The Brown Mask

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

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"No, nothing further."

"Your face has a wealth of trouble in it."

"Indeed, madam, and is it any wonder?" the girl asked. "I am so
helpless, and I could wish to be so strong. Every hour counts, and what
can I do?"

"You have travelled far to ask my help, that is something."

"Yes, madam; but yesterday you gave me little hope, and even that little
is gone. In this matter you are as helpless as I am."

Barbara laughed, a little hardly perhaps, remembering in which direction
her power lay.

"Had I been powerless, do you suppose your master would have sent you to
me? I have had to decide whether I shall use that power."

"And you will use it?"

"I have already tried to do so this morning, and failed."

"Here? In London?"

"Yes. In which direction did you imagine my power lay?"

"I could not tell, but I thought--I thought it must be in Dorchester
where my master is a prisoner. Madam, there are powerful men in the West
who may be bribed, who are being bribed every day. I thought it was with
them you would have to deal."

"The man I hoped to see in London is gone to the West," said Barbara.

"Then--"

"Yes, I intend to follow him, and at once. In this enterprise you will
be of more service to me than my own maid. Will you go with me?"

"Gladly, madam," and the girl's face brightened at once. "I have made
the journey to London more than once, and know that at the house where
the coach stops a carriage and horses can be procured."

"You are beginning to make yourself useful at once," Barbara returned.
"Wait here for me. I have to give my maid instructions, and then we will
start without delay."

Barbara told her maid to be on the watch for Martin Fairley, and to tell
him that she had gone to Dorchester.

"He will understand why," she said; "and as I shall not want you with
me, and yet do not want you to be questioned, you had better return to
the Abbey as soon as you have seen Martin. Be sure and do not let anyone
hear you give the message."

The girl had friends in London, and asked if she might spend a day or
two with them before returning to Aylingford.

"It will fit my plan excellently," Barbara answered. "Leave this house
as soon as you possibly can after seeing Martin, and if your friends
will have you, stay with them until I send for you. You will be well out
of the way of questions."

"No questions would make me betray you," said the girl.

"I know, but your face is a tell-tale one," Barbara answered. "You have
the virtue of not being able to lie easily."

The girl was honest, and it was no fault of hers that she failed to
deliver her message to Martin Fairley. She saw him come to the house,
and hurried down to him, meaning to catch him in the square and speak to
him where none could overhear her, and so carry out her mistress's
instructions to the letter. But Fairley had departed quickly, and was
nowhere to be seen. For some time she waited for his return, and when he
did not come, thought it best to fulfil the other part of her
instructions and leave the house at once.

The servants at Lady Bolsover's knew nothing of Martin Fairley, not even
his name. He had twice been admitted to see Mistress Lanison, but, for
all the servants knew, he was some tradesman with whom she had dealings.
Many such came to Lady Bolsover's. As Martin came to the door that day
one servant called to another to fetch a coach for Sir John Lanison,
and, hearing that Sir John was in the house, Martin departed quickly,
saying that he would come at a more convenient hour. He did not want Sir
John to know that he was in London, but he was curious to know upon what
mission Sir John had come to town. Here was an opportunity to satisfy
his curiosity which he had not counted upon, and he turned swiftly into
the first alley which presented itself, and waited. He was so intent on
watching for Sir John that he failed to notice Barbara's maid, who on
her side was not anxious to attract too much attention either from those
who might be at the windows of the house or from idlers in the square.

Fairley had to wait nearly an hour, and then Sir John came. He took no
notice of the coach, had no doubt given the servants some instructions
concerning it, but walked leisurely across the square with the air of a
man at peace with himself and all the world. Whatever plot might be on
foot, it had received no check, and Fairley argued the worst from that
handsome, smiling face.

"He is delighted with some great villainy," he said to himself as he
came from his hiding-place and followed him.

Sir John Lanison was conscious that some attention was paid to him as he
passed. He was a fine gentleman, and retained a little of that
old-fashioned grace which had been the admiration of the town a couple
of decades ago, when foolish women had looked upon him almost as a hero
of romance, and men had thought twice before raising the anger of so
accomplished a swordsman. A remembrance of former triumphs, with perhaps
a little sigh to keep it company, came to him as he went towards the
Haymarket, but certainly no thought of Martin Fairley was in his mind.
His destination was a hostelry where he was evidently known, and there
was a rush to do his bidding. He was travelling to Aylingford to-morrow,
and must needs have the best coach and horses procurable. He was going
alone; yes, and would start at an early hour. His orders were received
with bows and much obsequiousness.

"Tell me, landlord, have you sent out a coach in that direction to-day?"

"Not to Aylingford, sir."

"But in that direction. The road does not only lead to the Abbey."

"Why, yes, sir; a coach started for the West early this afternoon," was
the answer.

"In these days the traffic sets more this way," said Sir John. "What
kind of passengers were they?"

"Two women; one closely veiled, but if her face were equal to her
figure, to hide it was cheating mortals out of a pleasure. The other was
a maid, a pert little baggage who ordered us about somewhat."

"Going to Exeter?"

"No, to Dorchester."

Sir John nodded, and the smile of satisfaction seemed permanent.

"You observe closely, landlord. I warrant you could describe the
mistress's clothing for all you were so ordered about by the maid."

The landlord grinned, and proved his observation by a somewhat close
description.

"I get asked such questions sometimes," he said, "when a mistress runs
away, or a rebel makes hastily for the sea-coast and safety. It is well
to be observant."

Sir John laughed, and having demanded that the post-boys supplied
to-morrow should not be of the sort who see a highwayman in every broken
tree trunk by the wayside, he departed.

The conversation had been overheard by a crowd of loafers in the
adjoining room, who had suspended their drinking to watch this fine
gentleman to whom the landlord was so attentive. Then the clatter and
conversation began again, and only one man was interested enough to seek
further information. He had only entered a few moments ago; now he
approached the landlord.

"I heard your description just now; it interested me."

The landlord looked at Fairley from head to foot, and then brought his
eyes to bear keenly on his face.

"You are not known to me."

"But I am to the lady, unless I mistake not. You spoke of runaway
mistresses, and truly I think that shot at a venture found its mark."

"You would follow her?"

"If your answer to a question or two satisfies me, I will ride without
delay the best horse you have."

The questions were asked, and Martin was so satisfied that he was
impatient to be gone.

"So that I am well paid it's no odds to me," said the landlord. "I made
the lady no promise, and she's not the first who has grown tired of her
husband, nor will she be the last."

"She may thank you for giving me the information," Fairley answered.
"Ink and paper quickly, landlord; I must write a letter before I go."

By the time the horse was ready the letter was written.

"Find a messenger for this, landlord, and see that it is delivered
without delay. There is payment for the messenger; tell him he will
receive a like sum from the gentleman to whom this is addressed."

There was a certain awkwardness about Martin Fairley as he rode out of
the yard, enough to show that he was not so accomplished a horseman as
some men; yet he had improved in his riding since he had borne Gilbert
Crosby company from "The Jolly Farmers" that night.

The letter was delivered to Sydney Fellowes before Fairley had gone many
miles upon his journey.

"I believe Mistress Lanison is on her way to Dorchester, and I am
following," Fellowes read. "What plan is in her mind I cannot tell, but
since it seems to give Sir John much satisfaction, I argue that some
trap lies in the way. It is possible that I may be mistaken, so will you
go to Lady Bolsover's to-night and make sure that Mistress Lanison has
gone. If she has, and you can come, make all haste to Dorchester. There
is a little tavern called 'The Anchor' in West Street. No one of
consequence would use it, so you shall find word of me there."

Not many hours later Sydney Fellowes was also riding towards the West.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE JOURNEY TO DORCHESTER

There was an atmosphere of unrest about the inn at Witley this evening.
An hour ago a coach had arrived, and the best rooms were in requisition
for the travellers, a lady and her maid. It was whispered amongst the
loungers in the common room that she was a great lady, in spite of the
fact that she travelled in a hired coach, but this idea was perhaps due
to the fact that the maid was imperious, and demanded attention in a
manner that carried weight. The servant of an ordinary person would
hardly have been so dictatorial.

Even before the arrival of the coach the inn had been far more alive
than usual, for a company of troopers had galloped up to it late in the
afternoon making inquiry concerning a fugitive. He might be alone, but
probably had a companion with him. Both men were minutely described, and
it would seem that the capture of the companion would be likely to give
the greater satisfaction.

No one at the inn had either seen or heard anything of them, and the
troop had given up the pursuit. After refreshment, and a noisy halt of
half an hour, the men had returned by the way they had come, leaving two
of their company behind. These two were in the common room when the
coach arrived, and, like everyone else in the house, were mightily
interested in the lady and her maid. When the bustle had subsided a
little they called for more ale and settled themselves comfortably in a
corner.

"Well, for my part I'm not sorry the fellow got away," said one man,
stretching out his legs easily. "We've enough prisoners to make examples
of already."

"One more or less makes no matter," was the answer, "but it's wonderful
how many have managed to slip through our fingers by the help of this
fellow Crosby. I'd give something to lay him by the heels."

"Aye, that would mean gold enough in our pockets to jingle."

"And we shall get him presently," the other went on. "He is known to
many of us now that he does not always hide himself behind the brown
mask."

"If there were no money in it, I wouldn't raise a hand against him,"
said his companion, "for I've a sneaking fondness for the fellow. He's
got courage and brains, and they've got the better of us up to now. Mark
me, we shan't take him easily when the opportunity does offer. He'll
make a corpse of one or two of us in the doing it."

"More guineas for those who are left," was the answer. "The other affair
trots nicely," and he winked slowly over the tilted edge of his tankard.

"Wait!" said the other. "The netting of such fish may be sport enough,
but there are handsome fish which are the devil to handle, and the taste
of them is poison. Hist!"

His companion turned quickly at the warning, and through the open door
saw the maid, who attended the great lady, in the passage without. She
inquired for the landlord, who came quickly, and at the same time the
trooper got up and crossed the room, giving no explanation to his
companion.

"Must we start early to reach Dorchester to-morrow?" the maid inquired
of the landlord.

"Yes, very early. The roads--"

"The roads are good, mistress," volunteered the trooper. "I have ridden
over them to-day."

"You may be able to tell me better than the landlord, then," said the
girl, and for some minutes they talked in a low tone as they stood in
the doorway of the inn.

"A fine night, mistress," said the man as the girl was about to leave
him. "With the moon up like this, lovers should be abroad. It's but a
hundred yards to the open fields; will you come?"

"With you!" exclaimed the girl scornfully, looking him up slowly from
his boots to his eyes.

"Why not?" The maid's eyes were attractive, her figure was neat, and the
man had sufficient ale in him to make him bold. For an instant they
looked at each other; then the girl laughed derisively.

"When the master grows tired, the man may prove useful, and the man has
a fancy for sampling the wares forthwith," said the trooper as he caught
hold of the girl and would have kissed her. Perhaps he did not expect
any great resistance, and was unprepared, but at any rate she slipped
from his embrace, dealing him a resounding box upon the ears as she did
so.

"You shall be punished further before many hours are over," said the
girl as she ran lightly up the stairs.

The man growled an oath as he stood with his hand to his assaulted ear.

"Did I not say that some were the devil to handle?" remarked his
companion, who had come to the common-room door, and was smiling grimly.

"I grant she takes first trick, and with a heavy hand for so small a
person, but the game is only commencing. One more draught of ale to
drink success to the end of it, and then to horse."

As the troopers rode out of Witley presently a horseman drew back into
the shadow of some trees by the roadside to let them pass.

"The remaining two," he murmured. "That's well; they have given up the
pursuit," and he turned and went at a brisk canter across country.

The maid said nothing about the trooper to her mistress; she only told
her that an early start would have to be made.

"Very well, Harriet, I shall want nothing more to-night, and will put
myself to bed."

But Barbara Lanison was in no haste to seek sleep. She was tired, bodily
tired, but mentally she was wakeful. There were some hours still before
she could reach Dorchester, and many more hours might elapse before she
could get speech with Judge Marriott. Having determined to make the
sacrifice, she was eager that it should be over and done with, that she
should know the full extent of the sacrifice. And perhaps, at the back
of her mind, there was a little fear of herself. The question would
arise, again and again, no matter how she tried to suppress it, was she
justified in acting as she intended to do? Who was this man for whom she
was prepared to give so much? A notorious highwayman, upon whose head
there was a price. Yes, it was true, but he was also Gilbert Crosby, the
man who had taken possession of her thoughts since the first moment she
had seen him, the man who had sheltered and helped the peasantry fleeing
from an inhuman persecution, and who must now pay for his courage with
his life unless she pleaded for him. Was she justified? The question
sounded in her ears when she fell asleep; she heard it when she awoke
next morning. Yes, and mentally she flung back the answer, yes, for to
her Gilbert Crosby was something more than a brave man, and was dear to
her in spite of everything. He was the man who had set an ideal in her
heart, he was the man she loved. Hardly to herself would she admit it,
but it was love that sent her to the West.

It was still early when the coach rolled out of Witley, but it was not
early enough, nor was the pace fast enough, to satisfy Barbara. She
became suddenly fearful of pursuit which might stop her from reaching
Dorchester. She began to dread some breakdown which might delay her and
cause her to arrive too late.

"Shall we be in time?" she asked more than once, turning to Harriet
Payne.

"Yes, madam, you need have no fear. The assizes have not yet begun in
Dorchester."

Pursuit was behind, but it was the pursuit of a friend. Whether it was
the fault of the horseman or his mounts, disaster rode with Martin
Fairley. To begin with, his horse cast a shoe, and by the time a smith
was found and his work done, an hour had been wasted. Before the end of
the first stage the horse collapsed; there was considerable difficulty
in getting a remount, and the animal procured was a sorry beast for
pace. Martin fretted at the delay, and cursed the adverse fates which so
hindered him. Once he was within three miles of the coach, and then his
horse went dead lame. Hours were lost before he could get another horse
and resume the journey, and during those hours much might have happened.

The coach had left only an hour when he arrived at the inn at Witley.

"Yes, the travellers were a lady and her maid," the landlord told him.

"Going to Dorchester?" Martin asked.

"Yes. They started early."

"Has anyone inquired for them?"

"No."

"Some breakfast, landlord--ale and bread and cheese will do--and a horse
at once."

"Yes, sir."

"And for heaven's sake give me a horse with four sound legs and with
wind enough in its bellows to stand a gallop."

Fairley was soon in the saddle again, and this time with a better horse
under him. His spirits rose as the miles were left rapidly behind, and
as he turned each bend in the road he looked eagerly for a dust cloud
before him proclaiming that his pursuit was nearly at an end.

Barbara sat silently in the corner of the carriage, Harriet Payne sat
upright, looking from the window. It was Harriet who first noticed that
the post-boy was suddenly startled, and that, in looking back, he had
almost allowed the horses to swerve from the roadway.

"What is it?" she called from the window, as she looked back along the
road they had come.

The post-boy pointed with his whip. Barbara looked hastily from the
other window. There was much dust from their own wheels, but, beyond,
there was another cloud surrounding and half concealing a horseman who
was fast overtaking them.

"Looks like a highwayman," said the post-boy.

"Better a highwayman than some others who might have followed us," said
Barbara, leaning back in her corner again. "Tell the boy to go on
quietly, Harriet. This may be a very worthy gentleman who has need of
haste."

A few minutes later the horseman galloped up to the window.

"Martin! You!" Barbara exclaimed.

"Had I not been delayed upon the journey I should have caught you before
this. I wish I had."

"Why, Martin? Do you suppose I am to be turned from my purpose?"

Fairley rode beside the open window, and Barbara leaned forward to talk
with him.

"I do not know your purpose," he said, "but I fear a trap has been set
for you."

"A trap!" Harriet exclaimed.

"Why do you think so, Martin?" Barbara asked.

Fairley told her how he had followed Sir John to the hostelry in the
Haymarket.

"You see, mistress, he knew where you would hire. He went direct to this
place and made his inquiries as though he knew beforehand what answers
he would receive. His smile was so self-satisfied that I scented
danger."

"And you see we are safe, nothing has happened."

"Not yet," was the answer. "There is presently a by-road I know of, and
by your leave we will take it."

Barbara felt a little quick tug at her sleeve, and turned to Harriet.

"Do not give him leave. I do not trust him," whispered the girl.

"Why not?"

"Some who seem to be your friends are no friends to Mr. Crosby."

"This is no friend to be afraid of," laughed Barbara. "Were you not told
to seek a fiddler at Aylingford if you failed to find me? This is he!"

"A fiddler!" Harriet exclaimed. She had evidently not expected the
fiddler to be a man of this sort, and was not satisfied.

Barbara turned to the window again. "Tell me what you fear, Martin. I
must not be hindered in reaching Dorchester, but take this by-road you
talk of if you think it safer."

"It will be a wise precaution, and will not delay us long upon the
journey." He rode forward a little, and spoke to the post-boy.

"He will delay us, I know he will," said Harriet. "I have no faith in
him, and it may just make the difference in saving my master."

"Don't be foolish, girl. Your master has no better friend in the world."

"I cannot help it, but I do not believe it," sobbed the girl.

"You have told me the assizes have not begun in Dorchester. We shall not
be too late."

"But they have hanged and shot men without waiting for a trial. I know;
I have seen them. They hate my master, and were they to learn you were
hurrying to his rescue, they would kill him before you came."

"I am doing my best," said Barbara.

"Keep to the high road, mistress," urged the girl.

Barbara turned from her impatiently, and Martin came back to the window.

"What is your purpose when you arrive in Dorchester?" he asked.

"I cannot tell you."

Martin made a little gesture to indicate Harriet Payne.

"I have told no one, and shall not do so until my purpose is
accomplished," said Barbara.

"Mistress, I have some knowledge of things in the West. My fiddle and I
hear many things, and I might give you useful news."

"You cannot help me in this, Martin."

"I am under no oath not to thwart you should the price you are prepared
to pay be too large."

"That is why I do not tell you, Martin."

Fairley asked no further question, but rode on by the carriage in
silence. He believed that she was going to bargain with Lord Rosmore,
and his brain was full of schemes to frustrate her, or at least to
prevent her fulfilling the bargain, even if it were made. It was not
necessary to be honest in dealing with such a scoundrel, he argued, and
even if it were wise to let the bargain be struck, he would see to it
that Lord Rosmore should not profit by it.

"This is the road," he said to the post-boy, and the carriage swung
round into what was little more than a lane.

Harriet Payne gave a little cry, and looked from the window.

"I thought we were over, but we are off the road. Forbid this way,
mistress; I pray you forbid it."

For an instant Barbara wondered whether this was a scheme of Martin's to
keep her from her purpose but the idea was absurd. He was as anxious
that Gilbert Crosby should be rescued as she was. She commanded Harriet
to keep quiet.

Progress was slower now, for this side road was heavy, and the coach
came near to being overturned more than once.

"It will be better presently," said Martin, but it was a long time
before his prophecy came true, and when it did, the improvement was not
very great.

"I wouldn't have come if I had known," growled the post-boy.

"You'll go where you're told," said Martin, "and the more words about
it, the less pay."

They had travelled slowly for an hour or more, along a winding road
between thick copses and high-hedged fields, when Martin suddenly
brought his horse to a standstill and listened.

"Stop!" he said to the post-boy, and immediately the grinding wheels
were still.

There was the quick thud of hoofs behind them, coming so rapidly that
there was no hope of escape if they were pursued. Barbara leaned
forward, looking at Martin as he unfastened the holster and half drew
out a pistol; but Harriet Payne had thrust her head from the other
window.

"I knew it! He has betrayed us!" she said shrilly.

"The devil take that wench!" growled Martin.

Two men rode round the bend in the road, then two more, then others, a
score of them at least. With an oath Martin let the pistol fall back
into the holster. The odds were too great. His head sunk a little, and
he looked strangely limp in his saddle.

"Fire at them! Be a man and defend us!" shrieked Harriet, but Martin did
not move.

Barbara looked at him with wondering eyes; she was still looking at him
when the coach was surrounded.

"Your servants, Mistress Lanison," said a man at the door. "We are sent
to bring you to Dorchester."

"By whom?"

"I had my orders from my superior; I cannot say who first gave them."

"I am travelling to Dorchester."

"We must be your escort, madam."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"One that shall be well treated by us and by all, I trust. This rogue
here has led you off the road. A little further from the highway and I
suppose you would have robbed them, you scoundrel."

"No, sir, I only thought the dust would be less this way," Fairley
answered meekly.

Another man looked keenly at Martin, and then laughed.

"Surely this is that fiddler fellow we know something of?"

"Yes, sir," said Martin, crooking his arm as though a fiddle were in it,
and in a timid voice he sang a few notes, like a wail, but they had
often seemed a laugh to Barbara. She could not tell which they were now.
"My fiddle is lost, or I would play for you, so long, so sweetly, that
you would see flagons of ale around you, and think you tasted them too."

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