Peregrine's Progress Part 14

"The desp'rit cove as gie me the one-er!" added the ostler.

"Aye, Mr. Vokes," continued the landlord with unction, "this is 'im as committed the 'ssault an' battery on 'is betters."

"Oh, is it?" said Mr. Vokes, nodding in highly menacing fas.h.i.+on.

"Ah!" nodded the landlord. "An' then goes for to make us go for to nigh drownd the pore, unfort'nate genelman in my own 'oss-trough, an'

'im now a-sneezin' an' a-groanin' an' a-swearin' in bed fit to break your 'eart. 'Ere be the desp'rit rogue as done the deed!"

"Oh, is it!" repeated Black Whiskers, scowling. "Why, very well, then--'ere's to show 'im 'oo's 'oo!" and he reached for a heavy riding-whip that lay on the floor beside him.

"Sit still, Mr. Vokes--remain seated, lest I pink you!" commanded Anthony, saluting him with the Captain's cane as if it had been a sword. The man Vokes stared, swore and rose up, whip in hand, whereupon Anthony lunged gracefully, thrusting the cane so extremely accurately into the middle of Mr. Vokes' waistcoat that he doubled up with marked suddenness and fell back helpless in his chair, groaning and gasping painfully.

"Now, my lads," quoth Anthony cheerily, as he picked up the whip, "the word is 'horses'! Come, bustle now!" and he cracked the whip like a pistol shot.

"Lord love me!" exclaimed the landlord, retreating precipitately. "I never see no thin' like this 'ere--no, never!"

"That'll do, my lad, that'll do!" said Anthony, flouris.h.i.+ng the whip.

"In six minutes or so I expect the chaise at the door."

"But I can't drive a hoss wot's cast a shoe, can I, sir?" whined the postillion, his eye on the whip.

"You can get another, my lad."

"Theer ain't no other 'oss nowhere, except Mr. Vokes' mare!" quoth the ostler.

"Then of course Mr. Vokes will be glad to lend us his mare, I'm sure."

But here Black Whiskers found voice and breath for a very decided negative, with divers gasping allusions to Anthony's eyes and limbs.

Hereupon Anthony betook him again to his posture of _escrime_, the cane-point levelled threateningly within a foot of Mr. Vokes'

already outraged person.

"Fellow," said he, "next time address me as 'sir'--and say 'yes'!"

For a moment the flinching Mr. Yokes paused to eye the levelled cane, the ready hand and fierce grey eyes behind it, then spoke the desired words in voice scarcely audible by reason of pain and pa.s.sion; but they sufficed, the cane was lowered, the whip cracked, and forthwith into the yard filed landlord, ostler and postillion with us at their heels. And here by aid of flickering lanthorns, amid wind and rain, the horses were harnessed and put to, the chaise brought to the door where stood one cloaked and hooded who, with Anthony's ready a.s.sistance, climbed nimbly into the chaise.

"Anthony--your pistol!" and I handed it to him. "Take care," said I, as he thrust it carelessly into his bosom.

"Tus.h.!.+" he laughed, "had it been loaded I should have blown out what brains I have days ago!"

"Good-bye, Anthony!" said I, and, or ever he could prevent, thrust a guinea into his hand. For a moment I thought he would toss it in my face, then he thrust it into his pocket.

"Egad, Perry!" said he, seizing my hand in his vital clasp. "You are a devilish--likeable fellow and--d'ye see--what I mean is--oh, dammit!

Look for me at Tonbridge." Having said which, he sprang down the steps, entered the chaise and banged to the door. But now at the open window was a lovely face. "Good-bye--Peregrine," and with the word she reached out her hand to me.

"Good-bye," said I.

"Barbara," she suggested.

"Good-bye, Barbara!" said I, and lifted the hand to my lips.

"At Tonbridge, Perry!" repeated Anthony.

"At Tonbridge!" said I, whereupon the postillion vituperated the rain and wind, chirruped to his horses, and the chaise rolled away into the tempestuous dark.

For them, rain and wind and darkness, for me such comfort as the inn afforded, but of the three it was I who was desolate and forlorn.

CHAPTER IX

DESCRIBES THE WOES OF GALLOPING JERRY, A NOTORIOUS HIGHWAYMAN

"An' now--wot about my door?" demanded a gruff voice. Starting, I turned to find the landlord at my elbow and immediately my forlornness grew intensified. I felt miserably helpless and at a loss, for the man's sullen face seemed to hold positive menace and I yearned mightily for Anthony's masterful presence beside me or a little of his polite ferocity.

"Come--wot about my door?" demanded the landlord, more threatening than ever. "Ten s.h.i.+llin' won't mend my door--"

"What door?" I questioned, fronting his insolent look with as much resolution as I could summon.

"The door as you an' that desp'rit villain broke betwixt ye--fifteen s.h.i.+llin'--ah, a pound won't pay for the mendin' o' my door--wot about it--come!" Here he lurched towards me, shoulders hunched, chin brutally out-thrust so that I shrank instinctively from him, perceiving which, he grew the more aggressive.

"That will do!" said I in woefully feeble imitation of Anthony's masterful manner. "That will do--and what is more--"

"Oh, will it do? Wot about my door?"

"You may charge it in your bill--"

"Not me, by goles! 'T is money as I wants--thirty s.h.i.+llin'--in my 'and--this 'ere very moment."

"I intend to stay the night, so will you please have a fire lighted in your best--"

"Thirty-five s.h.i.+llin's the word--in my 'and--this moment--my fine little gent--that's wot!"

Feeling myself quite powerless to cope with this drunken creature, I shrank before him, trembling with mingled rage and disgust; perceiving which, he scowled the fiercer and thrust a hairy fist into my face.

Threatened thus with bodily harm, I glanced hastily over my shoulder with some wild notion of ignominious flight, but dignity forbidding, I stood my ground sick with apprehension and with my sweating hands tight-clenched.

"Smell it!" quoth the landlord, setting his fist under my nose. "Which is it t' be,--forty s.h.i.+llin' or this?"

I was groping for my purse when over my shoulder came a large, plump, red hand that took my scowling aggressor by an ear and tweaked it till he writhed, and turning, I beheld the large, plump woman who, putting me aside, interposed her comfortable bulk before me.

"Oh, Sammy," sighed she reproachfully. "You been a-drinkin'

again--shame on ye to go a-frightin' an' a-scarin' this poor child. Go an' put your wicked 'ead under the pump this instant, you bad boy. As for you, my pore lamb, never 'eed 'im; 'e bean't so bad when 'e's sober. Come your ways along o' me, dearie." And folding me within one robust arm she brought me into that room that was half bar and half kitchen.

"There!" she exclaimed, leading me to the great settle beside the fire. "Sit ye there, my lamb, and never mind n.o.body. Lor'! You be a-s.h.i.+verin' an' shakin' like a little asp, I declare. Poor child!"

sighed she, gustily commiserate, and patting my head with her great plump hand. "Pore little soul--never mind, then!"