Heiress of Haddon Part 15

At last his perseverance was rewarded, and he found himself able to grasp the object of his toil; but Edmund as he felt the protecting roof of hay departing, s.n.a.t.c.hed at the withes which bound it round, and dragged it down with all his might.

In vain did the furious landlord pull and tug. Try as he would, it would not move an inch, and he was about to give it up in disgust and offer some reason for his lack of success, when Stanley again came to his aid.

"Stand aside, man; thou art too old for such a task, and too fat, too, perchance. Let me get it out. Odd's fish, my good fellow, but there's been much to do about a little thing. Here it is, see."

Edmund had, for the moment relaxed his hold, and it was at precisely that same moment that Sir Thomas Staley took hold of the top of the bundle to pull it up. There was but one chance left, and although it promised a little hope of success, he deemed his position desperate enough to warrant him in attempting it. He decided to leap out simultaneously with the withdrawal of the bundle, and, trusting to the confusion his unexpected appearance would create, to escape through the trap-door, and race away for his life.

However, when he saw the sole protection which had hidden him from his enemies begin to move away his courage failed him, and he had not sufficient boldness to carry out the plan he had so neatly arranged.

Instinctively he threw his arms up to clutch the rope again, but it was too late, it had already pa.s.sed beyond his reach; there was nothing left to save him. Another moment and his hiding place would be discovered, when----, Sir Thomas missed his footing, and with a gesture of impatience he let the bundle fall again, and turned his back upon it in disgust.

It alighted heavily upon the luckless Edmund's shoulders, and it struck him with so much force that almost before he was aware of it, he found himself most uncomfortably doubled up, and tight pinned beneath its weight upon the floor. He could neither free himself nor ease his position without attracting attention, for his arms were tightly wedged underneath him, while his legs had found a resting place between two lots of hay, at a height somewhat above the level of his head. One thing, and one alone, was at his command. He could at least, he thought, remain quietly there, an unwilling eavesdropper, until his persecutors had gone. This he resolved to do; meanwhile he could only submit to the conditions which a series of unfortunate incidents had brought upon him, and listen to the conversation in the hope that some of it, at least, might at some time or other prove profitable to him in the accomplishment of the object he had in view.

"How long will they be, mine host?" inquired Sir George, to whom the circ.u.mlocution of the stage proved uninteresting indeed.

"About two hours, my lord," suavely replied that individual, as he gazed proudly at the brilliant company a.s.sembled in the yard below, wondering the while how much they would expend at the inn when the play was over.

"Two hours!" Edmund groaned inwardly, but the groan was none the less sincere because it was inaudible.

"Two hours!" exclaimed the astonished baron, "then I'm off."

Hope again revived within the heart of the prisoner.

"Nay, stop, Sir George," interrupted the younger knight; "you cannot see a play like this at any time you choose. Stay awhile and bid me company, and forget your troubles in a stoup of ale."

"Aye, I have the best in the town," added the host; "there is nothing like it in all London."

This was quite a new idea, and Sir George scratched his head, as if by so doing he might facilitate his judgment, and then he did what so many other troubled ones have done, both before his time and since, he sought to drown his troubles by gorging himself with his favourite liquor.

"Ha! well," he muttered, "the ale is good, as London ale goes, I trow, but----"

"It is indeed," added the tavern-keeper promptly. "There's none better, though I say it."

"But I think I will have cider," continued the baron, not heeding the interruption.

"I will fetch it myself," exclaimed the proprietor of the c.o.c.k; "and sure I am, 'twill be the best that ever you have tasted."

"Nay, hold," interrupted Sir George, "I will go with thee. I will trust none to spice my drink except it be Lady Maude, or Dorothy. I will go with thee and spice it myself."

"And I will have some simple sack," said Sir Thomas.

Sir George Vernon and the landlord descended the ladder, and threaded their way through the crowd into the tavern, while Sir Thomas Stanley, left to his own devices, continued to lie quietly down upon his couch of straw, watching with intense interest the progress of the play.

Edmund, meanwhile, hearing no one stirring, and not being in a position to see, concluded that all three had descended together, and that he was the sole occupant of the room. He waited for a moment or two, and then, as the silence confirmed him in his opinion, he began to make strenuous efforts to free himself. There was no sign made in response to the noise he made in the attempt, and, without any interruption, he released himself from his uncomfortable position.

Slowly and painfully he raised himself up, but as he reached the top, the thrill of triumph to which his new-born hopes of liberty had given birth, died away, and a sigh of dismay escaped him as he discovered that he was not alone.

For a time he stood perfectly motionless, too terrified to advance, and too paralysed by fear to regain his hiding-place. Fortunately, however, for him, Sir Thomas Stanley's back was turned towards him, and so intently had he fixed his attention upon the scene which was being acted on the stage before him, that he was in complete ignorance of the events which were transpiring in his rear. Edmund wistfully cast a look at the ladder which protruded temptingly through the trap-door, but the look more than satisfied him that he could not hope to gain it without attracting the attention of his most unwelcome companion.

There was only one idea which presented itself to the unlucky man's mind which promised any fair successes, and that left no alternative.

He must put Sir Thomas out of the way!

However repugnant this plan might be, and Edmund felt all its hideousness, he felt every moment more and more convinced that it was the only safe way. He had suffered too much already to venture willingly back into the torture-chamber from which he had just escaped, even if he could safely have regained its shelter--in itself no mean feat; and at the bare idea of spending two more hours of like agony he trembled. He resolved that rather than he would be driven to that uncertain refuge again, Sir Thomas should pay the penalty of death.

At this stage of his reflections he was rudely stopped, for the young knight, as if conscious of some impending danger, withdrew his head into the room and rolled over upon his back, leaving Edmund so little time in which to screen himself from view, that in attempting to secure a cover he toppled right over and fell back upon a thin scattering of straw.

Sir Thomas stopped the yawn with which he was indulging himself, and got upon his feet, surprised in no small degree to find that no one had entered the room. He went to the ladder to satisfy himself, but meeting with a like measure of ill-success there, he came away in a discontented mood; not perceiving Edmund, who lay, holding his breath, behind a heap of hay.

"I thought it was my sack coming," he muttered; "but it was only those confounded rats. What a time they are gone, to be sure," and as a last resource he sat himself down upon Sir George's seat and watched the play afresh.

Edmund during all this time was slowly making up his wavering mind.

The memory of Dame Durden was still fresh within him, and it was in fulfilment of his scheme of revenge for that that he had united with Sir Ronald Bury to bring the baron to book for his misdeeds, and was now in London. Why should he not wreak his vengeance upon Sir Thomas Stanley, and then at once accomplish the work on which his heart was set? In the intensity of his pa.s.sion he could find no satisfactory answer to the question. There were powerful reasons both for and against such a plan. Sir Thomas was seriously jeopardising his present safety; but would his death at all affect the baron? Margaret would feel it, mayhap, and so might Sir George to some extent, but he was fully aware that Sir Ronald's aim would be by no means compa.s.sed by such a termination; nor was he at all certain his own desire would be accomplished even then. The danger of his present position, however, was too apparent to be lightly put aside, and it proved too much for him. Were the others to return now his ruin would be a.s.sured; and realising this, he cautiously raised his head, and finding the young n.o.bleman again deeply interested in the progress of the scene before him, he quickly drew out his knife and crept silently on towards his unsuspicious prey.

CHAPTER XI.

AN UNFORTUNATE DENOUEMENT.

But In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley.

BURNS.

As Edmund drew nearer to Sir Thomas Stanley his heart began to fail him, and when at last he was sufficiently near the knight to have carried out his design, his courage oozed out at his finger ends and he felt powerless to strike.

Finally he relinquished the attempt altogether, and a new idea flashing upon him, he tossed the knife into the furthest corner of the room, and rising to his feet, he tapped the still unconscious n.o.bleman upon the shoulder, trusting that his careful disguise would preserve him from being recognised by Sir Thomas at least, for circ.u.mstances at Haddon had brought them into connection with each other but a few times at most.

"Come at last, eh! and time, too," exclaimed the young knight, as he listlessly held out his hand for his potion of sack. "What, not brought it yet?" he added, as he saw the other's empty hands; "I have been kept waiting for it more than a quarter of an hour."

"Will you have it cool or spiced, my lord?" meekly asked Edmund, following up the idea thus thrown out. "I have but just received the order for it."

"Spiced, indeed!" replied the knight contemptuously; "not I, let me have it fresh from the cellar, and that quickly. No, here, stay," he added by the way of afterthought, "where is Sir George?"

"Sir George! Is that the oldish gentleman with the master?"

"That is Sir George Vernon, yes."

"He is lying down in the parlour," was the ready reply.

"Humph, that's queer, poring over that confounded doc.u.ment again, I'll warrant me. I will go back with you," returned Sir Thomas.

"I will bring it to you in half a minute," gasped Edmund.

"Nay," returned the other, "I will accompany thee. Ha! here he is, coming up again. He's crossing the yard now, and Sir Nicholas Bacon is with him, I perceive."

Edmund had played his last card, and the game was lost. Fortune had forsaken him at every turn; not one of his efforts had met with any success, and after all his endeavours he found himself as securely caught as the rat which was even then writhing within a few inches of his feet, in its last vain endeavour to free itself from the trap in which it was held.

For a moment or two he stood irresolute, but then, quickly gaining a mastery over the feeling of despair which had at first stolen over him, he made for the ladder, only to find, as he put his foot on the topmost step, that Sir George had set his foot upon the one at the bottom.