Mistress Wilding Part 34

Of the pa.s.sers-by that jostled them a couple had now paused to watch a scene that had an element of the unusual in it. She pulled her wimple closer to her face, took him by the arm, and drew him with her into the house.

"Close the door," she bade him, and Trenchard, who had stood aside that they might pa.s.s in, forestalled him in obeying her. "Now lead me to your room, said she, and Wilding in amaze turned to Trenchard as if asking his consent, for the lodging, after all, was Trenchard's.

"I'll wait here," said Nick, and waved his hand towards an oak bench that stood in the pa.s.sage. "You had best make haste," he urged his friend; "you are late already. That is, unless you are of a mind to set the lady's affairs before King Monmouth's. And were I in your place, Anthony, faith I'd not scruple to do it. For after all," he added under his breath, "there's little choice in rotten apples."

Ruth waited for some answer from Wilding that might suggest he was indifferent whether he went to Newlington's or not; but he spoke no word as he turned to lead the way above-stairs to the indifferent parlour which with the adjoining bedroom const.i.tuted Mr. Trenchard's lodging--and his own, for the time being.

Having a.s.sured herself that the curtains were closely drawn, she put by her cloak and hood, and stood revealed to him in the light of the three candles, burning in a branch upon the bare oak table, dazzlingly beautiful in her gown of ivory-white.

He stood apart, cogitating her with glowing eyes, the faintest smile between question and pleasure hovering about his thin mouth. He had closed the door, and stood in silence waiting for her to make known to him her pleasure.

"Mr. Wilding..." she began, and straightway he interrupted her.

"But a moment since you did remind me that I have the honour to be your husband," he said with grave humour. "Why seek now to overcloud that fact? I mind me that the last time we met you called me by another name.

But it may be," he added as an afterthought, "you are of opinion that I have broken faith with you."

"Broken faith? As how?"

"So!" he said, and sighed. "My words were of so little account that they have been, I see, forgotten. Yet, so that I remember them, that is what chiefly matters. I promised then--or seemed to promise--that I would make a widow of you, who had made a wife of you against your will. It has not happened yet. Do not despair. This Monmouth quarrel is not yet fought out. Hope on, my Ruth."

She looked at him with eyes wide open--l.u.s.trous eyes of sapphire in a face of ivory. A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of the thought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death she would not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy would her course have been.

"You do me wrong to bid me hope for that," she answered him, her tones level. "I do not wish the death of any man, unless..." She paused; her truthfulness urged her too far.

"Unless?" said he, brows raised, polite interest on his face.

"Unless it be His Grace of Monmouth."

He considered her with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You have not by chance sought me to talk politics?" said he. "Or..." and he suddenly caught his breath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leapt into his mind. Had Monmouth, the notorious libertine, been to Lupton House and persecuted her with his addresses? "Is it that you are acquainted with His Grace?" he asked.

"I have never spoken to him!" she answered, with no suspicion of what was in his thoughts.

In his relief he laughed, remembering now that Monmouth's affairs were too absorbing just at present to leave him room for dalliance.

"But you are standing," said he, and he advanced a chair. "I deplore that I have no better hospitality to offer you. I doubt if I ever shall again. I am told that Albemarle did me the honour to stable his knackers in my hall at Zoyland."

She took the chair he offered her, sinking to it like one physically weary, a thing he was quick to notice. He watched her, his body eager, his soul trammelling it with a steely restraint. "Tell me, now," said he, "in what you need me."

She was silent a moment, pondering, hesitation and confusion seeming to envelop her. A pink flush rose to colour the beautiful pillar of neck and overspread the delicate half-averted face. He watched it, wondering.

"How long," she asked him, her whole intent at present being to delay him and gain time. "How long have you been in Bridgwater?"

"Two hours at most," said he.

"Two hours! And yet you never came to... to me. I heard of your presence, and I feared you might intend to abstain from seeking me."

He almost held his breath while she spoke, caught in amazement. He was standing close beside her chair, his right hand rested upon its tall back.

"Did you so intend?" she asked him.

"I told you even now," he answered with hard-won calm, "that I had made you a sort of promise."

"I... I would not have you keep it," she murmured. She heard his sharply indrawn breath, felt him leaning over her, and was filled with an unaccountable fear.

"Was it to tell me this you came?" he asked her, his voice reduced to a whisper.

"No... yes," she answered, an agony in her mind, which groped for some means to keep him by her side until his danger should be overpast. That much she owed him in honour if in nothing else.

"No--yes?" he echoed, and he had drawn himself erect again. "What is't you mean, Ruth?"

"I mean that it was that, yet not quite only that."

"Ah!" Disappointment vibrated faintly in his clamation. "What else?"

"I would have you abandon Monmouth's following," she told him.

He stared a moment, moved away and round where he could confront her.

The flush had now faded from her face. This he observed and the heave of her bosom in its low bodice. He knit his brows, perplexed. Here was surely more than at first might seem.

"Why so?" he asked.

"For your own safety's sake," she answered him.

"You are oddly concerned for that, Ruth."

"Concerned--not oddly." She paused an instant, swallowed hard, and then continued. "I am concerned too for your honour, and there is no honour in following his banner. He has crowned himself King, and so proved himself a self-seeker who came dissembled as the champion of a cause that he might delude poor ignorant folk into flocking to his standard and helping him to his ambitious ends."

"You are wondrously well schooled," said he. "Whose teachings do you recite me? Sir Rowland Blake's?"

At another time the sneer might have cut her. At the moment she was too intent upon gaining time. The means to it mattered little. The more she talked to no purpose, the more at random was their discourse, the better would her ends be served.

"Sir Rowland Blake?" she cried. "What is he to me?"

"Ah, what? Let me set you the question rather."

"Less than nothing," she a.s.sured him, and for some moments afterwards it was this Sir Rowland who served them as a topic for their odd interview.

On the overmantel the pulse of time beat on from a little wooden clock.

His eyes strayed to it; it marked the three-quarters. He bethought him suddenly of his engagement. Trenchard, below-stairs, supremely indifferent whether Wilding went to Newlington's or not, smoked on, entirely unconcerned by the flight of time.

"Mistress," said Wilding suddenly, "you have not yet told me in what you seek my service. Indeed, we seem to have talked to little purpose. My time is very short."

"Where are you going?" she asked him, and fearfully she shot a sidelong glance at the timepiece. It was still too soon, by at least five minutes.

He smiled, but his smile was singular. He began to suspect at last that her only purpose--to what end he could not guess--was to detain him.

"'Tis a singularly sudden interest in my doings, this," said he quietly.

"What is't you seek of me?" He reached for the hat he had cast upon the table when they had entered. "Tell me briefly. I may stay no longer."