The Brown Mask

P >> Percy J. Brebner >> The Brown Mask

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

"It is a small matter," said Rosmore. "It shuts us out, but it shuts
them in."

"The door will not take much breaking down," said Sir John; "the rot of
years must be in it."

There was some delay while a heavy bar was found with which to attack
the door, and a light to see by. The door at the head of the stairs soon
yielded, but that of the room was another matter. It was of stout oak,
and Sir John seemed to think that Martin might be persuaded to open it.

"Martin! Martin!" he called, knocking as he did so. There was movement
within, but no answer. "Martin! This riot is no concern of yours. Open!
I have a message for you from Mistress Barbara."

Again there was movement within, and someone spoke in a low voice, but
Sir John got no answer.

"Your madman is defiant," said Rosmore. "We shall have to teach him
better manners. We must break in the door, Sir John."

The first blow of the bar fell heavily, and there came a sudden answer,
a quick sequence of notes--the laugh of the fiddle--then silence. Blow
upon blow followed quickly, but there was no answering sound from
within.

"Beat where the lock is," said Rosmore. "It gives there, I think; and be
on the defensive, Sir John. We have certainly one desperate man to deal
with--I think two."

With a crash the lock suddenly gave way, and the door swung open; but no
rush of attack came out of the darkness. One man carried the light in
and held it high above his head. There was no movement, no sound.

The room was empty!

CHAPTER XIII

THE WAY OF ESCAPE

"That was warm work while it lasted," said Martin as he locked the door.
"They will easily break the first door, but this, at any rate, is good
stout oak, and will keep them out for a little while. Wait; I will light
a candle."

"We have no way of escape, so they may take what time they will," said
Crosby, and then, as the candle shed a dim light in the room, he turned
to Barbara. "How can I thank you?--yet I would you were not here. My
coming to Aylingford has brought you grievous trouble."

"There was trouble before you came; it does not seem to me much greater
now," she answered.

"Spoken like a philosopher," said Martin, laying his sword on the table
beside the fiddle and the bow.

"And, truly, Martin, you fight like a soldier," said Barbara.

"The occasion makes the man, mistress. For the moment I was a soldier,
and had forgotten the fiddle bow. But speak low; they will be upon the
landing in a moment, and I would not have them know that you are here.
Did anyone see you come to the ruins?"

"I think not."

"Good! There are more ways than one of cheating an enemy."

"But we are caught here, Martin--here in the tower." And she put a hand
upon the arm of this mad dreamer, as though she would rouse him to
action, and cast an appealing glance at Crosby to add his efforts to
hers.

"I know, I know. We are locked in my tower. There is no place like it in
Aylingford Abbey." And Martin sat down on a low stool by the open hearth
and began pushing back the sticks and rubbish which lay there into a
heap, as if it were his intention to light a fire.

"Come, Master Fairley, rise once more to the occasion," said Crosby.

"I'm sitting down to it this time," was the answer. "Riding made my
knees sore, and fighting has put an ache in my back."

"They have not gained the landing yet," urged Crosby. "Is there not a
way to the roof? With a rope we might at least get Mistress Lanison to
the ground in safety."

"Yes, Martin, possibly we might all get down from the roof without being
seen," said Barbara. "But every way of escape from the Abbey is watched
to-night," she went on, turning to Crosby. "Lord Rosmore said so."

"Then we gain little by climbing from the roof if we could do so, which
we cannot," said Fairley. "First, I have no rope; secondly--ah! that
will do for a second reason. They are upon the landing."

As he spoke the door at the head of the stairs crashed open, and there
was a rush of feet without.

"Can you hide Mistress Lanison?" whispered Crosby to Martin, glancing
round the room. "They are not likely to search if you and I open the
door to them."

Barbara started back, perhaps expecting the room door to burst in
suddenly, perhaps to protest that she intended to share the danger,
whatever it might be. Her ankle was suddenly seized and held tightly.

"Have a care, mistress," said Martin in a low tone, and, looking down at
him, Barbara saw that where the hearth-stone had been there was now a
hole. "There is one way that is not watched to-night, I warrant--this
way."

He rose quickly from the stool and touched Crosby's arm.

"Go first. There are steps. Take my sword as well as your own. Then you,
mistress. I come last to shut this up again."

There was a loud knock at the door. "Martin! Martin!"

"Sir John!" he whispered, and held up his finger to command silence.

"Martin! This riot is no concern of yours. Open! I have a message for
you from Mistress Barbara."

"Quickly! They do not know you are here," whispered Martin.

Crosby went down into darkness, and held his hand to Barbara to steady
her. Their heads had sunk below the floor level when the first blow was
struck at the door. Martin had extinguished the candle and seized his
fiddle. With his foot on the steps he drew the bow sharply across the
strings--a little laugh. Then he went down, and at a touch the
hearth-stone came slowly back into its ordinary position.

After going down straight for a little way the stairs began to wind, and
were so narrow that a man had only just room enough to pass. Crosby led
the way carefully, leaning back a little lest Barbara should stumble in
the darkness and fall. From behind, Martin whispered his instructions.
They came presently to a landing which widened out, and here Martin took
the lead.

"Give me your hand, mistress. Carefully--there are six more steps," and
Martin counted them as he went down. "So, we are now below the floor of
the ruined hall. Mad Martin was not to be caught in a trap so easily."

"And now which way do we go? We are still in the Abbey," said Barbara.

"A man might stay here a long time undiscovered, but that is not my
plan. Mr. Crosby shall be leaving the Abbey behind long before his
enemies have given up hunting for him."

"Martin, I must go too," said Barbara. "There are reasons--many
reasons."

"Many reasons why you must stay for the present," said Martin. "Trust
me, mistress; it is more dangerous for you to leave the Abbey just now
than to remain."

"You do not understand, Martin. Lord Rosmore--"

"Fairley is right," said Crosby. "We found that the Abbey was watched
to-night. By one of the bridges on the other side of the stream we
overheard two men talking. Cursing their vigil, they declared that
Rosmore was bent on private revenge--that my arrest was of his own
scheming. He has already had some of my servants sent to Dorchester, and
I must ride there without delay to save them."

"But you will be taken."

"Would that be a reason for not going?"

"No," she answered quickly. "No; you must go."

"And you must do nothing to associate yourself with me in any way. It
was a chance that Martin brought me here, more of my contriving than his
--do you understand? All you know of Gilbert Crosby is that he once came
to your assistance at Newgate."

She did not answer immediately. In the darkness Crosby could hear a
little quick intake of her breath and a slight rustle of her gown.

"Does Martin go with you?" she asked after a pause.

"A little way to put him on the road; then I shall return to
Aylingford," Fairley said.

"You must not. It will not be safe for you."

"Never fear, mistress. Lord Rosmore cannot remain here, and no one else
will care a jot whether Mad Martin comes or goes. Come, there must be no
more delay. You must be back in your room if they should chance to call
for you when they return from the ruins. Indeed, you must contrive to
let them know that you are there. You will wait for me, Mr. Crosby. Your
hand once more, mistress."

She stretched out her arm, and her hand was taken, but it was not Martin
who took it.

"Thank you for all you have done for me," whispered Crosby. "It is more
than you have knowledge of; as yet, it is almost beyond my own
comprehension. There will come happier times--quickly, I trust--then I
may thank you better. Then, I would have you remember something more of
Gilbert Crosby than that he came to you that day in Newgate."

Then lips were pressed upon her hand, homage and reverence in the touch.

"I shall think of you and pray for you," she answered.

"I am waiting, mistress," said Martin. "I am here; your hand is
difficult to find in the darkness."

It was the other arm Barbara stretched out, and so for an instant she
stood, both hands firmly held, linked to these two men.

Martin led the way quickly, and certainly, as one who had made the
journey often and knew every step of it. At first there was a faint echo
of their footfalls, speaking of a wide space about them, but they were
soon in a passage which became gradually narrower, then they began to
ascend, for a little way by a sharp incline, and afterwards by a winding
staircase.

"Martin," Barbara said suddenly, "I am in real danger. Lord Rosmore
wishes to marry me. To-night he gave me his word that you should go
free, and I think I could persuade him to let Mr. Crosby escape, if I
consent to be his wife. I have until to-morrow morning to give him an
answer."

"To-morrow morning he will have no prisoners to bargain with," Fairley
answered.

"Nevertheless, he will want an answer. If he does not get the answer he
wants, I am likely to be accused of helping rebels."

"Is that what he threatens? You are not a woman to be frightened by
threats. You must meet deceit with deceit. Answer neither 'Yea' nor
'Nay' for a while. He will wait if you let him suppose your answer may
be 'Yea.'"

"My uncle is insistent," said Barbara.

"Should you be pressed in such a fashion that there is no escape,
mistress, say this to Sir John: 'It is a sacred trust; God requite you
if you fail in it. When she is of age, give her that which is hers. She
is free.' Tell him that these words were spoken to you out of the
darkness, and then there followed a single word spoken low--'Beware!'
Can you remember them? They must be exact. It is true you have heard
them out of the darkness, and you will not say that Mad Martin spoke
them."

"And then, Martin?"

"He will be afraid of you; but do not speak the words unless you are
obliged. Let me hear you repeat them."

Barbara said them carefully and correctly.

"Good," said Martin. "You are armed with a weapon that can hardly fail,
and you shall not be left long to fight the battle alone. Courage,
mistress; there comes an end to the blackest hours, and surely into
yours there has penetrated a beam of light. Is it not so?"

"Perhaps, Martin."

"Another step. So. Pass on, mistress, and good-night."

Barbara's foot suddenly pressed a soft rug instead of the hard stone of
the stairs; it was still dark, but not black as it had been; there was a
faint stirring of the air about her, and then a scarcely audible sound
behind her, which for a moment had no meaning for her. Then she saw the
dim outline of a window above, and to her right, at some little
distance, a narrow line of light. She was in the corridor out of which
her own apartments opened, and behind her was the panelled wall!

She went quickly to her room. The candles were burning as she had left
them when bidden to go to her uncle. How swiftly the moments had passed
since then, yet how much had happened in them! A kiss was still burning
on her hand, and she raised the hand to her lips, blushing and accusing
herself of folly as she did so. Then she threw the casement wide open
and leaned out to listen.

A murmur of sound came from the ruins. Had they forced the door and
found the room empty? It was certain that there were men in the ruins.
Suddenly there came another sound, the clatter of horses' hoofs on the
stones of the courtyard. Were these new arrivals at the Abbey, or were
men mounting in haste to scour the country for the fugitives? She must
know, and yet Martin had said that she must let them understand that she
was in her own room to-night.

There were quick footsteps below her window.

"I think they must be along the terrace, sir," said a servant; "both my
master and Lord Rosmore."

"I thought it was a haunted spot which no one cared for after dark," was
the answer in a voice which sounded familiar to Barbara.

"So it is, sir, but to-night there's something afoot which--" And then
they passed out of Barbara's hearing. She leaned out of the window,
looking towards the ruins, and saw a man with a torch come out on to the
terrace. He shouted, and two or three other men joined him. The servant
and the visitor went forward quickly, and entered the ruins as the
shouting ceased. Still Barbara did not move; they must know she was in
her room, Martin had said--and Mad Martin had proved himself wondrous
wise and clever to-night. So she waited, and the moments were
leaden-footed. Presently three men came from the ruins and along the
terrace. Barbara heard her uncle's voice.

"What is it?" she said, leaning down. "I am afraid."

All three men stopped and looked up. The new arrival was Sydney
Fellowes.

"I am frightened at so much stir at this time of the night," she said.

"It is nothing, Barbara," said Sir John.

They had seen her. She need remain in her room no longer, and she flew
along the corridor and down the stairs in time to meet them as they
entered the hall.

Fellowes bowed low to her. His dress was dusty. He had evidently ridden
far.

"Dare I hope that you have repented, and that to-morrow seems too long
to wait?" said Rosmore.

"There has been such riot I have had no time to think of other matters.
What does it mean, uncle?"

"That Mr. Fellowes has ridden from Lord Feversham, commanding Rosmore's
presence in Dorsetshire."

"So unless we capture this rebel of ours to-night, Mistress Lanison, I
shall have to leave some of my men to do it," said Rosmore. "I must
depart to-morrow morning, and you must--you will give me my answer
before I go?"

"It is news to me that Crosby of Lenfield has been named as a rebel,"
said Fellowes.

"It was news to me until I had my commands," said Rosmore.

"Lord Feversham bid me tell you to return with all the men you could
muster. I do not envy you your employment. Kirke's lambs are already too
busy for my liking."

"You go no further to-night, Mr. Fellowes?" said Sir John.

"Yes, towards London. I bear despatches to the King at Whitehall. I have
accomplished one part of my errand; I must hasten to complete the other.
A stirrup cup as you suggested, Sir John, and then to horse. Good-night,
Mistress Lanison."

Fellowes and her uncle moved away, leaving Barbara with Rosmore.

"You may sleep late to-morrow if you will give me my answer to-night,"
he said.

"I cannot force love, Lord Rosmore; I will not say 'Yes' without it."

"It shall dawn with the speaking of one little word."

"Wait until you return," pleaded Barbara. "How do I know that you will
not take Martin to-night, and be unable to free him to-morrow."

"You have my word."

"Your word against my love; it is too unequal a bargain. If you ride
with my promise to-morrow, you must leave Martin with me. He has been my
mad playfellow ever since I can remember."

"You have my word," said Rosmore, "it must suffice."

"And to all my pleading you only answer with threats," said Barbara.
"Indeed, my lord, that is a rough path to a woman's heart. There is
still the night for me, and for you; I pray that you will have chosen
another road before the morning."

She turned and left him, all the coquette that was in her displayed to
win him to a better mood. She had little hope of succeeding, but she was
very sure that he should ride away with no promise of hers. There was
another, by this time rapidly leaving Aylingford behind him she hoped,
who bore with him, not her promise, he had not asked for that, but her
thoughts and her prayers. If these were any shield from danger, surely
he went in safety.

It was quite evident to Barbara that neither her uncle nor Lord Rosmore
intended her to know what had happened that night; what line they would
take to-morrow she could not guess, but she had already hinted to Lord
Rosmore that in exchange for her promise he must leave Martin free at
the Abbey with her. This he could not do if Martin and Gilbert Crosby
had got away safely, and she believed they had done so.

Barbara could not sleep. The most fantastic happenings seemed possible
through the long hours of wakefulness. Martin might see his companion
far enough upon the road to render his capture unlikely, and then return
at once. If he came before Lord Rosmore departed, what excuse would be
left her for not fulfilling her part of the bargain? Towards morning
this fear began to dwarf all others, and an intense longing to be
certain that Martin had not returned took possession of her. She was
always an early riser; there would be no reason for comment if she were
found upon the terrace soon after the sun had risen. She would have no
need to find an excuse, because her habit was well known.

It was a silent and beautiful world into which she stepped. The Abbey
was still asleep, no sound came from the servants' quarters at present,
nor the clink of a pail-handle from the stables. If they were waking in
the village yonder, they were welcoming the new day in silence.
Barbara's footfall on the stone flags of the terrace rang strangely loud
in the morning air, and she went slowly, pausing to look across the
woods and down into the stream. Hidden men might still be watching, or
someone, whose night had been as wakeful as her own, might see her from
one of the windows. She must act as though she had no thought beyond the
full enjoyment of the early morning. Slowly, and with many pauses, she
made her way towards the ruins, and passed in after standing at the door
absorbed in contemplation of the beauty of the scene about her. She
hummed the tune of a little ballad to herself, and sat down on the first
convenient piece of fallen masonry. If men were watching this place she
would give them ample opportunity to ask what her business there might
be. Not a movement, not a sound disturbed her. The door into the tower
stood open; she wondered what had become of the men who had groaned last
night, and must have fallen on the narrow stairs; and she shuddered a
little at the thought of some hastily contrived grave, quite close to
her, perchance. She had no intention of entering the tower, only to show
herself in the ruins; surely if Martin were in hiding there he would
contrive some means to let her know. Still humming the ballad, slightly
louder than before, she went a little farther into the ruins, and
stopped by a piece of fallen stone-work which had constantly afforded
her a resting-place. It was here that Gilbert Crosby had caught his foot
and stumbled last night as he and Martin had run from their pursuers; it
was just here that the swords had first clashed, and the men had run
eagerly together upon their prey; here, probably, a little later, Sydney
Fellowes had given Lord Feversham's message to Lord Rosmore. Barbara
would go no further. If men were watching they should see that she had
no intention of entering the tower.

As she sat down she saw close by the stone, half trampled into the loose
dust which surrounded it, a piece of cloth or linen, cut sharply, it
seemed. The work of one of those clashing swords, Barbara thought, as
she stooped and drew it out of the dust, and then a little
half-strangled cry escaped her. It was a piece of coarse silk, brown in
colour. In her hand she held a brown mask!

CHAPTER XIV

A WOMAN REBELS

The Abbey awoke earlier than usual this morning. It would be some hours
yet before Mrs. Dearmer, radiant from the hands of her maid, came forth
to face the world and God's good sun, and there were men with heads
racked from last night's deep potations who would still lie abed and
curse their ill-luck; but there was noisy bustle in the stable yards,
the champing of bits and jingling of harness, and in the servants'
quarters a hurrying to and fro with eager haste, and a pungent
atmosphere of cooking food. Lord Rosmore was starting for Dorsetshire
within the hour, and his men were being fed with that liberality for
which the Abbey was famous.

Barbara sat on one of the stone seats let into the wall overlooking the
stream. Lord Rosmore would see her there and come for his answer. She
had no intention of trying to escape the interview; she had no doubt
what answer she would give, yet there was trouble in her heart. The mask
of brown silk which lay concealed in the bosom of her dress struck at
the very roots of her belief in a man's truth and honour. Lord Rosmore
had told her no falsehood, no made-up tale to suit his own purposes as
she supposed, and it was impossible for her not to think less harshly of
him as she saw him come out on to the terrace with her uncle. Sir John,
with some jesting remark, walked slowly in the opposite direction, and
Lord Rosmore came quickly towards her. He bowed low with that grace
which had made him famous amongst men, and which no woman had ever
attempted to deny him. There was not a cloud upon his brow, and a little
smile played at the corners of his mouth as though he had already
received his answer--the answer he desired.

"On such a gracious morning as this am I to be made the happiest man on
whom the sun shines, Mistress Lanison?"

"I asked for a longer time, Lord Rosmore."

"I wish I could give it," he returned. "There is nothing that I would
rather do than stay here to convince you how true and deep my love is;
but, alas! duty calls me away upon no pleasant mission."

"But you will return," said Barbara.

"Not for some weeks, I fear, and in them what may not happen? I would
take my happiness with me--your promise--not wait in anxious doubt."

"Love has not come to me yet; it might come when you return," Barbara
said. "Without love I will not give my promise to any man."

"Love will come," was the answer; "and, besides, love is not the whole
of marriage. There are other reasons often--indeed, almost always--for
giving a promise."

"Is it bargaining, you mean?"

"I would not call it by such a name," said Rosmore. "The alliance which
satisfies parents and guardians, which sends a man and a woman walking
side by side along a worthy road in the world, giving each to each what
the other lacks, a good, useful comradeship which keeps at arm's length
the world's cares, surely this makes a true marriage, and into it,
believe me, love will come."

"It may, Lord Rosmore, but I am not yet persuaded that the road is
worthy, nor that such a comradeship between us could bring good. Believe
me, you will be far wiser to give me time. Wait for your answer until
you return."

"I fear to find the bird stolen," he said.

"I am not so desirable a possession as you imagine," she answered, with
an effort to bring an element of banter into the interview.

"You cannot see yourself at this moment, Mistress Lanison, or you would
not say so. I must have your answer. Are there not many, many reasons
why you should give me your promise?"

"You will come to this lower level of bargaining," said Barbara.

"I have no choice."

"I have shown you a wise road to take," she answered; "wait until you
come back from Dorsetshire."

"I cannot wait."

"Then if we bargain, Lord Rosmore, you must remember that there are
always two sides to a bargain. You do not show me Martin Fairley a free
man."

"I can hardly set free a man I have not taken prisoner. Martin and the
highwayman succeeded in getting away from the Abbey last night. Until we
saw you leaning from your window, Sir John was absurd enough to declare
that you must have warned them."

"My uncle seems strangely anxious to make a rebel of me," said Barbara.
"I hold to our bond. Martin Fairley is not here, therefore I give no
promise this morning."

"I do not remember agreeing to such a bargain," said Rosmore.

"It pleases me," said Barbara, "and helps me to forget that you began by
threatening me. I am not a woman to be frightened by a threat."

"Then you will give me no promise?"

"No; but if you persist I will give you an answer, and promise that it
shall be a final one."

"I would spare myself the indignity of a direct repulse," he said, "and
I trust I am man enough not to let love blind my eyes to duty. I am
afraid you must live to regret your decision, but I may yet find means
to do you a service."

He turned and left her, and, calling to Sir John that he must depart
without delay, he left the terrace with her uncle, telling him, Barbara
had no doubt, of the ill-success of his interview.

What was the reason of her uncle's anxiety to force her into this
marriage? Some power Lord Rosmore must surely hold over him. Sir John
was afraid, and since he had not scrupled to suggest that she was in
league with rebels, and in the same breath point out in how dangerous a
position this rebellion placed her, there was no knowing to what lengths
he might not go to achieve his ends.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21