Beau Brocade Part 13

"I have heard that there's a stranger at your forge, smith," replied the soldier. "My corporal came down from Aldwark early this afternoon and told me about him. I'd like just to have a talk with him."

"One moment, Sergeant," said John, interposing his burly figure between Patience and the prying eyes of the young soldier.

"I think you'll find the lock quite secure now, mistress," he said, trying, good, honest fellow that he was, to put as much meaning into the careless sentence as he dared. She mutely thanked him with her eyes, took the padlock from his hands, and gave him over some money for his pains, the while her heart was nearly bursting with the agony of suspense.

"No stranger, Sergeant," rejoined the smith, once more turning with well-a.s.sumed indifference to the soldier, "only my nephew out o'

Nottingham. Your corporal was a Derby man, and knew the lad's mother, my sister Hannah!"

"Quite so, quite so, smith," quoth the Sergeant, pleasantly; "then you won't mind my searching your forge and cottage just for form's sake."

Even then Patience did not betray herself either by a look or a quiver of the voice.

"Lud! how tiresome be those soldiers," she said with an affected pout.

"I'd hoped to wait here in peace, friend smith, until the arrival of her ladyship's coach."

"Nay, mistress, you need not be disturbed," said the smith, jovially, "the Sergeant is but jesting, eh, friend?" he added, turning to the soldier. "There! I give you my word, Master Sergeant, that there is nought here for you to find."

"I've my orders, smith," said the Sergeant, more curtly.

"Nay, friend," interposed Lady Patience, "surely you overstep your orders. John Stich is honest and loyal, you do him indignity by such unjust suspicions."

"Your pardon, ma'am, but I know my duty. There's no suspicion against the smith, but there are many rebels in hiding about here, and I've strict orders to be on the lookout for one in particular, Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, who is known to be in these parts."

John Stich interrupted him with a loud guffaw.

"Lud, man!" he said, "there's no room for a n.o.ble lord in a wayside smithy; you waste your time."

"My orders say I've the right to search," quoth the Sergeant, firmly, "and search I'm going to."

Then he turned to his squad, who were standing at attention outside.

"Follow me, men," he said, as he stepped forward into the forge.

Fortunately the remote corners of the shed were dark, and Patience still had her hood and cloak wrapped closely round her, or her deathlike pallor, the wild, terrified look in her eyes, would at this moment have betrayed her in spite of herself.

But honest John was standing in the way of the Sergeant.

"Look'ee here, Sergeant," he said quietly, "I'm a man of few words, but I'm a free-born Englishman, and my home is my castle. It's an insult to a free and loyal citizen for soldiers to search his home, as if he were a felon. I say you _shall not_ enter, so you take yourself off, before you come by a broken head."

"Smith, you're a fool," commented the Sergeant with a shrug of the shoulders, "and do yourself no good."

"That's as it may be, friend," quoth John. "There are fools in every walk in life. You be a stranger in these parts and don't know me, but folk'll tell you that what John Stich once says, that he'll stick to.

So forewarned is forearmed, friend Sergeant. Eh?"

But to this the Sergeant had but one reply, and that was directed to his own squad.

"Now then, my men," he said, "follow me! and you, John Stich," he added loudly and peremptorily, "stand aside in the name of the King!"

The men were ranged round the Sergeant with muskets grasped, ready to rush in the next moment at word of command. John Stich stood between them and a small wooden door, little more than a part.i.tion, behind which Philip, Earl of Stretton, was preparing to sell his life dearly.

That death would immediately follow capture was absolutely clear both to him and to his devoted sister, who with almost superhuman effort of will was making heroic efforts to keep all outward show of alarm in check.

Even amongst these half-dozen soldiers any one of them might know Lord Stretton by sight, and was not likely to forget that twenty guineas-a large sum in those days-was the price the Hanoverian Government was prepared to pay for the head of a rebel.

Philip was a man condemned to death by Act of Parliament. If he were captured now, neither prayer, nor bribes, nor even proofs of innocence would avail him before an officious magistrate intent on doing his duty.

A brief halt at Bra.s.sington court-house, an execution in the early dawn!... these were the awesome visions which pa.s.sed before Patience's eyes, as with a last thought of anguish and despair she turned to G.o.d for help!

No doubt John Stich was equally aware of the imminence of the peril, and, determined to fight for the life of his lord, he brandished his mighty hammer over his head, and there was a look in the powerful man's eyes that made even the Sergeant pause awhile ere giving the final word of command.

Thus there was an instant's deadly silence whilst so many hearts were wildly beating in tumultuous emotion. Just one instant-a few seconds, mayhap, whilst even Nature seemed to stand still, and Time to pause before the next fateful minute.

And then a voice-a fresh, young, happy voice-was suddenly heard to sing, "My beautiful white rose."

It was not very distant: but twenty yards at most, and even now seemed to be making for the forge, drawing nearer and nearer.

Instinctively-what else could they do?-soldiers and Sergeant turned to look out upon the Heath. There was such magic in that merry, boyish voice, clear as that of the skylark, singing the quaint old ditty.

They looked and saw a stranger dressed in elegant, almost foppish fashion, his brown hair free from powder, tied with a large bow at the nape of the neck, dainty lace at his throat and wrists, scarce a speck of mud upon his fine, well-cut coat. He was leading a beautiful chestnut horse by the bridle and had been singing as he walked.

Patience, too, catching at this happy interruption like a drowning man does at a straw, turned to look at the approaching stranger.

Her eyes were the first to meet his as he reached the entrance of the forge, and with an elaborate, courtly gesture he raised his three-cornered hat and made her a respectful bow.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Ho! ho! ho! but here's a pretty to-do. Why, John Stich, my friend, you look a bit out of temper."

He stood there framed in the doorway, with the golden light of the afternoon sun throwing into bold silhouette his easy, graceful stature, and the pleasant picture of him, with one arm round the beautiful horse's neck and his slender fingers gently fondling its soft, quivering nose.

John Stich, at first sound of the stranger's voice, had relaxed from his defiant att.i.tude, and a ray of hope had chased away the threatening look in his eyes.

"So would you be, Captain," he said gruffly, "with these red coats inside your house, and all their talk of rebels."

"Captain?" murmured the Sergeant.

"Aye, Captain Bathurst, my man, of His Majesty's White Dragoons," said the stranger, carelessly, as without more ado he led his horse within the forge and tethered it close to the entrance. Then he came forward and slapped the Sergeant vigorously on the back.

"And I'll go bail, Sergeant, that John Stich is no rebel. He's far too big a fool!" he added in an audible whisper, and with a merry twinkle in his grey eyes.

Patience still stood rigid, expectant, terrified in the darker corner of the shed. She had not yet realised whether she dared to hope, whether this young stranger, with his pleasant, boyish voice and debonnair manner, would have the power to stay the hand of Fate, which was even now raised against her brother.

Betty, behind her mistress, was too terrified to speak.

But already the Sergeant had recovered from his momentary surprise. At mention of the stranger's military rank he had raised his hand to his tricorne hat. Now he was ready to perform his duty, and gladly noted the smith's less aggressive att.i.tude.

"At your service, Captain," he said, "and now I have my orders. I've a right o' search and..."

But like veritable quicksilver, Captain Bathurst was upon him in a moment.

"A right o' search!" he said excitedly. "A right o' search, did you say, Sergeant? Odd's my life, but I'm in luck! Sergeant, you're the very man for me."