The White Gauntlet Part 27

"Poh-poh, Dancey; I am not deserving of your daughter's thanks. What I did in her behalf was only a duty; which I should equally have felt bound to perform for the humblest individual on the ground. Indeed your beautiful daughter did not seem to stand in need of my interference.

She had already found a sufficiently chivalric champion in bold Robin Hood--"

"Ah! sir," interrupted the deer-stealer, bending down towards his patron, and speaking in a tone of serious confidence, "That's just where the trouble be. She han't thanked _him_; and the poor fellow's beside hisself, because she won't make more o' him. I do all I can to get her take on to him; for I believe Wull Walford to be a worthy lad: an' he mean well for my gurl. But 'taren't no use, sir, ne'er a bit on't. As the sayin' be, one man may take a horse to the water, but forty can't make the anymal drink, if he an't a mind to."

"I think, friend Dancey," quietly rejoined the cavalier, "you'll do well to leave your daughter free to follow her own inclinations--especially in a matter of the kind you speak of. Perhaps her instincts of what's best for her, in that regard, may be more trustworthy than yours."

"Ah! sir," sighed the fond parent of the beautiful Betsey, "If I'd leave her free to foller her own ways, she'd go clear to the devil--_she would_. Not that she's a bad sort, my Bet aren't. No--no--she be a good-hearted gurl, as I've already sayed; but she's too forrard, sir-- too forrard, and proud enough to have inclinings for them as be far above her. That's why she looks down upon Wull: because ye see, sir, he be only a poor woodman; tho' that's as much as I be myself."

The cavalier might have suspected the beautiful Betsey of having other reasons for disliking "Wull Walford;" but it was not the time to talk upon such a theme; and, without further parley he changed the conversation to the business for which he had summoned the old woodman into his presence.

"Here are six letters I want you to deliver," said he, taking that number from the table.

"You perceive," he added, holding them up to the light of the lamp, "that I have numbered the letters--in the order in which you will arrive at the houses where you are to deliver them--so that there may be no mistake. I need not add, Dancey, that each is to be _delivered with your own hand, or else not at all_."

"I understand what you mean, sir. I don't part wi' ere a one o' 'em, 'cept to the party hisself. You can trust d.i.c.k Dancey for that."

"I know it, d.i.c.k; and that's why I'm giving you all this trouble. I only wish you could have taken these others; but it's impossible.

They're for a different section of the county; and must go by another hand."

"Wull Walford's wi' me, sir. Ye sent for him too, didn't ye?"

"I did. You say he can be trusted, Dancey?"

"Oh sir! there's no fear o' him. He han't no love for eyther Church, or King. He has been in the stocks once too often for that."

"Ha! ha!" laughed the cavalier, "that is but slight recommendation of his trustworthiness. It don't matter, however. He shall not know much of the nature of his errand; and, therefore there will be no great danger in his carrying the letters."

Dancey saw that he was expected to take the road at once; and, without further parley, he started off on his distant round of delivery: before leaving the house, however, having fortified himself against the raw air of the night, by a stoup of strong ale--with which Oriole had been directed to supply him.

Will Walford--who among the _dramatis personae_ of the morris dance had performed the _role_ of Robin Hood--next presented himself to receive his chapter of instructions.

This worthy had doffed his tunic of Kendal green, and now figured in his proper costume--a jerkin of grey homespun russet, with wide petticoat breeches reaching to mid thigh. The green woollen stockings, in which he had personated the outlaw, still appeared upon his legs--with a pair of heavy hobnailed buskins on his feet. On his head was the high-crowned hat worn at the _fete_, with a portion of the plume of c.o.c.k's feathers still sticking behind its band of scarlet coloured tape.

Altogether the costume of the woodman was not inelegant; and the wearer affected a certain air of rustic dandyism, which showed him conceited of his personal appearance.

He had but slight reason for this vanity, however. At the _fete_ he had proved himself but a poor representative of the chivalrous outlaw of Sherwood-Forest; and, now that he stood partially plucked of his borrowed feathers, he looked altogether unlike the man, whom the beautiful Bet Dancey would have chosen for her champion.

It was a countenance, though naturally of an evil aspect, more sullen than sinister; while the glance of a watery otter-like eye, along with a certain expression of cowardice, betrayed insincerity.

Will Walford was evidently a man not to be trusted--very far. He appeared like one who, to gratify a pa.s.sion, would turn traitor upon a partisan.

It was just such a suspicion of his character that hindered Henry Holtspur from revealing to him the secret contained within those half-dozen letters--which he now entrusted to him for delivery, after giving him the names of the gentlemen for whom they were intended.

With a promise to perform the duty--apparently sincere--the woodman walked out of the room; but, as he turned off into the shadowy hall, a glance flung back over his shoulder betrayed some feeling towards his patron, anything but friendly.

Still more surly was the look cast upon the young Indian, as the latter--apparently with an unwilling grace--presented him with the parting cup.

There was no word spoken, no health drunk--neither of master, nor man.

The ale vessel was emptied in sullen silence; and then thanklessly tossed back into the hands from which it had been received.

A gruff "good-night," and Will Walford, striding off through the corridor, was soon lost to view.

Oriole turned back into the room occupied by his master; and, stopping near the door, stood waiting, for the latter to look round. On his doing so, the Indian elevated his right arm; and holding it horizontally, with the back of his hand upwards, he described a wide curve in an outward direction from his body.

"Good, you say? Who is good?"

The Indian made a motion, to signify that he had not completed his pantomime.

"Ah! you've something to add? Go on!"

The hand was again carried out from the body in a waving direction; but this time with the thumb turned upwards.

"No," said the cavalier, translating the sign, "_not good_, you mean to say? He who has just gone off?"

Oriole nodded a.s.sent--at the same time placing his fore and middle fingers, joined together, over his mouth; and then separating them as he carried them away from his lips:--thus signifying, that the words of the woodman would proceed in two directions: otherwise, that he was _double tongued_.

"A liar--a deceiver, you think, Oriole? I have some suspicion of it myself. Do not be afraid; I shall not trust him too far. But come! my faithful red-skin; you must be tired sitting up? Close the door, to keep out the rats and robbers; and get to your bed. I hope we shall have no more visitors to trouble us, till we've both had a good night's rest. Go sleep, my lad."

So saying, the cavalier lifted up the lamp; stepped forth from the library; and betook himself to his own sleeping apartment.

Volume One, Chapter XXV.

On the bold brow of one of the central hills of Bulstrode Park, stood the dwelling--a palatial structure of red brick, with facings of white stone--the latter transported over the sea from the quarries of Caen.

The style of architecture was that known as "Norman"--with thick ma.s.sive walls, having the circular Roman arch over the doors and windows.

In front was a s.p.a.ce appropriated to the purposes of parterre and shrubbery; while to the rearward extended the stables and other offices--enclosing an extensive courtyard between them and the dwelling.

In rear of the outbuildings was the garden--approached through the courtyard by a strong iron wicket; while encircling all--grounds, garden, and houses--was a deep battlemented moat, which imparted to the mansion somewhat of the character of a fortified castle.

On the morning after the fete in Bulstrode Park, the courtyard of the dwelling presented an unusual spectacle. A stranger, entering through the great arched gateway, might have mistaken the square enclosure inside for the yard of a barrack. Horses were standing in rows around the walls--their heads tied up to hooks that had been freshly driven into the mason-work; while men in topped boots, wide hanging hose, and grogram s.h.i.+rts--with sleeves rolled up to the elbows--were engaged in grooming them.

Leathern buckets, containing water, stood by the heels of the horses-- where the pavement appeared splashed and wet.

Other men, of similar appearance, might have been seen seated upon benches, or squatted upon the coa.r.s.e woollen covers of their horses-- occupying themselves with the cleaning of armour--furbis.h.i.+ng steel cuira.s.ses, cuisses, and helmets, to the sheen of silver, and then hanging them against the walls, under a sort of shed that had been specially erected for their reception.

Under the same shelter large demi-pique dragoon saddles had been placed in rows--astride of long trestles set up for the purpose.

Every available s.p.a.ce upon the walls was occupied by a bridle, a pair of spurs, pistols, or holsters, a sword with its belt, or some piece either of offensive, or defensive, armour.

It is scarce necessary to say, that these horses and men--these saddles, bridles, arms, and armour--were the component parts of Captain Scarthe's troop of cuira.s.siers, viewed _en dishabille_.

What with the neighing of steeds that did not belong to the place, the barking of dogs that did, and the swearing and gibbering of threescore men in half-a-dozen distinct languages, the usually quiet courtyard of Sir Marmaduke's mansion had been transformed into a sort of Pandemonium: for, to say nothing of any other sounds, the conversation usually carried on among Scarthe's cuira.s.siers was not unlike what might be heard--could one only penetrate into that mythical locality.

Notwithstanding their noted ruffianism, they appeared to be behaving better than was their wont--as if under some unusual restraint. They were merry enough--no doubt from being installed in such comfortable quarters--but they did not appear to exhibit any offensive att.i.tude towards the inmates of the mansion.

If by chance a pretty housemaid tripped across the courtyard--on some errand to the garden, or elsewhere--she was sure of being saluted by a volley of _jeux-d'esprit_ in French, Flemish, or English; but beyond this, the behaviour of the troopers was no worse than that of most soldiers similarly quartered.

Moreover, the men, instead of being permitted within the mansion, were contenting themselves to sleep in the outhouses: as testified by the straw beds scattered over the floors of the granary, and other _offices_, in which they had pa.s.sed the night.