Beau Brocade: A Romance Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  A SQUIRE OF HIGH DEGREE

  The Challoners claimed direct descent from that Sieur de Challonier whoescorted Coeur de Lion to the crusade against Saladin.

  Be that as it may, there is no doubt that a De Challonier figures in theDomesday Book, as owning considerable property in the neighbourhood ofthe Peak.

  That they had been very influential and wealthy people at one time,there could be no doubt. There was a room at Old Hartington Manor whereJames I. had slept for seven nights, a gracious guest of Mr IlbertChalloner, in the year 1612. The baronetcy then conferred upon thefamily dates from that same year, probably as an act of recognition tohis host on the part of the royal guest.

  Since that memorable time, however, the Challoners have not madehistory. They took no part whatever in the great turmoil which, in themiddle of the seventeenth century, shook the country to its veryfoundations, lighting the lurid torch of civil war, setting brotheragainst brother, friend against friend, threatening a constitution andmurdering a king.

  The Challoners had held aloof throughout all that time, intent onpreserving their property and in amassing wealth. The later conflictbetween a Catholic King and his Protestant people touched them evenless. Neither Pretender could boast of a Challoner for an adherent.They remained people of substance, even of importance, in their owncounty, but nothing more.

  Sir Humphrey Challoner was about this time not more than thirty-fiveyears of age. Hale, hearty, boisterous, he might have been described asa typical example of an English squire of those days, but for a certaintaint of parsimoniousness, of greed and love of money in hisconstitution, which had gained for him a not too enviable reputation inthe Midlands.

  He was thought to be wealthy. No doubt he was, but at the cost of agood deal of harshness towards the tenants on his estates, and he wasfamed throughout Staffordshire for driving a harder bargain than anyoneelse this country side.

  Any traveller--let alone one of such consequence as the Squire ofHartington--was indeed rare in these out-of-the-way parts, that were onthe way to nowhere. Sir Humphrey himself was but little known in theneighbourhood of Aldwark and Wirksworth, and only from time to timepassed through the latter village on his way to Derby.

  John Stich, the blacksmith, however, knew every one of consequence for agreat many miles around, and undoubtedly next to the Earls of Strettonthe Challoners were the most important family in the sister counties.Therefore when Sir Humphrey's coach stopped at the cross-roads, and theSquire himself alighted therefrom and walked towards the smith'scottage, the latter came forward with all the deference due to apersonage of such consequence, and asked respectfully what he might dofor his Honour.

  "Only repair this pistol for me, master smith," said Sir Humphrey; "youmight also examine the lock of its fellow. One needs them in theseparts."

  He laughed a not unpleasant boisterous laugh as he handed a pair ofsilver-mounted pistols to John Stich.

  "Will your Honour wait while I get them done?" asked John, with somehesitation. "They won't take long."

  "Nay! I'll be down this way again to-morrow," replied his Honour. "Iam putting up at Aldwark for the night."

  John said nothing. Probably he mistrusted the language which rose tohis lips at this announcement of Sir Humphrey's plans. In a moment heremembered Lady Patience's look of terror when the squire's coach firstcame into view on the crest of the distant hill, and his faithful,honest heart quivered with apprehension at the thought that a man whomshe so obviously mistrusted was so close upon her track.

  "I suppose there is a decent inn in that God-forsaken hole, eh?" askedthe Squire, jovially. "I've arranged to meet my man of business there,that old scarecrow, Mittachip, but I'd wish to spend the night."

  "There's only a small wayside inn, your Honour..." murmured John.

  "Better than this abode of cut-throats, this Brassing Moor, anyway,"laughed his Honour. "Begad! night overtook me some ten miles fromHartington, and I was attacked by a damned rascal who robbed me of fiftyguineas. My men were a pair of cowards, and I was helpless inside mycoach."

  John tried to repress a smile. The story of Sir Humphrey Challoner'smidnight adventure had culminated in fifty guineas being found in thepoor box at Brassington court-house, and Mr Inch, the beadle, hadbrought the news of it even as far as the cross-roads.

  "I must see Squire West about this business," muttered Sir Humphrey,whilst John stood silent, apparently intent on examining the pistols."'Tis a scandal to the whole country, this constant highway robbery onBrassing Moor. The impudent rascal who attacked me was dressed like aprince, and rode a horse worth eighty guineas at the least. I suspecthim to be the man they call Beau Brocade."

  "Did your Honour see him plainly?" asked John, somewhat anxiously.

  "See him?" laughed Sir Humphrey. "Does one ever see these rascals?Begad! he had stopped my coach, plundered me and had galloped off ere Icould shout 'Damn you' thrice. Just for one moment, though, one of mylanterns flashed upon the impudent thief. He was masked, of course, butI tell thee, honest friend, he had on a coat the Prince of Wales mightenvy; as for his horse, 'twas a thorough-bred I'd have given eightyguineas to possess."

  "And everyone knows your Honour is clever at a bargain," said John, witha suspicion of malice.

  "Humph!" grunted the Squire. "By Gad!" he added, with his usual joviallaugh, "the rogue does not belie his name--'Beau Brocade' forsooth!Faith! he dresses like a lord, and cuts your purse with an air ofgallantry, an he were doing you a favour."

  It was difficult to tell what went on in Sir Humphrey Challoner's mindbehind that handsome, somewhat florid face of his. The task was in anycase quite beyond the powers of honest John Stich, though he would havegiven quite a good deal of his worldly wealth to know for certainwhether his Honour's journey across Brassing Moor and on to Aldwark hadanything to do with that of Lady Patience along the same road.

  Nothing the Squire said, however, helped John towards making a guess inthat direction. Just as Sir Humphrey, having left the pistols in thesmith's hands, turned to go back to his coach, he said quite casually,--

  "Whose was the coach that passed here about half an hour before mine?"

  "The coach, your Honour?"

  "Aye! when we reached the crest of the hill my man told me he could seea coach standing at the cross-roads, whose was it?"

  For one moment John hesitated. The situation was just a little toodelicate for the worthy smith to handle. But he felt, as Sir Humphreywas going to Aldwark and therefore would surely meet Lady Patience, thatlying would be worse than useless, and might even arouse unpleasantsuspicions.

  "'Twas Lady Patience Gascoyne's coach," he said at last.

  "Ah!" said the Squire, with the same obvious indifference. "Whither didshe go?"

  "I was at work in my forge, your Honour, and her ladyship did not stop.I fancy she drove down Wirksworth way, but I did not see or hear for Iwas very busy."

  "Hm!" commented his Honour, whilst a shrewd and somewhat sarcastic smileplayed round the corners of his full lips.

  "I'll stay the night at Aldwark," he said, nodding to the smith."Faith! no more travelling after dark for me on this unhallowed Moor;and for sure my horses could not reach Wirksworth now before nightfall.So have the pistols ready for me by seven o'clock to-morrow morning, eh,mine honest friend?"

  Then he entered his carriage, and slowly, with many a creak and a groan,the cumbersome vehicle turned down the road to Aldwark, whilst JohnStich, with a dubious, anxious sigh, went back into his forge.