Heiress of Haddon Part 24

"My horse stabled," thundered the baron, "I said not so; 'tis fresh from Derby. Out with it, man, and let me away."

The horse was quickly unstabled, and brought round to the tavern door, but the innkeeper was loth to let the good knight depart. It was a thing he would not do for a trifle, and he feared for the safety of the baron.

"The roads are very bad," he exclaimed, as they stepped into the little pa.s.sage together, "and it will be dark ere you reach the Hall, my lord. Had you not better change your mind?"

The knight declined the request in the most emphatic manner, and placed his foot upon the stirrup to mount.

"There be many rogues and footpads in the neighbourhood of late, and especially to-day," pursued the other. "I have had as ill-looking a crew in my house to-day as I ever clapt eyes upon; I am sure they bode no good."

Nothing, however, could persuade Sir George to stay, and seeing that his guest was obdurate, the host continued,

"Stay awhile, Sir George, an' thou wilt, thou shalt at least have a man of mine to accompany thee. The neighbourhood is full of knaves of late, and I like it not that thou should'st go alone."

But the offer was lightly refused; and fearing nothing for his own safety, the old knight spurred his horse forward, and in a few moments was lost to sight in the fast-settling gloom.

Little time as he and Sir Thomas had lost in leaving London, and quick as they had been in reaching Derby, there had yet been those who had been more expeditious than they.

Upon the receipt of the unwelcome news which the ostler had brought to them, Edmund Wynne's confederates at once departed from the city, and under the leaders.h.i.+p of Sir Ronald Bury hastened on, with few rests, to the wilds of Derbys.h.i.+re, to perform the deed, still enshrouded in mystery, which they had been hired, if necessary, to perform.

Blissfully unconscious of the trap into which he was rus.h.i.+ng, and wholly contemptuous of the idea of being benighted, the lord of Haddon rode fearlessly on. The way was dark to be sure, but he knew it well, and what added to his confidence was the fact that he was right in the very heart of his own possessions.

He had barely ridden a couple of furlongs, though, before his horse became restive, and in response to a free application of both whip and spur only p.r.i.c.ked up its ears and advanced in a more unsatisfactory manner than before.

Still suspecting nothing, the baron applied the whip more vigorously.

He perceived, clearly enough, that his charger was frightened at something or other, and to inspire it with a little of his own courage he started to whistle a lively tune which he had heard Dorothy play upon the spinet till he got it well by heart.

The tune was never finished, for barely had he begun it when the branch of a tree, which was hurled at him from the side of the road, completely unhorsed him and sent him rolling into the ditch on the other side.

Before he could rise or place himself in any posture of defence he was roughly seized, and in spite of his struggles was carried away as helpless as a child, whilst to aggravate his position his eyes were tightly blindfolded.

"What does this mean?" he shouted out in desperation; but no one deigned to answer.

"I am Sir George Vernon," he added stoutly, but if he had thought that this was information, or that his captors would be inclined to quake before this declaration of his rank and person, he was sorely mistaken, and the brief answer they returned soon convinced him on the point.

"We know it," they laughed; "we are no fools."

"Nathan Grene," he pa.s.sionately shouted, "you shall rue this day." He no longer wondered now at the non-appearance of his adversary; he felt confident that the recreant smith was there, and the thought of being thus within his power goaded him into a frenzy of pa.s.sion.

"Thou shalt live to rue this bitterly," he repeated, but before he could say anything further his mouth was filled with gra.s.s, and in spite of his attempts to speak he could no longer succeed in making himself heard.

How far he was being carried he knew not, nor yet did he know the way; and beyond making a few desultory attempts to disengage his nether limbs from the vice-like grasp in which they were enclosed, the baron made no further attempts to free himself.

It was quite dark before they stopped, and when his bandages were taken off he had only sufficient time to discover that they had halted at the mouth of a cave before his captors seized hold of his person and unceremoniously pushed him in, sending, after a brief consultation, one of their number after him to see that he made no effort to escape.

"Where is Nathan Grene?" inquired the outraged n.o.bleman, as soon as he found himself at liberty; "I want to see him."

"Happen you do!" replied his keeper, who was none other than the ostler; "then, maybe, you will find him at London. You were near enough to him in the stable loft; maybe he is out of the stocks again now."

"Don't talk with him," commanded an imperious voice from the exterior, "or he will be taking you unawares."

The order was literally complied with, and to all his queries thenceforward the baron could gain no reply. At length he gave up the attempt, and watched in sullen silence his captors kindle a fire just within the cavern mouth.

He meditated a dash out, but the venture seemed to promise little hope, and seeing, after a time, that the man had fallen asleep, he proceeded to explore his prison.

It was a long cave, and there were many fissures and pa.s.sages branching out on either side, but he found to his intense disgust that instead of leading out into the open they all terminated after a few yards in a solid wall of rock.

Nothing daunted by his successive disappointments, the lord of Haddon carefully wound his way round the circuitous cavern path. He found it difficult work, however, to walk in darkness in an unknown way, and he made little progress until, suddenly remembering that the ostler had charge of the tinder and flint which his a.s.sociates had thrown in after kindling their fire, he stole back as quickly as he could to fetch it.

He found everything exactly as it was when he left it. The ostler was still asleep and loudly snoring; the noisy gang beyond were cooking their evening meal, and without attracting their attention he succeeded in gaining the coveted articles, and rapidly retreated with them in his possession.

He waited before obtaining a light, until a sharp bend in the cave secured his position, and then, stooping down, he struck the flint and steel together and made a torch of his cravat. He was now able to hasten forward, and fearful lest his torch should burn away ere he had effected his escape, he pushed quickly on, and soon reached the farthest end.

The cave, which had been gradually narrowing as Sir George advanced, instead of suddenly rising up into the ground above, or ending in a narrow opening, as the good knight had fervently hoped, terminated in a deep chasm, and far down below there rushed a tumultuous stream.

Even as he stopped short, startled by the discovery, a stone rolled over the brink, and after a pause of several seconds' duration the forlorn explorer was suddenly recalled to a sense of his position by hearing a faint splash in the deep waters far below.

He turned round regretfully, and commenced to return, fully decided, unless he quickly discovered a way of escape, to attempt to surprise his captors by rus.h.i.+ng through their midst, trusting to the darkness of the night to favour his escape.

He had not gone far before he discovered that his absence had been noticed. The ostler must have awaked; the echoing cavern resounded with the imprecations of his companions, and their approaching footsteps warned him that they were coming in search of him. Not a moment was to be lost, and espying a large shelving rock which jutted out from a side pa.s.sage, Sir George Vernon hastily clambered up and extinguished his light. The ma.s.s of rock upon which he had taken refuge was fairly flat, and he was able to maintain his position upon it; but he soon discovered that it would not be big enough to screen him from view were the searchers to look in that direction. It was too late to think of moving now, for his pursuers were close at hand; he could even distinguish the reflection of their torches; there was only one course open for him, and that was to endeavour to squeeze through the narrow fissure at the end of the ledge on which he lay.

A squeeze and a cut or two, a tug and a stifled groan; another squeeze more violent by far than the former one, and the portly baron rolled panting through the jagged briar-covered little crevice, just as the light of the searchers illuminated the place from which he had only a moment before released himself.

Some painful moments elapsed ere he stopped rolling, and then it was not until he found himself entangled in the strong but friendly embrace of one of the tough blackberry bushes which were growing in profusion, and still continue to do so, on the hill sides of Derbys.h.i.+re. He had, in fact, found out a way of escape just as he had abandoned all hope of doing so, and carefully extricating himself from his uncomfortable position, he pursued his way by Ma.s.son's shadowy heights, boiling over with rage against his ruffianly captors, and made the best of his way to the nearest inn to secure a horse to carry him home.

CHAPTER XVII.

A DALE ABBEY HERMIT.

Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age, a reverend hermit grew; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; Remote from man, with G.o.d he pa.s.sed his days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

PARNELL.

Sir George's first care upon his arrival at Haddon was to send off a number of his retainers to capture, if possible, the gang which had entrapped him; but after searching for nearly a couple of days they were obliged to return and communicate their failure to their lord.

The villains had all made off and left not a clue behind them.

His next care was to calm the overwrought feelings of Lady Maude and his daughters, to whom the suspense of the last few hours had been painful in the extreme; and then after he had refreshed his inner man, he retired to seek that repose for which he was so well prepared.

Time sped on; the days soon pa.s.sed into weeks, and the lovely spring had merged into a still more lovely summer. John Manners' visit had come to a close, and he was longing for an invitation for another visit and seeking to find some decent excuse for becoming a self-invited guest.

At last, much to his relief, he received the long-wished-for invitation. He and Crowleigh were invited together to one of the numerous feasts of Haddon's hospitable Hall, and De la Zouch, whose wounds were now fast healing, was wishful that a reconciliation should take place between them, and professed himself even anxious to make some advances towards his late adversary.

Without loss of time the two guests sped on their way at the appointed time, and were amongst the very first of the visitors. Disappointment, however, awaited them. Father Philip was dying. The Derby leech had done his best to restore the injured man, and although he had succeeded in prolonging the patient's life for a little while, all his efforts to save the unfortunate confessor failed, and seeing the father suddenly begin to sink, he had, the night before John Manners arrived, given up all hope of saving his life, and announced that the end was nigh at hand.

Under these circ.u.mstances mounted messengers were at once despatched to inform the invited guests that it had been found necessary to postpone the feast, and asking them to defer their visit until they should hear again from Haddon. This, in almost every other instance, had succeeded in staying the visitors; but Manners and Crowleigh had started at the break of day, and were well on their way before the messenger had found his way to stop them.

A little manoeuvring on Dorothy's part gained, to Margaret's qualified delight, an invitation for them to stay from no less a personage than the dying man himself. Father Philip had taken kindly to Crowleigh from the first, and was grateful to him for the skill and patience he had bestowed upon him on his previous visit, and he was ready enough to accede to any request, whatever it might be, that his Dorothy, his beloved Dorothy, thought well to ask.