Idonia: A Romance of Old London Part 25

Idonia had half risen from her place; she watched the retreating men as they filed along towards the Inn.

"I must warn him," she cried impetuously, and had clambered on to the turf path ere I could let her.

"What madness is this?" I urged, aghast. "You would yourself be arrested or ever you could get sight of that devil."

"Devil or no," she panted, while she struggled to unclasp my restraining arms, "devil or no, he is my guardian. Denis, I cannot stand by idle and see him taken."

"Sweetheart," I entreated her, "you can do nought, indeed. They be all armed men..."

"Hinder me no more!"

"Idonia!"

"Oh, it is cowardly, cowardly!"

"Listen," I said, appealing.

"Ah, Denis, let me not thus, or you will kill me.... See! they are close to the house already. A little while and..." Her voice rose to a scream of absolute terror that I vainly sought to stifle against my heart. She flung her head back; her hair, shaken from the filet and caught by the wind, streamed betwixt us like a cloud. We stood long thus.

"Loose my wrists," she whispered, "or I shall grow to hate you, Denis!"

and methought there went a sort of awe with the words. I let her go, when suddenly, with a sob, she dropped down unresisting into my arms.

I knew she had spoken under the stress of her disorder, but none the less her words hurt me like a lash. It had revolted me to use my strength upon her, although in love, and to hold her so straitly against her will, who but a moment before had been leaning in free confidence beside me. The wind and rain were now increased to such a pitch as I have scarce known: the dim bulk of the Inn hung in a mist of swinging vapour, through which the glimmer of the one light aloft, s.h.i.+ning, touched the edges of the slanted pikes.

Idonia was plucking weakly at my sleeve. Her eyes were pitifully big.

"You look distressed, Denis," she said, in a crazed dull voice. "Why do you look so stern and sad? We are together.... I forget how I got away, but that does not matter now, does it? Some one was holding me by the wrist and hurting me. I cried out, and you came. You always come when they would be hurting me.... It is very cold," she s.h.i.+vered, and drew down more closely within my arms; all wet as her cheek was, its fever heat burnt through to my bosom.

"You cannot walk," I said: "I will carry you." But all the while I was thinking: "Is her reason gone?"

"Whither, Denis? To the Inn? It would be warm there, out of the wind."

"G.o.d forbid!" I answered her.

"Ah! no ... I remember now. He is there.... His yellow face, and his eyes when he gave me the jar to keep! ... Denis, Denis, Denis..."

And so, without any further effort to beat off the oppression in her brain and blood, she fell away into a long swoon: so long, indeed, that I had almost despaired of reviving her, when I bethought me of the Inn, to which she had hoped I was about to bear her. There would be strong cordial wine in the vault, I knew; and a cordial she needed instantly.

I might quickly go and return again with the wine--if the vent were but open.

The Inn was scarce ten score paces distant. There was some risk, perhaps, but not great: less, surely, than I took, kneeling helpless beside her in the bitter storm. I bent over her and kissed her pa.s.sionately on her eyes and lips and brow; and then I hastened away.

Had I known the upshot then, I would rather have lost my right hand than leave her; but that was in G.o.d's mercy hid....

To speak my bottom thought, I had hardly dared to hope that the shutter were still unhasped: but yet it was, and yielded easily to my touch. I felt a strange tightening of the throat as I pushed it back and leapt astride the sill. The vault below me was wholly dark. Without more ado I swung myself in. I missed my footing, fell, and lay stunned.

How long a while elapsed ere I recovered consciousness I know not, nor yet how long I remained in that intermediate state where things outward be still denied for real. A confusion of sounds a.s.sailed my aching brain, from which I recked not to gather any purpose or tendency. But at length, my head having somewhat cleared, I recalled my situation, where I was in the narrow pa.s.sage-vault; and soon perceived that the sounds I had heard were those of men in earnest conference within one of the vaults adjacent, that had formerly been barred. The lamp which had lighted the pa.s.sage had been removed, and from the pale ray that issued from the c.h.i.n.k of the door, I saw it was now used for their purposes who spoke together beyond.

Without, the storm raged very furiously, so that there were times when I could hear nought else; but otherwhiles, whatever s.n.a.t.c.hes of debate I overheard they went always to the continuous deep second of the wind.

Some instinct of security held me silent, and after a little I dragged myself painfully along the stone floor, until I had my ear at the c.h.i.n.k. The halberdiers were certainly not of the party; they had either not yet entered, or else had come and, failing to discover these men's place of concealment, had gone. A man was speaking; a jovial rough voice it was, interrupted now and again by careless laughter.

"You mind me of that tale of the two robbers," said the fellow, and I heard the clink of a cup set down, "that were engaged to set upon a certain Canon who should pa.s.s through the wood they lurked within. Now a pa.s.senger approaching, the one was for killing him out of hand, but his companion, being something scrupulous, would not, but bade him stay his hand until the man should sing.

"'I care not a jot how he sing,' says the Captain-robber.

"'Nay, by his singing I can tell in a trice whether he be a canon or no,' says the robber-squire.

"By this the pa.s.senger was got free of their ambush and into a place where two sheriff's men met him, at which he swore for mere joy.

"'I would he had sung,' says the squire.

"'Go to, buffle-head!' cries the other in a great rage, 'for by his swearing I know him for the Father Abbot himself, and better your squealing Canon, by how much noon-sun surpa.s.ses candle-light.'"

A round of hoa.r.s.e merriment went to this shrewd apologue, of which I was yet to learn the application; but waited not long for it.

"So then, Cutts, 'hold to that you have,' is your advice, trow?"

"Ay, abbot or traitor, or barndoor fowl," replied Cutts (who was none other, I found, than he that had fled away from Dunster so long since); "'truss and lay by,' says the housewife."

"Well, you have me trussed already," said a mild voice, that for all its stillness overbore the murmurs which greeted Cutts his policy; and at the sound of it I caught in my breath, for 'twas my uncle that spoke, and by his words I knew they had him bound.

"I am not in case to do you harm, as a traitor, nor yet to benefit you as an abbot," my uncle proceeded very coolly. "But if it seem good to your wors.h.i.+ps to restore me my freedom, I have my proofs of innocence at hand to show to any that professes to doubt my faith."

"Too late for that, Master Skene," said another.

"Ay, Captain Spurrier, say you so?" returned my uncle, with a little menacing thrill in the sweet of his voice. "I had thought you that use the sea knew that one must luff and tack upon occasion. Delay is sometimes necessary, when haste would mean sudden s.h.i.+pwreck. Wherefore then do you say I speak too late?"

"Where is Malpas?" cried Captain Spurrier, and by the grating of a chair I perceived he had started to his feet.

"I had thought to meet him here," said my uncle. "Our design stays for him."

There was a dead pause at that, and I could not but admire the fort.i.tude with which the baited man met and countered his opposites.

"He denounced you to this council, ere he went forth," said that subtle voice of the tavern-server, "and upon such positive testimony as we could not but allow it. If any lead this enterprise it is Malpas, and not thou, old fox."

"So thou use better terms, friend Jocelin," said Cleeve, "it shall not be amiss, nor yet if thou answer me why it was I returned freely hither amongst you all? Had I aught to gain from you? But rather had I not all to lose? There is a warrant out against me on the Queen's part; had I not done wisely, being so disguised as no man might know me, to avoid this suspected house? Yet I returned. Our s.h.i.+p is to sail to-morrow. Captain Spurrier is here in his place. What lacks of our engagement? What hath gone untowardly? Is it Malpas his failure? I ask of you in my turn, where is Malpas? Is it not strange that upon such a night he should not be here to bear his part, as I do, and Lucas Spurrier and Jocelin, and the rest? I say there is something I like not in this defection; but yet it fears me not. Let them that be faint-hearted stay away; this enterprise is not for cowards. Do you lack a leader? You trusted me once. Malpas trusted me, for all he cozened you into a belief that he did not so; but he is gone." He paused, and then with so strangely intense a malignancy as, despite my knowledge, I could scarce credit that 'twas a.s.sumed, he added: "Would that I knew whither Guido Malpas hath gone, and what to do!"

There was such clamour of contrary opinions, oaths and hot argument, when he had done, that I could not tell how it went, but gradually conceived the opinion that they believed him and were about to set him free, when, to my utter dismay, I heard the door at the stairhead open and heavy steps descend to the pa.s.sage where I lay concealed. I crouched down on the instant, but dared not move from the place, nor indeed had the opportunity to retreat by one step, when the men were already in the room; but so dark it was I could not see their arms (for I doubted nothing of their being the halberdiers) nor their numbers that entered. They set the door open of the inner vault and trooped in upon the conspirators.

I saw them now. They were men that bore a body. The tide had set in again. The boat with its burden had returned upon the flood.

CHAPTER XXII

HOW MY UNCLE BOTOLPH LOST HIS LUCK

The tide had turned. The river had given up its dead. There was no appeal from this distorted corpse, smirched with yellow so about the throat and breast, where my uncle's painted hands had gripped him.

Wedged deep in the dead man's heart (I heard it said) a certain significant shred of blue silk was found that had been drawn in by the swinging blade, and torn from the murderer's sleeve.... After that there needed nothing more, and my uncle's luck, which a moment since had trembled to its apogee, shot downward like a portent star.