Bladys of the Stewponey by Sabine Baring-Gould (red white royal blue .TXT) 📕

further, what he proposed doing. And it was not till a minute ago, when you lifted your hand, that I perceived what ailed your forefinger on the hand that held the whip.”

Stracey brought the lash across the back of the horse.

“May I die, Nan,” said he, “but there is not a moment to be lost. I wish we may be back in time. Curse it, I was mad to come on this fool’s errand to-day.”

“Nay, George, but for this you would not have known what Luke Onion had determined against you. You may thank her that she has shown you the net before it has been drawn.”

Then turning to Bladys, and allowing her to see how pale her face had become, she said:

“I pray you tell us everything you can about this matter.”

“There is nothing further to relate. Luke Hangman said he was confident that the Captain with the bent forefinger who had stayed him was none other than the redoubted Poulter, otherwise called Baxter, who had been looked for so long and ineffectually; and that he now believed this man would not escape his clutches. He did not mention the name by which he was known in this neighbourhood, only that he could swear to him because of the crooked forefinger.”

For the rest of the journey the horse was driven as he had probably never been pressed before. At intervals whispers passed between Stracey and Nan Norris, which Bladys did not catch, nor, indeed, did she attempt to overhear.

The face of each was grave, and every trace of recent disagreement had vanished.

Moreover, curiosity relative to the object of the journey of Bladys to Nesscliffe had been effaced from their minds in their great concern over the danger that directly menaced one of them, and indirectly the other.

The cart was driven through the streets of Shrewsbury at a furious pace, and the beast, panting and blotched with foam, was drawn up at the door of the Wool Pack.

Stracey swung himself out of the vehicle, and without regarding the women or helping them to dismount, ran into the inn, and burst into the room where sat the hostess of the Rock Tavern.

“Mother Norris!” said he, in a voice that quivered with emotion, “there’s damnable news come.”

“Ay! ay! I know it.”

“You do?”

“You are blown.”

“Why did you not tell me this earlier? before I started for Nesscliffe? I might have been halfway to Kinver by this time.”

“That is fine talking. How could I tell you when he was not arrested till three hours after you were gone?”

“Arrested? Who? What is your meaning?”

“What is my meaning?” repeated the hag; “why, this—that the constables have taken him, and Beelzebub as well.”

“Have arrested Jac’mo!” almost shrieked Stracey.

“Who else? They have taken him to the Castle, and the monkey with him.”

“Oh, curse the monkey!” throwing himself into a chair, with an expression of dejection, almost of despair on his face. “We are lost.”

“He is certain to peach,” said the beldame; “I made signs to him not to understand a word of English addressed to him. He was in deadly terror. They will do with him what they like.”

“He will tell everything. Curse the day that we trusted him.”

“He has been useful. As Z stands at the end of the alphabet, so doth the gallows finish the life of such as you. Meet it bravely, Captain.”

Stracey broke into imprecations.

“Not a moment is to be lost,” said he; “Nan and I must return immediately to Kinver, with a chaise and post-horses. We must get there first.”

“What will you do?”

“Clear out Meg-a-Fox Hole.”

“And then?”

“Clear off myself.”

“What am I to do?”

“Stewponey Bla shall drive you leisurely home tomorrow.”

“As you will. It is late, and a drive in the cold night air would bring on my cough. See, a coffin has just shot out from the fire—to your feet, not to mine. It passed me—it lies smoking before you.”

Stracey flung from the room to order the lightest available carriage, with the best post-horses that could be procured, to be ready immediately. To Nan he said in a low voice:

“You urge them on; I shall walk forward. You shall catch me up clear of Shrewsbury.”

He walked leisurely through the town, swinging a rattan, and crossed the bridge; then passed the Abbey, without meeting with any inconvenience. In fact, the Italian had as yet told nothing, and the magistrates were profoundly ignorant that the redoubted Captain had been staying in the town.

Nan urged on the ostlers, made promises of extra payment, and said:

“The poor gentleman has just learned that his mother is dying. She has been suffering long from a consumption, and now has broke a blood vessel. He has walked ahead, so impatient is he to reach his home. He lives at Much Wenlock.”

Every word was untrue, but it served the girl’s purpose, and with rapidity the chaise was got ready, and the postboys arrived duly caparisoned in their jackets, breeches, and boots. Nan sprang in, and the horses started at a trot.

Not until a quarter of an hour after the departure of Nan did the old woman start from the lethargy into which she had fallen by the fire; then lifting her hands, she uttered a cry of dismay.

“What ails you, mother?” asked Bladys.

“My dear,” answered the old woman in great agitation, “have you money with you?”

“Not one penny.”

“Nor have I.”

“Does this greatly matter?”

“It matters everything. In his haste Captain George has gone off and forgotten to pay the inn account. They will come down on me. Pay we must, or they will seize on our horse and cart, and we shall be detained here. We have been three days here, and have eaten and drunk of the best. There will be a charge of many pounds against us, and I have nothing.”

Bladys mused for a moment. She understood how serious the dilemma was. Moreover, she was impatient to leave Shrewsbury.

Presently she stood up.

“Do not be uneasy, Mother Norris; I can find a way out of the difficulty, and that speedily.”

Chapter 19.

A SECOND FLIGHT

Luke Onion was sitting by the fire, his feet extended, and the soles scarlet with the reflected glow as though he had been treading in blood. No less red was his face. The expression was sinister.

A flame, the reflection of that which played above the coals, danced in his eyes. His head was bound up, and the fever of his wound had produced a twitching in his hands and feet that showed, in spite of the position of repose he had assumed, that he was in a condition of inner unrest.

Now and again, he bit his fingers, gnawing the nails; and then he spread out his hands before the fire to screen his face.

To him entered his mother.

“Luke! News!”

“Well!” He did not turn his head. “Has the cat kittened?”

“Luke, we have been robbed.”

“We always are being pillaged. Nicodemus is an arrant rogue.”

“We have been robbed by that wench from Stewponey.”

“How so? What of her?”

“Of her, nothing but what is evil. There has been a curse on us and a blight on our affairs ever since you brought her here.”

“What has she taken? My grandmother’s salve box, with the Queen Anne shilling on it?”

“Luke, rouse up. She has carried away all the jewellery of that woman we burnt.”

“There was none for her to take. Nicodemus secured the wedding ring and guard.”

“I tell you, Luke, that she has got jewellery to the value of many hundreds of pounds.”

“You have had an afternoon doze, and have been dreaming, mother.”

“Luke, rouse up! I have seen them. She has already sold a brooch to Purvis, the goldsmith, for sixteen guineas, and it is worth five times that amount.”

The hangman was now thoroughly roused. He sat up in his chair, put his hands on the elbows, and turned himself about.

His mother approached the hearth, and said:

“I was in High Street, when I caught a glimpse of her as she went up and down, looking into shop windows. I wondered what she sought, and I watched her without allowing myself to be seen. She remained awhile in front of Purvis’s shop, first; put forth her hand as though to open the door and enter, then changed her intent and walked on, still observing the windows. After a while she came on the shop of Radstone, and stayed there. She halted before no other window but that of a jeweller; not before that of a milliner or a draper. But she did not go in at Radstone’s, although she seemed to have a mind to do so; instead, she returned through the street to Purvis’s. Then I was certain that she intended to buy something or sell something, and, either way, it astonished me. So I drew close, where I might see. After she had entered, then, she stood with her back to the window, and there was a light inside, by which the goldsmith had been repairing some trinket. I saw her take a box from out of her pocket.”

“What box?”

“None belonging to us. None I had ever seen before. She had a key and unlocked it; but apart, so that she showed none of the contents. She drew from it a glittering ornament. It was a diamond brooch. The jeweller held it to the little lamp to examine it, and then he brought it to the window that he might inspect it by the daylight, and assure himself of the water of the stones; and he further tested them with a diamond-cutter, to assure himself that they did not scratch, and so were not of paste. I drew somewhat aside, but for all that I did not remove my eyes from him and the little brooch. Presently he went back to where she was stood, and I thrust myself nearer once more, and I saw how that he was questioning her.”

Then I opened the door and entered. He looked well content, and she was startled, but speedily collected herself again, cold and hard as she is—like a block of marble The man Purvis said at once to me that he was glad I had arrived; he had been offered a diamond brooch, and that it was his custom never to purchase jewellery from one with whom he was unacquainted, lest he should be brought thereby into trouble. He said that he did not question that whatever she had said was true—”

“What had she said?”

“That I asked; and she repeated her words, looking at me straight in the face.”

“What said she?”

“She said that the woman that was burnt had given to her this brooch as a present and as a remembrance of her. She had stood on the heap of fuel at her side until the last moment, and the criminal had with her last words committed this brooch to her. I had myself seen how that Stewponey girl had taken something out of the bosom of the creature.”

“Was it the box?”

“No, it was a letter.”

“I do not comprehend how she came by the box.”

“That matters not to us. It is my positive conviction that the box is a jewel-case and contained more than the one brooch. Purvis asked her whether she were your wife. She answered him: ‘I am she that came to Shrewsbury as such.’ Then he turned to me and asked me if this was the truth, and I assented. What else was I to do?”

“Proceed.”

“Then he offered her ten guineas for the brooch, but she hesitated about receiving that sum. After that he came to sixteen,