The Yeoman Adventurer Part 46

He laughed. "Well, keep out of the sergeant's claws. He's only five miles off with a brace of his dragoons, but little Dot is watching him. The time to deal with him is not yet. Wait till his lordship of Brocton joins him.

What do you think of the Prince?"

"I would not have believed a prince could be so likeable, sir."

"I am, and shall remain, a mere observer," he said, "a mere tracker-down of ten per cent on good security, but I don't mind admitting that, prince for prince, I prefer this young gentleman to the fat, snuffy, waddling, little drill-sergeant he's trying to displace."

"You know the King, sir!"

"Well, and I know his weak spot, too, which is more important for our purposes. If His Gracious Majesty went to bed to-night with as many guineas in his pocket as that"--he jingled his loose coin vigorously--"he'd sleep in his breeches."

On the way to Exeter House the Prince recovered his high spirits, and even kept us waiting in the hall while he continued some lightsome argument Margaret had led him into. At last he broke it off, laughing.

"Mr. Freake will think me an idle princeling for this, madam," he said.

"For your offence in thus hindering our matters of state we commit you to ward, and straightly charge our loyal subject, Master Wheatman, to hold you safe in keeping till after supper, when we will undertake to show you that our Highland reel can be as graceful as your Italian fandango."

So, in great good humour, he went off with the Colonel and Master Freake.

"Your aide-de-camp's commission runs so far, I trust," said Margaret demurely, "as to permit me to choose my own cell."

"I think that might be allowed, madam," I replied, with answerable gravity, "but of course I must sit outside the door and keep strict watch over you."

"You would, I suppose, feel surer of me if you sat inside the door?"

"Naturally, madam."

"Then come along! I must know all that's knowable about that ghost. 'I never said any such thing,' quoth he! You're the cleverest man with your tongue I ever met, Oliver. And with what a pretty heat he said it! Just as, beyond a doubt, he did it with that pretty way he has."

If words were tones, and smiles, and eye-flashes, and lip-curlings, I could tell you not only what Margaret said but how she said it, and how, in saying it, she made mad sweet music ring within me.

We were out in the square again now, threading our way among people I hardly saw for being so wrapt up in her.

"Was she a pretty ghost?"

"Very," said I decidedly.

"How old was she?"

"Eighteen, or thereabouts."

"Eighteen! Oh, dear! I never dreamed it was as bad as that. I think kiss-giving and kissable ghosts over thirteen ought not to be allowed.

Eighteen! It's a clear incitement to suicide!"

I was laughing at her whimsical sally when one particular item in the crowd demanded attention, for it obtrusively barred our way. It was Maclachlan, once again hot and red with haste, waving a small package he had in his hand.

"Ye left me, Mistress Margaret," he said. "I've been searching high and low for ye."

"And I'm glad you've found me, for I see you've got me the olives. You are indeed kind, Mr. Maclachlan."

"Ye left me!" he repeated pa.s.sionately.

"That's true," she said lightly. "I forgot all about you till I saw a hand with an obvious bottle of olives dangling from it."

Now this was not Margaret, or at least it was another strange side of her. With me she had been almost absurdly grateful for such little services as I had rendered. I had got her eggs, as he had got her olives, but I and my eggs had not been received like this. I looked from one to the other curiously. She was cool and smiling, as befitted some small social occasion. He was just as clearly throbbing with pa.s.sion. He, the Maclachlan, had been neglected, and neglected for me! I wondered why Margaret did not tell him that the Prince had commanded her company. That should have satisfied even him; but no, she left him in his error, and merely took the olives out of his hand, saying, "I hope they'll be fresh, though it's hardly to be expected in a little town in the middle of England."

Maclachlan had paid not the slightest attention to me and, while ready enough to deal with him, I paid none to him, and began to think him somewhat of an a.s.s to be standing in the market-place of Derby airing his pa.s.sions. Fortunately, perhaps, Lord George Murray, striding by towards Exeter House, caught sight of us and stopped abruptly.

"Ha' ye made a' right at the bridge yonder, Maclachlan?"

The young Chief's face supplied the answer.

"Ye havenae!" stormed Murray. "By gad, sir," lugging out his watch, "if you don't, in two hours from now, report all arrangements made, I'll hae ye shot by a squad of the Manchester ragabushes. Aff wi' ye, ye jawthering young fule!"

Maclachlan went off without so much as a bow to Margaret.

"Have you taken out your commission, sir?" said Murray to me, snapping the words out as though he would have them shear my head off.

"I have, my lord," I answered, forestalling the words with a correct military salute.

"Then what the blazes are you doing here?"

"My lord," I answered firmly, "by the direct commission of His Royal Highness, given to me personally, I am escorting this lady to jail."

"Then I'll forgive ye!" he retorted, and his strong face lost all its anger and found the wraith of a smile. "Dinnae be too hard on the la.s.sie!

She's ane of the right sort."

He returned my salute, bowed courteously to Margaret, and strode on

"Good lad!" said Margaret, happily mimicking her father. "You shall have some of the olives in a minute or two."

"Olives seem to me precisely the right thing for us," said I.

"And why, sir?"

It was very curious to me to see how, in her speech to me, she whipped about from the familiar "Oliver" to the stately "Sir." There was always a reason for it, and I would have given much to know it.

"Your olives come from Italy, and I have been thinking of your Italian count."

"So have I," she said very soberly, and never said another word till we were safe and quiet in her day-room at the "Bald-Faced Stag."

For over two hours I had Margaret to myself, and we were as happy and companionable as we had been in d.i.c.k Doley's cottage. And at this I marvelled. Our Kate was the only woman I had to judge by, and when our Kate got into her very best Sunday gown she got into her tantrums along with it, and poor Jack, what with awe of her finery and anxiety lest he should anger the minx, commonly had a th.o.r.n.y time of it. With Margaret it was just the opposite. When we got in, she excused herself and went off to her own room, coming back, after a weary time, in such a glory of silks and satins that I blinked my eyes before her dazzlements. What made it worse was that there was a comb--as she called it, though I should in my ignorance have thought it some rich and rare work in filigree belonging to an empress--which, owing to the smallness of her mirror and the poor light, she could not get to sit perfectly in its golden cushion, and I was bidden to put it where and as it ought to be. I was a long time over the task, in part because I was really clumsy, but mainly because I was in no hurry. I got it right at last, and even ventured, very craftily and lightly, to kiss it as it lay there.

"It's quite right now," said I.

"At last! I'm afraid it's been a trouble to you. Now, Oliver, open the bottle of olives, and, while we eat them, tell me all about the ghost."

Many a time in the hard days that came to me later, I refreshed my soul by thinking those happy hours over again. They are part of me, but no part of my story, and I make no record of them here. We had long talks, with long silences between them, as can only happen with very real friends who are company for one another without a clatter of words.

At last this golden time came to an end, for in walked the Colonel and Master Freake to supper.