Beau Brocade by Baroness Emmuska Orczy (free ebooks romance novels .txt) 📕

His eyes, as soon as they opened, sought anxiously for her dear presence in the room.

“Feel better, Captain?” asked John Stich, 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 the smith.

“Oho! 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?”

“Aye! 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 Stich raised himself from the bed. He looked ruefully at his stained clothes, and a quaint, pleasant smile chased away hte 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 mine 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 that this stupid scratch. Run quickly, John, for I hear her footsteps 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 Stich had done his best to valet and dress him, he waited upon her ladyship at breakfast in the parlour downstairs.

She came forward to greet him, her dainty hand outstretched, her eyes anxiously scanning his face.

“You should not have risen yet, sir,” she said half shyly as he pressed her finger-tips to his lips, “your poor wounded shoulder…”

“Nay, with your pardon, madam,” he said lightly, “‘tis well already since your sweet hand has tended it.”

“‘Twas my desire to nurse you awhile longer, and not allow you to risk your life for me again.”

“My life? Nay! I’ll trust that to mine old enemy, Fortune: she has ta’en 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 honour 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 Tors, 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 which 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 whither he was drifting; he knew that he loved her with every fibre 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, and 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 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 recognised, 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 bleating of a flock of sheep, or the melancholy lowing of cattle would come to them from afar, or from the window-sill the sweet fragrance of a pot of mignonette.

Chapter XXIII

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 aroused them both from their dreams.

Bathurst rose to open, and there stood John Stich 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 Challoner at the window of the Royal George, just over the green yonder.”

“Give me leave, Captain,” added John Stich, 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, Mittachip, conversing with the beadle outside the Court House, where Squire West is sitting.”

“Well?”

“When the beadle ahd gone, Master Mittachip walked across the green and went straight to the Royal George. By gy! what does that mean, Captain?”

“Oho!” laughed Jack, much amused at the smith’s earnestness, “it means that Sir Humphrey Challoner intends to lay information against one Beau Brocade, 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.

“Tush, man!” he added seriously, “here’s a mighty fine piece of work we’re doing, frightening her ladyship…”

But John Stich 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. Beau 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?”

“Aye! 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, “an those bright eyes of yourse have no deceived you, yours’ll 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 Challoner,” 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 will you deign to do as I shall direct?”

“Entirely.”

“Very well! Then whilst friend Stich will fetch my hat for me, will you write out a formal plaint, 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 pen, 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 plaint over to his Honour, Squire West, at the Court House.”

“You’ll be seen and recognised and …”

“Not I. One or two of the yokels may perhaps guess who I am, but they’d 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 instictively obeyed him and wrote out the plaint 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 finger-tips 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. An I mistake not,” he added with a merry twinkle in his grey eyes, “there’ll 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 parlour which awhile ago his presence had made so bright.

It was at this moment that Master Mittachip, after his interview with the beadle, was in close conversation with Sir Humphrey Challoner at the Royal George.

Outside the inn, Bathurst turned to John Stich, 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, aye! I knew you’d want it soon enough. Jack o’ Lantern carried it for you himself, bless ‘is ‘eart, along with her ladyship and Mistress Betty.”

“Then do you see at once to his being saddled, friend, and bring him along to the Court House as soon as may be. Hold him in readiness for me, so that I may mount at a second’s notice.