Beau Brocade: A Romance Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  SIR HUMPHREY'S FAMILIAR

  Mistress Pottage, sad-eyed, melancholy, and for ever sighing, had beenpatiently waiting to receive Sir Humphrey Challoner's orders. She hadunderstood from his man that his Honour meant to spend the night, andshe stood anxiously in the passage, wondering if he would consider herbest bedroom good enough, or condescend to eat the meals she would haveto cook for him.

  It was really quite fortunate that Lady Patience had gone, leaving thesmaller parlour, which was Mistress Pottage's own private sanctum, readyfor the use of his Honour.

  Sir Humphrey's mind, however, was far too busy with thoughts and plansto dwell on the melancholy landlady and her meagre fare, but he was gladof the private room, and was gracious enough to express himself quitesatisfied with the prospect of the best bedroom.

  Some ten minutes after his brief interview with Lady Patience he wascloseted in the same little dingy room where she had been spending suchweary hours. With the healthy appetite of a burly English squire, hewas consuming large slabs of meat and innumerable tankards of small ale,whilst opposite to him, poised on the extreme edge of a very hard oakchair, his watery, colourless eyes fixed upon his employer, sat MasterMittachip, attorney-at-law and man of business to sundry of the qualitywho owned property on or about the Moor.

  Master Mittachip's voice was thin, he was thin, his coat looked thin:there was in fact a general air of attenuation about the man's wholepersonality.

  Just now he was fixing a pair of very pale, but very shrewd eyes uponthe heavy, somewhat coarse person of his distinguished patron.

  "Her ladyship passed me quite close," he explained, speaking in a low,somewhat apologetic voice. "I was standing in the door of--er--theparlour, and she graciously nodded to me as she passed."

  "Yes! yes! get on, man," quoth Sir Humphrey, impatiently.

  "The door was open, your Honour," continued Master Mittachip in a weakvoice, "there was a draught; her ladyship's cloak flew open."

  He paused a moment, noting with evident satisfaction the increasinginterest in Sir Humphrey's face.

  "Beneath her cloak," he continued, speaking very slowly, like an actormeasuring his effects, "beneath her cloak her ladyship was holding abundle of letters, tightly clutched in her hand."

  "Letters, eh?" commented Sir Humphrey, eagerly.

  "A bundle of them, your Honour. One of them had a large seal attachedto it. I might almost have seen the device: it was that of..."

  "Charles Edward Stuart, the Pretender?"

  "Well! I could not say for certain, your Honour," murmured MasterMittachip, humbly.

  There was silence for a few moments. Sir Humphrey Challoner hadproduced a silver tooth-pick, and was using it as an adjunct to deepmeditation. Master Mittachip was contemplating the floor with raptattention.

  "Harkee, Master Mittachip," said Sir Humphrey at last. "Lady Patienceis taking those letters to London."

  "That was the impression created in my mind, your Honour."

  "And why does she take those letters to London?" said Sir Humphrey,bringing his heavy fist crashing down upon the table, and causingglasses and dishes to rattle, whilst Master Mittachip almost lost hisbalance. "Why does she take them to London, I say? Because they arethe proofs of her brother's innocence. It is easy to guess theircontents. Requests, admonitions, upbraidings on the part of thedisappointed rebels, obvious proofs that Philip had held aloof."

  He pushed his chair noisily away from the table, and began pacing thenarrow room with great, impatient strides.

  But while he spoke Master Mittachip began to lose his placid air ofapologetic deference, and a look of alarm suddenly lighted his meek,colourless eyes.

  "Good lack," he murmured, "then my Lord Stretton is no rebel?"

  "Rebel?--not he!" asserted Sir Humphrey. "His sympathies were thought tobe with the Stuarts, but he went south during the rebellion--'twas I whoadvised him--that he might avoid being drawn within its net."

  But at this Master Mittachip's terror became more tangible.

  "But your Honour," he stammered, whilst his thin cheeks assumed a leadenhue, and his eyes sought appealingly those of his employer, "your Honourlaid sworn information against Lord Stretton ... and ... and ... I drewup the papers ... and signed them with my name as your Honourcommanded..."

  "Well! I paid you well for it, didn't I?" said Sir Humphrey, roughly.

  "But if the accusation was false, Sir Humphrey ... I shall be disgraced... struck off the rolls ... perhaps hanged..."

  Sir Humphrey laughed; one of those loud, jovial, laughs which those inhis employ soon learnt to dread.

  "Adsbud!" he said, "an one of us is to hang, old scarecrow, I prefer itshall be you."

  And he gave Master Mittachip a vigorous slap on the shoulder, whichnearly precipitated the lean-shanked attorney on the floor.

  "Good Sir Humphrey..." he murmured piteously, "b ... b ... b ... butwhat was the reason of the information against Lord Stretton, since theletters can so easily prove it to be false?"

  "Silence, you fool!" said his Honour, impatiently, "I did not know ofthe letters then. I wished to place Lord Stretton in a perilousposition, then hoped to succeed in establishing his innocence in certainways I had in my mind. I wished to be the one to save him," he added,muttering a curse of angry disappointment, "and gain _her_ gratitudethereby. I was journeying to London for the purpose, and now..."

  His language became such that it wholly disconcerted Master Mittachip,accustomed though he was to the somewhat uncertain tempers of the greatfolk he had to deal with. Moreover, the worthy attorney was fullyconscious of his own precarious position in this matter.

  "And now you've gained nothing," he moaned; "whilst I ... oh! oh! I..."

  His condition was pitiable. His Honour viewed him with no small measureof contempt. Then suddenly Sir Humphrey's face lighted up withanimation. The scowl disappeared, and a shrewd, almost triumphant smileparted the jovial, somewhat sensuous lips.

  "Easy! easy! you old coward," he said pleasantly, "things are not so badas that.... Adsbud! you're not hanged yet, are you? and," he addedsignificantly, "Lord Stretton is still attainted and in peril of hislife."

  "B ... b ... b ... but..."

  "Can't you see, you fool," said Sir Humphrey with sudden earnestness,drawing a chair opposite the attorney, and sitting astride upon it, heviewed the meagre little creature before him steadfastly and seriously;"can't you see that if I can only get hold of those letters now, I could_force_ Lady Patience into accepting my suit?"

  "Eh?"

  "With them in my possession I can go to her and say, 'An you marry me,those proofs of your brother's innocence shall be laid before the King:an you refuse they shall be destroyed.'"

  "Oh!" was Master Mittachip's involuntary comment: a mere gasp ofamazement, of terror at the enormity of the proposal.

  He ventured to raise his timid eyes to the strong florid face beforehim, and in it saw such a firm will, such unbendable determination, thathe thought it prudent for the moment to refrain from adverse comment.

  "Truly," he murmured vaguely, as his Honour seemed to be waiting for himto speak, "truly those letters mean the lady's fortune to your Honour."

  "And on the day of my marriage with her, two hundred guineas for you,Master Mittachip," said Challoner, very slowly and significantly,looking his man of business squarely in the face.

  Master Mittachip literally lost his head. Two hundred guineas! 'twasmore than he earned in four years, and that at the cost of hard work,many kicks and constant abuse. A receiver of rents has from timeimmemorial never been a popular figure. Master Mittachip found lifehard, and in those days two hundred guineas was quite a comfortablelittle fortune. The attorney passed his moist tongue over his thin,parched lips.

  The visions which these imaginary two hundred guineas had conjured up inhis mind almost made his attenuated senses reel. There was that bit offreehold property at Wirkswor
th which he had long coveted, aye, orperhaps that partnership with Master Lutworth at Derby, or...

  "'Twere worth your while, Master Mittachip, to get those letters for me,eh?"

  His Honour's pleasant words brought the poor man back from the land ofdreams.

  "I? I, Sir Humphrey?" he murmured dejectedly, "how can I, a poorattorney-at-law...?"

  "Zounds! but that's your affair," said his Honour with a careless shrugof his broad shoulders, "Methought you'd gladly earn two hundredguineas, and I offer you a way to do it."

  "But how, Sir Humphrey, how?"

  "That's for you to think on, my man. Two hundred guineas is a tidy sum.What? I have it," he said, slapping his own broad thigh and laughingheartily. "You shall play the daring highwayman! put on a mask and stopher ladyship's coach, shout lustily: 'Stand and deliver!' take theletters from her and 'tis done in a trice!"

  The idea of that meagre little creature playing the highwayman greatlytickled Sir Humphrey's fancy, for the moment he even forgot the graveissues he himself had at stake, and his boisterous laugh went echoingthrough the old silent building.

  But as his Honour spoke this pleasant conceit, Master Mittachip's thin,bloodless face assumed an air of deep thought, immediately followed byone of eager excitement.

  "The idea of the highwayman is not a bad one, Sir Humphrey," he saidwith a quiet chuckle, as soon as his patron's hilarity had somewhatsubsided, "but I am not happy astride a horse, and I know nought ofpistols, but there's no reason why we should not get a footpad to stealthose letters for you. 'Tis their trade after all."

  "What do you mean? I was but jesting."

  "But I was not, Sir Humphrey. I was thinking of Beau Brocade."

  "The highwayman?"

  "Why not? He lives by robbery and hates all the quality, whom heplunders whene'er he has a chance. Your Honour has had experience, onlylast night ... eh?"

  "Well? What of it? Curse you, man, for a dotard! Why don't youexplain?"

  "'Tis simple enough, your Honour. You give him the news that herladyship's coach will cross the Heath to-night, tell him of her moneyand her jewels, offer him a hundred guineas more for the packet ofletters.... He! he! he! He'll do the rest, never fear!"

  Master Mittachip rubbed his bony hands together, his colourless eyeswere twinkling, his thin lips quivering with excitement, dreams of thatfreehold bit of property became tangible once more.

  Sir Humphrey looked at him quietly for a moment or two: the little man'sexcitement was contagious and his Honour had a great deal at stake: abeautiful woman whom he loved and her large fortune to boot. But reasonand common-sense--not chivalry--were still fighting their battle againsthis daring spirit of adventure.

  "Tush, man!" he said after awhile, with the calmness of intenseexcitement, "you talk arrant nonsense when you say I'm to give ahighwayman news of her ladyship's coach and offer him money for theletters. Where am I to find him? How speak with him?"

  Mittachip chuckled inwardly. His Honour then was not averse to theplan. Already he was prepared to discuss the means of carrying it out.

  "'Tis a lawyer's business to ferret out what goes on around him, SirHumphrey. You can send any news you please to Beau Brocade within anhour from now."

  "How?"

  "John Stich, the blacksmith over at the crossroads, is his ally and hisfriend. Most folk think 'tis he always gives news to the rogue whene'era coach happen to cross the Moor. But that's as it may be. If yourHonour will call at the forge just before sunset, you'll mayhap see achestnut horse tethered there and there'll be a stranger talking to JohnStich; a stranger young and well-looking. He's oft to be seen at theforge. The folk about here never ask who the stranger is, for all haveheard of the chivalrous highwayman who robs the rich and gives to thepoor. He! he! he! Do you call at the forge, Sir Humphrey, you canarrange this little matter there.... Your news and offer of money willget to Beau Brocade, never fear."

  Sir Humphrey was silent. All the boisterous jollity had gone out of hisface, leaving only a dark scowl behind, which made the ruddy face lookalmost evil in its ugliness. Mittachip viewed him with ill-concealedsatisfaction. The plan had indeed found favour with his Honour; it wasquick, daring, sure: the fortune of a lifetime upon one throw. SirHumphrey, even before the attorney had finished speaking, had resolvedto take the risk. He himself was safe in any case, nothing could connecthis name with that of the notorious highwayman who had cut his purse butthe night before.

  "I'd not have her hurt," was the first comment he made after a fewminutes' silent cogitation.

  "Hurt?" rejoined Mittachip. "Why should she be hurt? Beau Brocadewould not hurt a pretty woman. He'll get the letters from her, I'llstake my oath on that."

  "Aye! and blackmail me after that to the end of my days. My good namewould be at the mercy of so damned a rascal."

  "What matter, Sir Humphrey, once Lady Patience is your wife and herfortune in your pocket? Everything is fair in love, so I've been told."

  Sir Humphrey ceased to argue. Chivalry and honour had long been on thelosing side.

  "Moreover, Sir Humphrey," added the crafty attorney, slily, "once youhave the letters, you can denounce the rogue yourself, and get himhanged safely out of your way."

  "He'd denounce me."

  "And who'd believe the rascal's word against your Honour's flat denial?Not Squire West, for sure, before whom he'd be tried, and your Honourcan have him kept in prison until after your marriage with LadyPatience."

  It seemed as if even reason would range herself on the side of thisdaring plan. There seemed practically no risk as far as Sir Humphreyhimself was concerned, and every chance of success, an that rascal BeauBrocade would but consent.

  "He would," asserted Mittachip, "an your Honour told him that the coach,the money, and the letters belonged to Lady Rounce, and the young ladytravelling in the coach but a niece of her ladyship. Lady Rounce is ahard woman who takes no excuse from a debtor. He! he! he! she has theworst reputation in the two counties, save your Honour!"

  The lawyer chuckled at this little joke, but Sir Humphrey was tooabsorbed to note the impertinence. He was pacing up and down the narrowroom in a last agony of indecision.

  Mittachip evidently was satisfied with his day's work. The two hundredguineas he looked upon as a certainty already. After a while, notingthe look of stern determination upon his Honour's face, he turned theconversation to matters of business. He had been collecting some rentsfor Sir Humphrey and also for Squire West and Lady Rounce, and wouldhave to return to Wirksworth to bank the money.

  Since Sir Humphrey Challoner was occupying the only available bedroom atthe Moorhen, there would be no room for Master Mittachip and MasterDuffy, his clerk. He hoped to reach Brassington by the bridle pathbefore the footpads were astir, thence at dawn on to Wirksworth.

  He had shot his poisonous arrow and did not stop to ascertain how far ithad gone home. He bade farewell to his employer, with all the deferencewhich many years of intercourse with the quality had taught him, andnever mentioned Beau Brocade, Lady Patience or John Stich's forge again.But when he had bowed and scraped himself out of his Honour's presence,and was sitting once more beside Master Duffy in the bar-parlour, therewas a world of satisfaction in his pale, watery eyes.