Philip Winwood Part 36

No one was there when we arrived, and we paced to and fro together to keep in exercise, talking in low voices, and beguiling our agitation by confining our thoughts to a narrow channel. The sod was cool and soft to our tread, and the smell of the leaves was pleasant to our nostrils. As the sky whitened above the silent trees, and the gray light penetrated to the gra.s.sy turf at our feet, Phil quoted softly the line from Grey's Elegy in which the phrase of "incense-breathing morn" occurs; and from that he went to certain parts of Milton's "L'Allegro" and then to Shakespeare's songs, "When Daisies Pied" and "Under the Greenwood Tree."

"'Faith," said he, breaking off from the poetry, "'tis a marvel how content I feel! You would not believe it, the serene happiness that has come over me. 'Tis easy to explain, though: I have adjusted my affairs, provided for my wife, left nothing in confusion or disorder, and am as ready for death as for life. I feel at last responsible to no one; free to accept whatever fate I may incur; clear of burdens.

The great thing, man, is to have one's debts paid, one's obligations discharged: then death or life matters little, and the mere act of breathing fresh air is a joy unspeakable."

We now descried the figures of Falconer, Idsleigh, and a third gentleman, approaching under the trees. Civil greetings pa.s.sed as they came up, and Falconer overwent the demands of mere courtesy so far as to express himself upon the coolness and sweetness of the morning. But he was scrutinising Philip curiously the while, as if there were some reason why he should be less indifferent regarding this antagonist than he had shown himself regarding Tom Faringfield and me.

The princ.i.p.als removed their hats, coats, and waistcoats. As they were not booted, but appeared in stockings and low shoes, they made two fine and supple figures to look upon. The formalities between Mr.

Idsleigh and me were as brief as possible. Falconer chose his sword with a pretence of scarce looking at it, Philip gave his the usual examination, and the two men stood on guard.

There was a little wary play at first, while each sought an inkling of the other's method. Then some livelier work, in which they warmed themselves and got their muscles into complete facility, followed upon Phil's pretending to lose his guard. All this was but overture, and it came to a stop for a short pause designed as preliminary to the real duel. Both were now perspiring, and breathing into their lungs deep draughts of air. Falconer's expression showed that he had recognised better fencing in Phil's work than he had thought to find; but Phil's face conveyed no such surprise, for he had counted upon an adversary possessed of the first skill.

'Twas Falconer who began what we all felt was to be the serious part of the combat. Phil parried the thrust neatly; made a feint, but, instantly recovering, availed himself of his opponent's counter movement, and sank his point fair into Falconer's left breast. The English captain tumbled instantly to the ground. The swiftness of the thing startled us. Idsleigh and his medical companion stared in amazement, wondering that the fallen man should lie so still. It took a second or two for that which their eyes had informed them, to penetrate to their understanding. But Philip and I knew that the lunge had pierced the heart, and that the accomplished Lovelace on the ground would charm no more women.

'Twas only when we were hastening back to our hackney-coach, that Philip trembled. Then for a few moments his teeth chattered as if he were taken with a chill, and his face was deathly pale.

"'Tis terrible," he said, in an awed tone, "to kill a man this way.

'Tis not like in war. On a morning like this, in the civil manner of gentlemen, to make of such a marvellous living, thinking, feeling machine a poor heap of senseless flesh and bone that can only rot:--and all in the time of a sword-thrust!"

"Tut!" said I, "the world is the better for the riddance. Think of Tom, and all else!"

"I know it," said Phil, conquering his weakness. "And such men know what they risk when they break into the happiness of others. I could not have lived in peace while he lived. Well, that is all behind us now. Yonder is our coach."

We got in, and were driven to the tavern in Dean Street. We there dismissed the coach, and Philip started afoot for the inn, in the Strand, where our post-chaise was to be in readiness. I was to join him there after completing the letter and leaving it at Madge's lodgings, Philip using the mean time in attending to the posting of certain letters of his own. We had no baggage to impede us, as we intended to purchase new wearables in France: we had, on the previous day, provided ourselves with money and letters of credit. My affairs had been so arranged that neither my wife nor my mother could be pecuniarily embarra.s.sed by my absence. Philip's American pa.s.sport, used upon our former travels, was still in force and had been made to include a travelling companion. So all was smoothed for our flight.

Taking my letter to the house in which Madge lived, I asked for her maid, telling the house servant I would wait at the street door: for, as I did not wish to meet any of the three ladies, I considered it safer to entrust the letter to Madge's own woman. The girl came down; but I had no sooner handed her the letter, and told her what to do with it, than I heard Madge's voice in the hall above. She had come out to see who wanted her maid, suspecting some trick of Falconer's; and, leaning over the stair-rail, had recognised my voice.

"What is it, Bert? Why don't you come up?"

"I can't--I'm in haste," I blundered. "Good morning!"

"But wait! What's wrong? A moment, I entreat! Nay, you shall--!" And at that she came tripping swiftly down the stairs. The maid, embarra.s.sed, handed her the letter. Without opening it, she advanced to me, while I was wildly considering the propriety of taking to my heels; and demanded:

"What is it you had to write? Sure 'tis your own hand. Why can't you tell me?"

"Not so loud," I begged. "My mother and f.a.n.n.y mustn't know till I am gone."

"Gone!" With this she tore open the letter, and seemed to grasp its general sense in a glance. "A duel! I suspected--from what Philip said. Oh, my G.o.d, was he--?" She scanned the writing wildly, but in her excitement it conveyed nothing to her mind.

"Captain Falconer will not annoy you again," I said, "and Philip and I must go to France for awhile. Good-bye! Let mother and f.a.n.n.y see the letter in half an hour."

"But wait--thank G.o.d, he's not hurt!--France, you say? How? Which road?"

She was holding my coat lapel, to make me stay and tell her. So I answered:

"By post to Hastings; there we shall get the Doughty boys to--"

At this, there broke in another voice from above stairs--that of f.a.n.n.y:

"Is that Bert, Madge dear?"

"Tell her 'no,'" I whispered, appalled at thought of a leave-taking, explanations, weeping, and delay. "And for G.o.d's sake, let me--ah, thank you! Read the letter--you shall hear from us--G.o.d bless you all!"

The next moment I was speeding from the house, leaving Madge in a tumult of thoughts at the door. I turned into Gerrard Street without looking back; and brisk walking soon brought me to the Strand, where Philip himself was just ready to take the post-chaise.

"A strange thing delayed me," said he, as we forthwith took our seats in the vehicle; which we had no sooner done than the postilions set the four horses going and our journey was begun.

"What was it?" I asked, willing to reserve the account of my interview with Madge till later.

"The most remarkable thing, for me to witness on this particular morning," he replied; and told me the story as we rattled through Temple Bar and Fleet Street, on our way to the bridge and the Surrey side. "After I left you, I don't know what it was that kept me from coming through St. Martin's Lane to the Strand, and made me continue East instead. But something did; and finally I turned to come through Bow Street. When I was nearly in front of the magistrate's house, a post-chaise stopped before it, and a fellow got out whom I took to be a Bow Street runner. Several people ran up to see if he had a prisoner in the chaise, and so the footway was blocked; and I stopped to look on for a moment with the rest. A man called out to the constable, 'What you got, Bill?' The constable, who had turned around and reached into the chaise, stopped to look at the speaker, and said, 'n.o.body much--only the Soho Square a.s.sault and robbery--I ran him down at Plymouth, waiting for a vessel--he had a mind to travel for his health.' The constable grinned, and the other man said, 'Sure that's a hanging business, and no mistake!'"

"And so it is," said I, interrupting Philip. "I read of the affair at the time. A fellow named Howard knocked down his landlady, robbed her money-box, and got away before she came to."

"Yes," Phil went on, "I remembered it, too. And I waited for a glimpse of the robber's face. He stepped out, and the constable, with a comrade from inside the chaise, led him to where they hold prisoners for examination. He was all mud-stained, dishevelled, and frowsy: for two seconds, though he didn't notice me, I had a good view of him. And who do you think this Howard really was?"

"Bless me, how should I know? My acquaintance among the criminal cla.s.ses isn't what it might be."

"'Twas Ned Faringfield!" said Philip. "I should have known him anywhere--heavens, how little a man's looks change, through all vicissitudes!"

"Well, upon my soul!" I exclaimed, in a chill. "Who'd have thought it?

Yet hanging is what we always predicted for him, in jest. That it should come so soon--for they'll make short work of that case, 'tis certain."

"Yes, I fear they'll not lose much time over it, at the Old Bailey. We may expect to read his name among the Newgate hangings in a month or two. Poor devil!--I'll send him some money through my lawyer, and have n.o.bbs see that he gets decent counsel. Money will enable him to live his last weeks at Newgate in comfort, at least; though 'tis beyond counsel to save his neck. His people must never know. Nor f.a.n.n.y."

"Unless he gives his real name at the trial, or in his 'last dying speech and confession.'"

"Why, even then it may not come to their ears. Best bring f.a.n.n.y and your mother soon to France. Madge will never tell, if she learns; I'll warrant her for that. To think of it!--the dear old house in Queen Street, and the boys and girls we used to play with--Tom's fate--and now Ned's--f.a.n.n.y in England--and Madge--! Was ever such diversity of destinies in so small a family?"

He fell into his thoughts: of what strange parts we play in the world, how different from those anybody would predict for us in our childhood--how different, from those we then predict for ourselves.

And so we were borne across the Thames, looking back to get our last view of St. Paul's dome for some time to come; through Southwark, and finally into the country. The postilions kept the horses at a good gait Southward. We did not urge them to this, for indeed we saw but little necessity for great haste, as there was likely to be some time ere Falconer's death became known to the authorities, and some time longer ere it was traced to us. But as Mr. Idsleigh, before getting out of the way himself, _might_ take means to lay written information against us, which would serve at least to put the minions of the law on the right track, and as we might be subjected to some delay at Hastings, we saw no reason to repress the postilions' zeal, either.

In our second stage we were not favoured with so energetic conductors, and in our third we had unfit horses. So we had occasion to be glad of our excellent start. Thus, between good horses and bad, live postilions and lethargic, smooth roads and rough, we fared on the whole rather well than ill, and felt but the smallest apprehension of being caught. To speak metaphorically, the coast of France was already in our sight.

At the end of the first stage, we had breakfasted upon eggs and beer.

We took an early dinner at Tunbridge Wells, and proceeded through Suss.e.x. 'Twas well forward in the afternoon, and we were already preparing our eyes, faces, and nostrils for the refres.h.i.+ng intimation of the sea, when our ears notified us of a vehicle following in our wake. Looking back, at a bend of the road, we saw it was a conveyance similar to our own, and that the postilions were whipping the horses to their utmost speed. "Whoever rides there," said I, "has paid or promised well for haste."

"'Tis strange there should be other folk bound in a hurry for Hastings this same day," replied Phil.

We looked at one another, with the same thought.

"Their post-boys seem to be watching our chaise as much as anything else," I remarked. "To be sure, they can't know 'tis you and I."

"No, but if they _were_ in quest of us, they would try to overtake this chaise or any other on the road. Ho, postilion!--an extra crown apiece for yourselves if you leave those fellows yonder behind for good." And Phil added quietly to me: "It won't do to offer 'em too much at first--'twould make 'em suspicious."

"But," quoth I, as our men put their horses to the gallop. "How the devil could any one have got so soon upon our track?"

"Why, Idsleigh may have turned informer, in his own interest--he was in a devilish difficult position--and men would be sent with our descriptions to the post-houses. 'Tis merely possible. Or our hackney-coachman may have guessed something, and dogged me to the Strand, and informed. If they found where we started, of course they could track us from stage to stage. 'Tis best to be safe--though I scarce think they're in our pursuit."

"Egad, they're in somebody's!" I cried. "Their postilions are shouting to ours to stop."