at this moment to be severely ruffled. Hey, sir, hey, he was shouting and craning his fat neck in search of Master Middichip, who had incontinently disappeared. The court is determining. Squire West will grant you the interview which you seek. Led preserve me, he added in noble and gigantic wrath. I do believe the impious Malapur was trying to fool me, sending me on a fool's errand. Me, Jeremiah Inch, beetle of this parish. Bathurst waited a moment or two until the worst of the beetle's anger had cooled down a little. Then he took a silver crown from his pocket and pushed past the worthy into the precincts of the house. The interview you've arranged for, friend, he said quietly, will do equally well for her ladyship's courier. Master Inch was somewhat taken off his balance. Middichip's disappearance and this stranger's impertinence had taken his breath away. Before he had time to recover it, Bathurst had pressed the silver crown into his capacious palm. Now tell Squire West, friend, he said, with that pleasant air of authority, which he knew so well how to assume, that I am here by the command of Lady Patience Gascoigne, and am waiting to speak with him. Master Inch was so astonished that he found no word either of protest or of offended dignity. He looked doubtfully at the crown for a second or two, waited in his mind against the problematical half-crown promised by the defaulting attorney, and then said majestically, I will impart her ladyship's cognomen to his honor myself. The next moment Jack Bathurst found himself alone in a small private room of the courthouse, looking forward with suppressed excitement to the interview with Squire West, which in a moment of daredevil madcap frolic, yet with absolute coolness and firm determination he had already arranged in his mind. military presence, and a pleasant countenance beneath his bobtail wig. In his youth he had been reckoned well-favored, and had been much petted by the ladies at the county balls. Owing to this he had retained a certain polish of manner not often met with in the English country gentry of those times. He came forward very politely to greet the courier of Lady Patience Gascoigne. What hath procured to Brassington the honor of a message from Lady Patience Gascoigne? He asked, motioning Bathurst to a chair and seating himself behind his desk. Her ladyship herself is staying in the village, replied Jack, but would desire her presence to remain unknown for a while. Oh, indeed, said the Squire, a little flurried at this unexpected event. But there is no end fitting to harbor her ladyship in this village, and if her ladyship would honor me and my poor house. I thank you, sir, but her ladyship only remains here for an hour or so, and has dispatched me to you on an important errand which brooks of no delay. I am entirely at her ladyship's service. Lady Patience was on her way from Stretton Hall, your honor, continued Bathurst imperturbably, when her coach was stopped on the heath, not very far from here. And her jewels, money, and also certain valuable papers were stolen from her. Squire West hemmed and hawed and fidgeted in his chair. The matter seemed strangely enough to be causing him more annoyance than surprise. Dear, dear, he muttered deprecatingly. Her ladyship has written out her formal plaint, said Jack, laying the paper before his honor. She has sent her coach on to worksworth, but thought your honor's help here at Brassington would be more useful in capturing the rogue. I murmured the worthy squire, still somewhat doubtfully, and with a frown of perplexity on his jovial face. We certainly have a posse of soldiers, a dozen or so at most, quartered in the village just now. But what, your honor? But, to be frank with you, sir, I fear me that twill be no good. And I mistake not, tis another exploit of that rascal Bobrocade. And the rogue is so cunning. Ah, he added, with a sigh, we shall have no peace in this district until we've laid him by the heels. It was certainly quite obvious that this squire was none too eager to send a posse of soldiers after the notorious highwaymen. He had himself enjoyed immunity on the heath up to now, and feared that it would be his turn to suffer if he started an active campaign against Bobrocade. But Bathurst, from where he sat, had a good view through the casement window of the village green, and of the royal George beyond it. Every moment, he expected to see Sir Humphrey Chaloner emerging from under the porch and entering this courthouse, when certainly the situation would become distinctly critical. The squire's hesitancy nearly drove him frantic with impatience. Yet, perforce, he had to keep a glib tongue in his head, and not to betray more than a natural interest in the subject, which he was discussing. I, he said gaily, and it was that rogue Bobrocade, your honor, he's the most daring rascal I've ever met. The whole thing was done in a trice, odd's fish, but the fellow would steal your front tooth whilst he parlayed with you. He fired at me and hit me, he added ruefully, pointing to his wounded shoulder. You were her ladyships escort on the heath, sir. I, and would wish to be of assistance in the recovery of her property, more particularly of a packet of letters on which her ladyships that's great store. If the rogue were captured now, these might be found about his person. Ah, I fear me, quote his honor, with singular lack of enthusiasm, that twill not be so easy, sir, as you imagine. How so? Bobrocade is in league with half the countryside, and, nay, you say you have a posse of soldiers quartered here? Gadzooks, if I had the chance with these and a few lusty fellows from the village, I'd soon give an account of any highwayman on this heath. Dear, dear, repeated Squire West, sorely puzzled, a very regrettable incident indeed. Can I so far trespass on your honor's time, queried Bathurst, with a slight show of impatience, as to ask you, at least, to take note of her ladyship's plaint? Certainly, sir, certainly, hem, er, of course, we must, after the rogue, the beetle shall cry him out on the green at once, and it was easy to see that the worthy Squire would far sooner have left the well-known hero of Brassingmore severely alone. Still in his official capacity, he was bound to take note of her ladyship's plaint, and to act as justice demanded. Tis a pity, sir, he said, whilst he sat fidgeting among his papers, that you, or perhaps her ladyship, did not see the rogue's face. I suppose he was masked as usual. Faye, he'd have frightened the sheep on the heath, maybe, if he was not. But her ladyship and I noted his hair and stature, and also the cut and color of his clothes. What was he like? Tall and stout of build, with dark hair turning to gray. Nay, ejaculated Squire West in obvious relief, then it was not Bobrocade, who is young and slim. So I'm told, though I've never seen him, you saw him plainly, sir, did you say? I, quite plainly, your honor, and what's more, added Jack emphatically. Her ladyship and I both caught sight of him in Brassington this very morning, in Brassington, outside the Royal George, asserted Bathurst imperturbably. Nay, sir, cried Squire West, who seemed to have quite lost his air of indecision, now that he was no longer feared to come in direct conflict with Bobrocade. Why did you not say this before? Here, inch, inch, he added, going to the door and shouting lustily across the passage. Where is that cursed beetle in Brassington, did you say, sir? I'd almost swear to it, your honor. Nay, then, with a bit of good luck, we may at least lay this rascal by the heels. I would, I could rid this neighborhood of these rogues. Here, inch, he continued, as soon as that worthy appeared in the doorway. Do you listen to what this gentleman has got to say? There's a damned rascal in this village, and you'll have to cry out his description at once and then collar him as soon as may be. Master, inch, placed himself in a posture that was alike, dignified, and expectant. His honor, Squire West, too, was listening eagerly, whilst Jack Bathurst, with perfect sang-froy, gave forth the description of the supposed highwayman. He wore a brown coat, he said calmly, embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding boots, and three-cornered hat. He is tall and stout of build, his dark hair slightly turning to gray, and was last seen carrying a gold-headed riding crop. That's clear enough, inch, is it not, queried his honor. It is marvelously pollucid, sir, replied the beetle. You may add, friend, beetle, continued Jack carelessly, that her ladyship offers a reward of twenty guineas for that person's immediate apprehension. And master, inch, beetle of the parish of Brassington, flew out of the door and out of the courthouse bell in hand, for with a little bit of good luck it might be that he would be the first to lay his hand on the tall, stout rascal in a brown coat, and would be the one to earn the twenty guineas offered for his immediate apprehension. Squire West himself was over-pleased. It was indeed satisfactory to render service to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoigne, without interfering over much with that daredevil beau brocade. The depredations on Brassing Moor had long been a scandal in the county. It had often been thought that Squire West had not been sufficiently active in trying to rid the heath of the notorious highwaymen whose exploits were now famed far and wide. But here was a chance of laying a cursed rascal by the heels and of showing his zeal in the administration of the county. The Squire in the interim busied himself with his papers, whilst Bathurst, who was vainly trying to appear serious and only casually interested, stood by the open window, watching master inches progress across the green. Outside the courthouse Faithful John Stitch stood waiting, with Jekyll Lantern pying the ground by his side. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Success and disappointment. Thus it was that when Sir Humphrey Chaloner, after his lengthy interview with Middichip, stepped out of the porch of the Royal George on his way to the courthouse, he found the village green singularly animated. A number of Yokels, including quite a goodly contingent of women and youngsters, were crowding round Master Inch, the beetle, who was ringing his bell violently and shouting at the top of his lusty voice. Take note that a robber, vagabond, and thief is hiding in this village. Interested in the scene, Sir Humphrey had paused a moment, watching the pompous beetle and the crowd of gaffers and women. He still carried his writing crop, and flicked it with a certain pleasurable satisfaction against his boot, eagerly anticipating the moment when the village crier would be giving forth in the same centaurian tones the description of Bo Brocade, the highwayman. Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! continued Master Inch, with ever-increasing vigor. Take note that this vagabond is apparelled in a brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buffed nether garments, and writing boots. Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! Take note that he carried with him this morning a gold-headed writing quip, that he is tall and slightly rotund in his corporation, and has raven hair slightly attenuated with gray. Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! Take note that if any of you observe such a person as I have just descriptioned, you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that I may take him by force and violence, even into the presence of his honor. Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! The gaffers were putting their heads together whilst the young ones whispered eagerly. Brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, a gold-headed whip. Nay, it was often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such and one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman. It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue. Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed, one or two villagers noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him. Then one youngster struck by a sudden idea, stared at him, and whispered to his neighbor, he's got a brown coat on. I whispered the other in reply and an embroidered waistcoat, too. Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily. What the devil are ye all staring at? It was at this very moment that Master Inch suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle of a centurion. Oyes! He gave one tremendous gasp. The bell dropped out of his hand. His jaw fell. His round, beady eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Tis him murmured the yokel who stood close to his ear. This remark brought back Master Inch to his senses and to the importance of his position. He raised his large hand above his head and brought it down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey Chaloner's shoulder. I, tis him, he shouted lustily, and begui, he's got guilt writ all over his face and tis a mighty ugly surface. Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was positively purple with rage. Death and hell, he cried, clutching his writing whip significantly. What's the meaning of this? But already the younger man, full of excitement and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently seized him by the collar. They felt neither respect nor sympathy for a vagabond tired in gentlemen's clothes. Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst the beetle majestically replied, You'll have it, explainated to you, friend, before his honor. The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace. Got him, shouted most of the men. Showin' his ugly face in broad daylight, commented the women. Hold him tight, beetle, was the universal admonition. You rascal, you dare, gasped Sir Humphrey, struggling violently and shaking a menacing fist in the beetle's face. Silence, commanded Master Inch, with supreme dignity. I'll have you whipped for this. But this aroused the beetle's most awesome ire. To the stalks with him, he ordered. He insultates the majesty of the law. You low-born nave, I, you'll hang for this. It was all this clamor that at last aroused Master Midditchip in the parlor of the royal George, from the happy daydreams in which he was indulging. At first he took no count of it. Then he quietly strolled up to the window and undid the casement to ascertain what all the tumult was about. What he did see nearly froze the thin blood within his veins. He would have cried out, but his very throat contracted with the horror of the spectacle which he beheld. There, across the village green, he saw Sir Humphrey Chaloner, his noble patron, the squire of Hardington, being clapped into the village stalks, whilst a crowd of yokels, the clumsy, ignorant, damned louts, were actually pelting his honor with carrots, turnips, and potatoes. Oh, was the world coming to an end? There, a pack of peas hit Sir Humphrey straight in the eye. No wonder his honor was purple. He would have a stroke of apoplexy for sure within the next five minutes. At last Master Midditchip recovered the use of his limbs. With one bound he was out of the inn parlor and had pushed past mine host and hostess, who, as ignorant as were all the other villagers of their guest's name and quality, were watching the scene from the porch and holding their sides with laughter. Jack Bathurst had watched it all from the window of the courthouse. His daredevil, madcap scheme, had succeeded beyond his most sanguine hopes. When he saw Sir Humphrey Chaloner actually clapped in the village stalks, with the pompous beetle towering over him, like the sumptuous majesty of the law, he could have cried out in wild merry glee. But Jack was, above all, a man of prompt decision and quick action. For his own life he cared not one jot, and would gladly have laid it down for the sake of the woman he loved with all the passionate ardor of his romantic temperament. But with him, as with every other human being, self-preservation was the greatest and most irresistible law. He had readily imperiled his safety in order to obtain possession of the letters, which meant so much happiness to his beautiful white rose. But this done he was ready to do battle for his own life and to sell his freedom as dearly as may be. He hoped that he had effectually accomplished his purpose through the arrest of Sir Humphrey Chaloner, whose pockets Master Inch was even now deliberately searching, in spite of vigorous protests and terrible language from his honor. His heart gave a wild leap of joy when he saw the beetle presently hurrying across the green and holding a paper in his hand. It looked small enough, not a packet, only a single letter. But if it were the momentous one, then indeed would all risks, all perils, seem as nothing when weighed against the happiness of having rendered her this service. But Jack also saw Master Midditchip, darting panic-stricken out of the inn opposite. He knew, of course, that within the next few moments, seconds perhaps, the fraud would be discovered, and Sir Humphrey Chaloner liberated amidst a shower of abject apologies from the squire and parish of Brassington combined. What the further consequences of it all would be to himself was not difficult to foresee. He looked behind him. The squire was sitting at his desk, apparently taking no notice of the noise and shouting outside. Down below, John Stitch, who had been watching the scene on the green with the utmost delight, stood ready, holding Jack a lantern by the bridle. In a moment, with a few courteous words to the squire, Bathurst had hurried out of the courthouse. He met the beetle at the door, who, paper in hand, conscious of his own importance, and flurried with wrath, was hurrying to report the important arrest to squire west. Bathurst stopped him with a quick, twas well done, Master Inch, and pressing a couple of guineas into the beetle's hand, he added, her ladyship will further repay when you've found the rest of her property. In the meanwhile, these, I presume, are the letters she lost. Only one letter, Sir, said Master Inch, as somewhat taken off his pompous guard, he allowed Jack to take the paper from him. There was not a minute to be lost. Master Medichip, having vainly tried to harangue the yokels, who were still pelting his honour with miscellaneous vegetables, was now hurrying to the courthouse as fast as his thin legs would carry him. Bathurst took one glance at the paper which Master Inch had given him. A cry of the keenest disappointment escaped his lips. What is it, Captain? asked John Stitch, who had anxiously been watching his friend's face. Nothing, friend, replied Bathurst, only a receipt and tally for some sheep. John Stitch uttered a violent oath, and the scoundrel will escape with a shower of potatoes and no more punishment than the stalks. And you've risked your life, Captain, for nothing. Nay, not for nothing, honest friend, said Jack in a hurried whisper, as he mounted Jack-o-lantern with all the speed his helpless arm would allow. Do you go back to her ladyship as fast as you can? Beg her from me not to give up hope, but to feign an illness and on no account speak to anyone about the events of today until she has seen me again. You understand? Aye, aye, Captain. At this moment there came a wild cry from the precincts of the courthouse and Master Middichip, accompanied by Squire West himself and closely followed by the beetle, were seen tearing across the green towards the village stalks. The truth is out, friend, shouted Jack, as pressing his knees against Jack-o-lantern's sides and giving the gallant beast one cry of encouragement he galloped away at breakneck speed out towards the moor. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Of Bo Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Jines, Sutleck City, Utah. THE MAN HUNT By the time Squire West and the whole of the parish of Brassington had realized what a terrible practical joke had been perpetrated on them by the stranger, the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud of dust to mark the way he went. But the hue and cry after him had never ceased the whole of that day. Squire West, profuse and abject in his apologies, had told off all the soldiers who were quartered in the village to scour the heath day and night, until that rogue was found and brought before him. The sergeant, who was in command of the squad and the corporal, too, had a score of their own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the general consensus of opinion declared to have been none other than that scoundrel unhung, the notorious highwayman Bo Brocade. Master Ench, as soon as he had recovered his breath, distinctly recollected now seeing a beautiful chestnut horse pying the ground outside the courthouse during the course of the morning. He blamed himself severely for not having guessed the identity of the creature so closely associated in everyone's mind with the exploits of the highwayman. The yokels, however, at this juncture entrenched themselves behind a barrier of impenetrable density. In those days, just as even now, it is beyond human capacity to obtain information from a derby sure countryman if he do not wish to give it. Whether some of those who had pelted Sir Humphrey Chaloner with vegetables had or had not known who his honor was, whether some of them had or had not guessed Bo Brocade's presence in the village, remained in spite of rigorous cross-examination a complete mystery to the perplexed squire and to his valiant henchmen the beetle. Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual. I don't know. Was the stolid perpetual reply to every question put on either subject? Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with fatigue, was too ill to see anyone. The posse of soldiers, a score or two by now, had, however, been reinforced as the day wore on by a contingent of squire-west's own indoor and outdoor servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington itself of the sort that are to be found in every corner of the world where there is an alehouse, the idlers, the toties, those who had nothing to lose and something to gain by running counter to popular feeling and taking up cudgels against Bo Brocade for the sake of the reward lavishly promised by squire-west and Sir Humphrey Chaloner. The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer down at this late hour of the day when all arrangements for the battu after the highwayman being completed he at last found himself on horseback ambling along the bridal path towards the shepherd's hut with master middichip beside him. It had been a glorious day and the evening now gave promise of a balmy night to come, but the heath's majestic repose was disturbed by the doings of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken, lizards and toads had gone to rest in the marshy land beyond. Water hen and lapwing were asleep, but all the while on the great moor through the scrub and blackthorn along path and ravine man was hunting man and finding enjoyment in the sport. As Sir Humphrey Chaloner and the attorney rode slowly along they could hear from time to time the rallying cry of the various parties stalking the heath for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels of Bobrocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse had been seen to make its way riderless towards the forge of John Stitch. The quarry was on foot. He was known to be wounded. He must fall an easy prey to his trackers soon enough. Sometimes in the distance there would come a shout of triumph when the human bloodhounds had at last found a scent. Then Sir Humphrey would rouse himself from his moody silence. A look of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes and raining in his horse. He would strain his ears to hear that shout of triumph again. He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey, whispered midditchip, falling obsequiously into his employer's mood. No, curse him, muttered his honor, with a string of violent oaths. I shall see him hang before two days are over, unless these doles let him escape again. Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey, that's not likely, chuckled master midditchip. Squire West has pressed all his own able-bodied men into the service, and the posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, nay, he'll not escape this time. Sadeath swore his honor under his breath, but I do feel stiff. A dreadful indignity moaned the attorney. Nay, but Squire West was most distressed, and his apologies were profuse. Indeed, he seemed to feel it as much as if it had happened to himself. I, but not in the same place, I'll warrant. Odd's life! I had no notion how much a turnip could hurt when flung into one's eye, added his honor, with one of those laughs that never boated any good. A most painful incident, Sir Humphrey, sighed midditchip, brimming over with sympathy. Twas not the incident that was painful. Zounds I am bruised all over, but I'll have the law of every one of those doles I, and make that fool West, administer it on all of them. As for that ape, the beetle, he shall be publicly whipped. Death and hell they'll have to pay for this. I, I, Sir Humphrey, your anger is quite natural, and Squire West assured me that, that rascal Bobro Cade, who played you this impudent trick, cannot fail to be caught. The hunt is well organized. He cannot escape. As if to confirm the attorney's words, there rose at this moment from afar a weird and eerie sound, which caused master midditchip's shriveled flesh to creep along his bones. What was that, he whispered, horror struck. A bloodhound, the better to track that rascal, muttered Sir Humphrey savagely. The attorney shivered. There had been so much devilish malice in his honor's voice that suddenly his puny heart misgave him. He took to wishing himself well out of this unmanly business. The horror of it seemed to grip him by the throat. He was superstitious, too, and firmly believed in a material hell. The sound of that distant snarl, followed by the significant yelping of a hound upon the scent, made him think of the cries the devils would utter at the sight of the damned. The dog belongs to one of Squire West's grooms remarked his honor carelessly, a savage beast enough by the look of him. Luck was in our favor, for our gallant highwayman had carried Lady Patience's plane inside his coat for quite a long time, and then left it on his honor's table, quite enough for any self-respecting bloodhound, and this one is said to be very keen on the scent. Squire West tried to protest, but set a dog to catch a dog, say I. Master Mitichip tried to shut his ears to the terrible sound. Fortunately it was getting fainter now, and Sir Humphrey did not give him time for much reflection. His honor had stopped for a while listening, with a chuckle of intense satisfaction to the yelping of the dog straining on the leash. Then, when the sound died away, he said abruptly, Are we still far from the hut? No, Sir Humphrey, stammered Mitichip, whose very soul was quaking with horror. We'll find the shepherd there, thank you. Yes, your honor. Harky, Master Mitichip, I'll run, no risk. That damned highwayman must be desperate tonight. We'll adhere to our original plan, and let the shepherd take the letters to Worxworth. You'll not let them by tonight where they are, Sir Humphrey? No, you fool, I won't. They are but just below the surface under cover of some bramble, and once those fellows come scouring round the hut, any one of them may unearth the letters with a kick of his boot. There's been a lot of talk of a reward for the recovery of a packet of letters. No, no, no, I'll not risk it. Sir Humphrey Chaloner had thought the matter well out and knew that he ran two distinct risks in the matter of the letters to one he had alluded just now when he spoke of the probability remote perhaps of the packet being accidentally unearthed by one of the scouring parties. Any man who found it would naturally at once take it to Squire West in the hope of getting the reward promised by her ladyship for its recovery. The idea, therefore, of leaving the letters in their hiding place for a while did not commend itself to him. On the other hand, there was the more obvious risk of keeping them about his own person. Sir Humphrey thanked his stars that he had not done so the day before, and even now kept in his mind a certain superstitious belief that Bobro Cade, wounded, hunted, and desperate, would make a final effort which might prove successful to wrench the letters from him on the heath. End of Chapter 26, Chapter 27 of Bobro Cade by Baroness Emma Orksy. This lipovox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Jock Migs errant. Master Medichip had tried to utter one or two feeble protests, but Sir Humphrey had interrupted him emphatically. Theraskal may hope to win his pardon through the gas-going influence by rendering her ladyship this service. Wherever he may be at this moment, I am quite sure that his eye is upon me and my doings. Medichip shuttered and closed his eyes. He dared not peer into the dark scrub beside him and drew his horse in as close to Sir Humphrey's as he could. If you're afraid, you lumbering old coward, added his honor, go back and leave me in peace. I'll arrange my own affairs as I think best. But the prospect of returning to Brassington alone across this awful heath sent Master Medichip into a renewed agony of terror. Though his noble patron seemed suddenly to have become uncanny in this inordinate lust for revenge, he preferred his honor's company to his own, and therefore made a violent effort to silence his worst fears. The more just now was comparatively calm. The shouts of the hunters and the yelping of the hound had altogether ceased. Perhaps they had lost the scent. Another half-hour's silent ride brought them to the spur of the hill, along the top of which ran the worksworth road. And as they left the steep declivity behind them, their ears were pleasantly tickled by the welcome and bucolic sound of the bleeding of sheep. Your friend the shepherd seems to be at his post, quote Sir Humphrey with a sigh of satisfaction. They were close to the point where on the previous night Lady Patience's coach had come to a halt, and the next moment brought them in sight of the shepherd's hut, with the pen beyond it vaguely discernible in the gloom. Sir Humphrey gave the order to dismount. Master Medichip, feeling more dead than alive, had perforce to obey. They tied their horses loosely to a clump of blackthorn by the roadside and then crept cautiously towards the hut. It suited their purpose well that the night was a dark one, the moon was not yet high in the heavens, and was still half veiled by a thin film of fleecy clouds, leaving the whole vista of the moor wrapped in mysterious gray blue semitones. You have brought the lanthorn, whispered Sir Humphrey hurriedly. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yes, your honor, stammered Medichip. Then quicks the word, said his honor, pointing to a thick clump of gorse and bramble quite close to the shed. The letters are in the very center of that clump and only just below the surface do you creep in there and get them. There was nothing for Master Medichip to do but to obey, and that with as much alacrity as his terror would allow, his teeth were chattering in his head, and his hands were trembling so violently that he was some time in striking a light for the lanthorn. Sir Humphrey suppressed an oath of angry impatience. Led preserve me, murmured the poor attorney, if that highwayman should come upon me whilst I am engaged in the task, you, you'll not leave me, Sir Humphrey. I'll lay my stick across your cowardly shoulders if you don't hurry, was his honor's only comment. He watched Medichip crawling on his hands and knees underneath the bramble, and his deep stertorious breathing testified to the anxiety which was raging within him, a few moments of intense suspense, and then Master Medichip reappeared from beneath the scrub covered with wet earth, still trembling, but holding the packet of letters triumphantly in his hand. Sir Humphrey snatched it from him. Quick, find the shepherd now, don't waste time, he whispered, pushing the cowering attorney roughly before him. One feels as if every blade of grass had a pair of ears on this damned heath, he muttered under his breath. Jock Miggs, the shepherd, had counted over his sheep, closed the gate of the pen, and was just turning into the hut for the night when he was hailed by Master Medichip. Shepard, hey Shepard, Meds looked about him vaguely astonished since his adventure of the previous night, when he had been made to play a tune for mad folks to dance to, he felt that nothing would seriously surprise him. When, therefore, he felt himself seized by the arm without more ado, and dragged into the darkest corner of the hut, he did not even protest. Did you wish to speak with me, sir? he asked, plaintively, rubbing his arm, for Sir Humphrey's impatient grip had been very strong and hard. Yes, said the latter, speaking in a rapid whisper, here's Master Medichip, attorney at law, whom you know well, eh? I, I, murmured Jock Miggs, pulling at his forelock, though she belonged to his honor, I believe. Exactly, Miggs, interposed Master Medichip, spurred to activity by a vigorous kick from Sir Humphrey, and I have come out here on purpose to see you, for it is very important that you should go at once on to worksworth, for me, with a packet and a note for Master Duffy, my clerk. What, now, this time of night, quote Jock vaguely, I, I, Miggs, you are not afraid, are you? Sir Humphrey had taken up his stand outside the hut, leaving Medichip to arrange this matter with the shepherd. He had leaned his powerful frame against the wall of the shed, and was grasping his heavily weighted riding-crop ready and alert in case of attack. The darkness round him at this moment was intense, and his sharp eyes vainly tried to pierce the gloom, which seemed to be closing in upon him, but his ears were keenly alive to every sound which came to him out of the blackness of the night, and all the while he tried not to lose one word of the conversation between Medichip and the shepherd. That's true, Jock, the attorney was saying. Well, then if you'll go to worksworth for me now at once, there'll be a guinea for you. A guinea came in bewildered accents from the worthy shepherd. Lordy, Lordy, but these be amazing times. All I want you to do, Jock, is to take a packet for me to my house in Folsom Street, you understand? But here there was a pause. Miggs was evidently hesitating. Well, queried Medichip, I'm thinking, sir. What? How can I go on your errand when I've got to guard this ear sheep for you? Oh, damn the sheep, Quothmaster Medichip, emphatically. Well, sir, if you be satisfied, you know my house at worksworth? Aye, aye, sir. I'll give you a packet. You are to take it to worksworth now at once, and to give it to my clerk, Master Duffy, at my house in Folsom Street. You are quite sure you understand? I do know, as I do, Quoth Jock vaguely. But with an impatient oath, Sir Humphrey turned into the hut. Matters were progressing much too slowly for his impatient temperament. He pushed Medichip aside and said peremptorily, Look here, shepherd, you want to earn a guinea, don't you? Aye, sir, that I do. Well, here's the packet, and here's a letter for Master Duffy at Master Medichip's house in Folsom Street. When Master Duffy has the packet and reads the letter, he will give you a guinea. Is that clear? And he handed the packet of letters and also a small note to Jock Miggs, who seemed to have done with hesitation, for he took them with alacrity. Oh, aye, that's clear enough. He said, tis writ in this paper, that I'm to get the guinea in Master Medichip's own hand, but mind no gossiping and no loitering, you must get to worksworth before Cochro. Jock Miggs slipped the packet and the note into the pocket of his smock. The matter of the guinea, having been satisfactorily explained to him, he was quite ready to start. Noah, for sure, he said, patting the papers affectionately, mums the word, I'll do your bidding, sir, and the papers will be safe with me, seeing it's writ on them, that I'm to get a guinea. Exactly, so you mustn't lose them, you know. No, Noah, I baint a fear of that, nor of the highwaymen, and Bo Brocade wouldn't touch the loyques of me, bless them, but lordy, lordy, these be amazing times. Already, sir Humphrey was pushing him impatiently out of the hut, and here added his honor, pressing a piece of money into the shepherd's hand. Here's a half crown to keep you on the go. Thank ye, sir, and if you think the sheep will be all right. Oh, hang the sheep. All right, sir, if Master Midditchip be satisfied, and I'll leave the dog to look after the sheep. He took up his long knotted stick, and still shaking his head and muttering, lordy, lordy, the worthy shepherd slowly began to wend his way along the footpath, which from this point leads straight to worksworth. Sir Humphrey watched the quaint, wisened figure for a few seconds until it disappeared in the gloom, then he listened for a while. All round him the heath was silent, and at peace the plaintive bleeding of the sheep in the pen added a note of subdued melancholy to the vast and impressive stillness. Only from far there came the weird echo of hound and men on the hunt. His honor swore around oath. Zounds, he muttered, the rogue must be hard pressed, and he's not like to give us further trouble. Even if he come on us now, eh, you old scarecrow, the letters are safe at last. What? Led preserve me, sighed the attorney, but I hope so. Back to Brassington then, quote Sir Humphrey, lustily, bow brocade can attack us now, eh? Ha, ha, ha! he laughed in his wanted, boisterous way. Me thinks we have outwitted that gallant highwaymen after all. For sure Sir Humphrey echoed Medichip, who was meekly following his honor's lead across the road to where their horses were in readiness for them. As for my lady patience, Ha, said his honor jovially, her brother's life is well in my hands to save or to destroy, according as she will frown on me or smile. But me seems her ladyship will have to smile, eh? He laughed pleasantly, for he was in exceedingly good temper just now. As for that chivalrous bow brocade he added as he hoisted himself into the saddle, he shall, and I mistake not, dangle on a gibbet before another nightfall. Hark! he added as the yelping of the bloodhound once more woke the silent more with its eerie echo. Medichip's scanty locks literally stood up beneath his bobtail wig. Even Sir Humphrey could not altogether repress a shudder as he listened to the shouts, the cries, the snarls, which were rapidly drawing nearer. We should have waited to be in at the death, he said, with enforced gaiety, me seems our fox is being run to earth at last. He tried to laugh, but his laughter sounded eerie and unnatural, and suddenly it was interrupted by the loud report of a pistol shot followed by what seemed like prolonged yells of triumph. Master Medichip could bear it no longer. With the desperation of intense and unreasoning terror he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and like a madman galloped at breakneck speed down the hillside into the valley below. Sir Humphrey followed more leisurely. He had gained his end and was satisfied. End of Chapter 27