The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini
destination, or come to confess that it had been taken from him. That wrapper the courier brought to me, and I have it here. The evidence it will give should be more than sufficient to warrant your restoring these unjustly accused gentlemen their liberty.”
“The courier took it to you?” echoed Albemarle, stupefaction in his glance. “But why to you?”
“Because,” said Wilding, and with his left hand he placed the wrapper before Albemarle, whilst his right dropped again to his pocket, “the letter, as you may see, was addressed to me.”
The quiet manner in which he made the announcement conveyed almost as great a shock as the announcement itself.
Albemarle took up the wrapper; Luttrell and Phelips craned forward to join him in his scrutiny of it. They compared the two, paper with paper, writing with writing. Then Monk flung one and the other down in front of him.
“What lies have I been hearing, then?” he demanded furiously of Trenchard. “’Slife I’ll make an example of you. Arrest me that rogue—arrest them both,” and he half rose from his seat, his trembling hand pointing to Wilding and Trenchard.
Two of the tything-men stirred to do his bidding, but in the same instant Albemarle found himself looking into the round nozzle of a pistol.
“If,” said Mr. Wilding, “a finger is laid upon Mr. Trenchard or me I shall have the extreme mortification of being compelled to shoot Your Grace.”
His pleasantly modulated voice was as deliberate and calm as if he were offering the Bench a pinch of snuff. Albemarle’s dark visage crimsoned; his eyes became at once wicked and afraid. Sir Edward’s cheeks turned pale, his glance grew startled. Luttrell alone, vigilant and dangerous, preserved his calm. But the situation baffled even him.
Behind the two friends the tything-men had come to a terror-stricken halt. Diana had risen from her chair in the excitement of the moment and had drawn close to Ruth, who looked on with parted lips and bosom that rose and fell. Even Blake could not stifle his admiration of Mr. Wilding’s coolness and address. Richard, on the other hand, was concerned only with thoughts for himself, wondering how it would fare with him if Wilding and Trenchard succeeded in getting away.
“Nick,” said Mr. Wilding, “will you desire those catchpolls behind us to stand aside? If Your Grace raises your voice to call for help, if, indeed, any measures are taken calculated to lead to our capture, I can promise Your Grace—notwithstanding my profound reluctance to use violence—that they will be the last measures you will take in life. Be good enough to open the door, Nick, and to see that the key is on the outside.”
Trenchard, who was by way of enjoying himself now, stepped briskly down the hall to do as his friend bade him, with a wary eye on the tything-men. But never so much as a finger did they dare to lift. Mr. Wilding’s calm was too deadly; they had seen a man in earnest before this, and they knew his appearance now. From the doorway Trenchard called Mr. Wilding.
“I must be going, Your Grace,” said the latter very courteously, “but I shall not be so wanting in deference to His Majesty’s august representatives as to turn my back upon you.” Saying which, he walked backwards, holding his pistol level, until he had reached Trenchard and the door. There he paused and made them a deep bow, his manner the more mocking in that there was no tinge of mockery perceptible. “Your very obedient servant,” said he, and stepped outside. Trenchard turned the key, withdrew it from the lock, and, standing on tiptoe, thrust it upon the ledge of the lintel.
Instantly a clamour arose within the chamber. But the two friends never stayed to listen. Down the passage they sped at the double, and out into the courtyard. Here Ruth’s groom, mounted himself, was walking his mistress’s and Diana’s horses up and down whilst he waited; yonder one of Sir Edward’s stable-boys was holding Mr. Wilding’s roan. Two or three men of the Somerset militia, in their red and yellow liveries, lounged by the gates, and turned uninterested eyes upon these newcomers.
Wilding approached his wife’s groom. “Get down,” he said, “I need your horse—on the King’s business. Get down, I say,” he added impatiently, upon noting the fellow’s stare, and, seizing his leg, he helped him to dismount by almost dragging him from the saddle. “Up with you, Nick,” said he, and Nick very promptly mounted. “Your mistress will be here presently,” Wilding told the groom, and, turning on his heel, strode to his own mare. A moment later Trenchard and he vanished through the gateway with a tremendous clatter, just as the Lord-Lieutenant, Colonel Luttrell, Sir Edward Phelips, the constable, the tything-men, Sir Rowland, Richard, and the ladies made their appearance.
Ruth pushed her way quickly to the front. She feared lest her horse and her cousin’s being at hand might be used for the pursuit; so urging Diana to do the same, she snatched her reins from the hands of the dumbfounded groom and leapt nimbly to the saddle.
“After them!” roared Albemarle, and the constable with two of his men made a dash for the gateway to raise the hue and cry, whilst the militiamen watched them in stupid, inactive wonder. “Damnation, mistress!” thundered the Duke in ever-increasing passion, “hold your nag! Hold your nag, woman!” For Ruth’s horse had become unmanageable, and was caracoling about the yard between the men and the gateway in such a manner that they dared not attempt to win past her.
“You have scared him with your bellowing,” she panted, tugging at the bridle, and all but backed into the constable who had been endeavouring to get round behind her. The beast continued its wild prancing, and the Duke abated nothing in his furious profanity, until suddenly the groom, having relinquished to Diana the reins of the other horse, sprang to Ruth’s assistance and caught her bridle in a firm grasp which brought the animal to a standstill.
“You fool!” she hissed at him, and half raised her whip to strike, but checked on the impulse, bethinking her in time that, after all, what the poor lad had done he had done thinking her distressed.
The constable and a couple of his fellows won through; others were rousing the stable and getting to horse, and in the courtyard all was bustle and commotion. Meanwhile, however, Mr. Wilding and Trenchard had made the most of their start, and were thundering through the town.
CHAPTER XII
AT THE FORD
As Mr. Wilding and Nick Trenchard rode hell-to-leather through Taunton streets they never noticed a horseman at the door of the Red Lion Inn. But the horseman noticed them. He looked up at the sound of their wild approach, started upon recognizing them, and turned in his saddle as they swept past him to call upon them excitedly to stop.
“Hi!” he shouted. “Nick Trenchard! Hi! Wilding!” Then, seeing that they either did not hear or did not heed him, he loosed a volley of oaths, wheeled his horse about, drove home the spurs, and started in pursuit. Out of the town he followed them and along the road towards Walford, shouting and clamouring at first, afterwards in a grim and angry silence.
Now, despite their natural anxiety for their own safety, Wilding and Trenchard had by no means abandoned their project of taking cover by the ford to await the messenger whom Albemarle and the others would no doubt be sending to Whitehall; and this mad fellow thundering after them seemed in a fair way to mar their plan. As they reluctantly passed the spot they had marked out for their ambush, splashed through the ford and breasted the rising ground beyond, they took counsel. They determined to stand and meet this rash pursuer. Trenchard calmly opined that if necessary they must shoot him; he was, I fear, a bloody-minded fellow at bottom, although, it is true he justified himself now by pointing out that this was no time to hesitate at trifles. Partly because they talked and partly because the gradient was steep and their horses needed breathing, they slackened rein, and the horseman behind them came tearing through the water of the ford and lessened the distance considerably in the next few minutes.
He bethought him of using his lungs once more. “Hi, Wilding! Hold, damn you!”
“He curses you in a most intimate manner,” quoth Trenchard.
Wilding reined in and turned in the saddle. “His voice has a familiar sound,” said he. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked down