"To the most noble and valiant Lord the Earl of Ashby,
greeting.
"Dear and well-beloved Lord,
"A false, cruel, and horrible accusation having been brought against me, and I having been doomed to death unheard by the ears of justice and clemency, have been compelled to seek my own safety by flight from the castle of Nottingham, leaving my fair fame and character undefended. Now I do adjure you, as one who has ever been held the mirror of chivalry, and the honour of arms and nobility, to meet me this day at the hour of three, by what is called the Bull's Hawthorn; which you, my lord, know well, and which is but one poor mile from your manor of Lindwell. I will there give to you, my lord, the most undoubted proofs of my perfect innocence, beseeching you to become my advocate before the King and the Prince, and to defend me as none but one so noble will venture to do. Lest you should think that I seek to entangle you more on my behalf, I hereby give you back all promises made to me regarding the Lady Lucy, your daughter, and declare them null and void, unless at some future time you shall think fit to confirm them. It is needful, as I need not say, that you should come totally alone, for even the chattering of a page might do me to death.
"Hugh de Monthermer."
Richard de Ashby mentioned to none of his companions what the letter contained; but folding it, he tied it with a piece of yellow silk and sealed it, stamping it with the haft of Ellerby's dagger.
"Now," he cried--"now all is ready; let us be gone.--Are your horses below?"
"They are at the back of the house," said Dighton.
"Quick, then, to the saddle!" cried their companion. "I will get mine, and join you in a minute, to ride with you some way along the road; for I must have speedy tidings when the deed is done."
"By my faith," said Ellerby, walking towards the door, "you are growing a man of action, Richard!--But keep us not waiting."
"Not longer than to come round," replied Richard de Ashby, descending the stairs with them; and in a minute after, the heavy door of the house banged to behind the party of assassins.
Scarcely were they gone, when poor Kate Greenly ran into the room, and snatched up a large brown wimple which lay in the window, casting it over her head as if to go forth. Her eyes were wild and eager, her face pale, her lips bloodless, and her whole frame trembling. She seemed confused, too, as well as agitated, and muttered to herself, "Oh, horrible! Where can I find help?--What can I do?--I will seek these men; but it will be too late if I go afoot. I will take the page's dress again, and hire a horse."
She paused, and thought for an instant, adding, "But the mere is far from Lindwell,--'tis the other way. It will be too late! it will be too late!"
Her eyes fixed vacantly on the window, and a moment after she uttered a slight scream, for she saw a head gazing at her through the small panes. Shaken and horrified, the least thing alarmed her, so that she caught at the back of a tall chair for support, keeping her eyes fixed, with a look of terror, upon the face before her, and asking herself whether it was real, or some frightful vision of her own imagination.
"It is the boy!" she cried, at length, "it is the dwarf boy I saw with them in the wood!" and, running forward with an unsteady step, she undid the great bolt of the casement.
Tangel instantly forced himself through, and sprang in, exclaiming, "Ha! ha! I watched them all out, and then climbed to tell you----"
But, before he could end his sentence, Kate Greenly sank fainting upon the floor beside him.
CHAPTER XXXII.
There was a low deserted house, standing far back from the road, in a piece of common ground skirting the forest between Lindwell and Nottingham. There were some trees before it, and some bushes, which screened all but the thatched roof from observation as the traveller passed along. There was a dull pond, too, covered with green weed, between it and the trees, which, exhaling unwholesome dews, covered the front of the miserable-looking place with yellow lichens, and filled the air with myriads of droning gnats: and there it stood, with the holes, where door and window had been, gaping vacantly, like the places of eyes and nose in a dead man's skull. All the woodwork had been carried away, and part even of the thatch, so that a more desolate and miserable place could not be met with, perhaps, in all the world, though, at that time, there was many a deserted house in England; and many a hearth, which had once blazed brightly amidst a circle of happy faces, was then dark and cold.
It was a fit haunt for a murderer; and before the door appeared Richard de Ashby, a few moments after he had parted from his fell companions, sending them onward to perform the bloody task he had allotted them. His dark countenance was anxious and thoughtful. There was a look of uncertainty and hesitation about his face; ay, and his heart was quivering with that agony of doubt and fear which is almost sure to occupy some space between the scheme and the execution of crime. The ill deed in which he was now engaged was one that he was not used to. It was no longer some strong bad passion hurrying him on, step by step, from vice to vice, and sin to sin; but it was a headlong leap over one of those great barriers, raised up by conscience, and supported by law, divine and human, in order to stop the criminal on his course to death, destruction, and eternal punishment.
He sprang from his horse at the door--he entered the cottage--he stood for a moment in the midst--he held his hands tightly clasped together, and then he strode towards the door again, murmuring, "I will call them back--I can overtake them yet."
But then he thought of the bond that he had given--of the objects that he had in view--of rank, and wealth, and station--of Lucy de Ashby, and her beauty--of triumph over the hated Monthermer.
Never, never, did Satan, with all his wiles and artifices, more splendidly bring up before the eye of imagination all the inducements that could tempt a selfish, licentious, heartless man, to the commission of a great crime, than the fiend did then for the destruction of Richard de Ashby.
He paused ere he re-crossed the threshold--he paused and hesitated. "It is too late," he thought, "they will but scoff at me. It is too late; the die is cast, and I must abide by what it turns up. This is but sorry firmness after all! Did I not resolve on calm deliberation, and shall I regret now?"
He paced up and down the chamber for a while, and then again murmured, "I wish I had brought Kate with me. I might have toyed or teased away this dreary hour with her--But no, I could not trust her in such deeds as this.--They must be at the hawthorn by this time. I hope they will take care to conceal themselves well, or the old man will get frightened; he is of a suspicious nature. There's plenty of cover to hide them.--I will go tie the horse behind the house that no one may see him."
His true motive was to occupy the time, for thought was very heavy upon him, and he contrived to spend some ten minutes in the task, speaking to the charger, and patting him; not that he was a kindly master, even to a beast, but for the time the animal was a companion to him, and that was the relief which he most desired. He then turned into the cottage again, and once more stood with his arms folded over his chest in the midst.
"What if they fail?" he asked himself. "What if he suspect something, and come with help at hand? They might be taken, and my bond found upon them--They might confess, and, to save themselves, destroy me--'Twere a deed well worthy of Ellerby.--No, no, 'tis not likely--he will never suspect anything--Hark! there is a horse! I will look out and see;" and, creeping round the pond to the side of the bushes, he peered through upon the road.
But he was mistaken, there was no horse there. The sound was in his own imagination, and he returned to his place of shelter, feeling the autumnal air chilly, though the day was in no degree cold. It was that the blood in his own veins had, in every drop, the feverish thrill of anxiety and dreadful expectation.
No words can tell the state of that miserable man's mind during the space of two hours, which elapsed while he remained in that cottage. Remorse and fear had possession of him altogether--ay, fear; for although we have acknowledged that perhaps the only good quality he possessed was courage, yet as resolution is a very different thing from bravery, so were the terrors that possessed his mind at that moment of a very distinct character from those which seize the trembling coward on the battlefield.
There was the dread of detection, shame, exposure, the hissing scorn of the whole world, everlasting infamy as well as punishment. Death was the least part indeed of what he feared, and could he have been sure that means would be afforded him to terminate his own existence in case of failure, the chance of such a result would have lost half its terror.
But there was remorse besides--remorse which he had stifled till it was too late. He saw his kinsman's white hair; he saw his countenance. He endeavoured in vain to call it up before his eyes, with some of those frowns or haughty looks upon it, which his own vices and follies had very often produced. There was nothing there now but the smile of kindness, but the look of generous satisfaction with which from time to time the old earl had bestowed upon him some favour, or afforded him some assistance. Memory would not perform the task he wished to put upon it. She gave him up to the anguish of conscience, without even awakening the bad passions of the past to palliate the deeds of the present. He leaned on the dismantled window-frame with his heart scorched and seared, without a tear to moisten his burning lid, without one place on which the mind could rest in peace. The hell of the wicked always begins upon earth, and the foul fiend had already the spirit in his grasp, and revelled in the luxury of torture.
At length there came a distant sound, and starting up, he ran forth to look out. His ears no longer deceived him, the noise increased each moment, it was horses' feet coming rapidly along the road. He gazed earnestly towards Lindwell; but instead of those whom he expected to see, he beheld a large party of cavalry riding by at full speed, and as they passed on before him, galloping away towards Nottingham, the towering form of Prince Edward rising by the full head above any of his train, caught the eye of the watcher, and explained their appearance there. The rapid tramp died away, and all was silent again.
Some twenty minutes more elapsed, and then there was a duller sound; but still it was like the footfalls of horses coming quick. Once more he gazed forth, and now he beheld, much nearer than he expected, four mounted men approaching the cottage, but avoiding the hard road, and riding over the turf of the common. One of them seemed to be supporting another by the arm, who bent somewhat feebly towards his horse's head, and appeared ready to fall. In a minute they came round, and Ellerby--springing to the ground, while the man they had called Parson, held the rein of Dighton's horse--aided the latter to dismount, and led him into the cottage.
"It is done," said Ellerby, in a low voice, "it is done, but Dighton is badly hurt. The old man passed his sword through him, when first he struck him, and would have killed him outright, if I had not stabbed the savage old boar behind. We cast him into the little sandpit there--but poor Dighton is bad, and can scarce sit his horse."
"Yes, yes, I can," said Dighton, in a faint tone; "if I had a little wine I could get on."
"I have some here in a bottle," cried one of the others.
Dighton drank, and it seemed to revive him. "I have had worse than this before now," he said, "I can go on now; and we had better make haste, for there were certainly people coming."
"Away, then," said Richard de Ashby, "away then to Lenton, and then run down to Bridgeford. If you could get to Thorp to-night, you would be safe. I will to the castle, and be ready to console my fair cousin when the news reaches her."
"She will have heard it before that," murmured Dighton, "for I tell you there were certainly people coming," and taking another deep draught of the wine, he contrived to walk, almost unassisted, to the horse's side, and mount. There was a black look, however, under his eyes, a bloodless paleness about his face, and a livid hue in his lips, which told that his wound, though "not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door," to use the words of Mercutio, "was enough."
"Fail not to give me tidings of you," said Richard de Ashby, speaking to Ellerby; and going round to the back of the cottage, he mounted his horse--which by his pawing, seemed to show that the long delay had not been less tedious to himself than to his master--and galloped away to Lindwell, anxious to reach the castle before the news.
Even at the rapid pace at which he went, he could not escape thought. Black care was behind him; and eagerly he turned in his mind all the consequences of the deed that had been done. His own conduct was the first consideration, and a strange consideration it was. What was he to say? what was he to do? At every step he must act a part: ay, and--like the poor player, who sometimes, distressed in circumstances, pained in body, or grieved in mind, has to go laughing through the merry comedy--the character which Richard de Ashby had now to play, was the direct reverse of all the feelings of his heart.
Crime, however, produces an excitement of a certain kind independent of the very gratification obtained. We have, in our own day, seen murderers laugh and sing and make merry, with hands scarcely washed from the blood of their victim; and, strange to say, when Richard de Ashby resolved to assume a face of cheerful gaiety on arriving at Lindwell Castle, the only danger was that he would over-act the part. In truth, remorse, like a tiger, lay waiting to spring upon him the moment action ceased; but for the time his mind was much relieved, and more buoyant than it had been while watching in the cottage. Doubt, hesitation, apprehensions regarding the failure of the deed, were all gone: it was done irretrievably. It was accomplished, not only without any mischance, but with a circumstance which promised to remove one of his accomplices, and that was no slight satisfaction. So smooth does one crime make the way for another, that he who had lately pondered with no small hesitation the very deed in which he was engaged, now felt glancing through his mind with satisfaction the thought of disposing of Ellerby also by some similar means, and leaving none but the two inferior ruffians, whom he might easily attach to himself, and render serviceable in the future. Crimes are gregarious beings, and are seldom, if ever, met with single.
His horse was fleet; the distance was not great; and in the space of about a quarter of an hour, he saw the towers of Lindwell rising over the woody slopes around. He then checked his speed, in some degree, going on at a quick, but still an easy canter, knowing that there was always some one on the watchtower, who might remark the furious gallop at which he came, unless he slackened his pace.
He had soon reached the open space--he had soon mounted the hill. The drawbridge was down, the doors of the barbican were open, one of the warders sitting quietly on a bench in the sun, two or three stout yeomen and armed men were amusing themselves between the two gates, and all turned to salute their master's kinsman as he passed, without giving the slightest indication that anything was known amiss within the walls of Lindwell.
Dismounting at the inner gate, and giving his horse to one of the grooms, Richard de Ashby was upon the point of asking for his cousin Lucy, but recollecting his part again, he inquired if the Earl were there, adding, "I thought to have met him between this and Nottingham."
"No, Sir Richard," replied the porter, moving slowly back the great gate of the hall; "my lord had ordered his horses and train to be ready for Nottingham by noon, but news came from the city, which stopped him; and then the son of old Ugtred, the swine-driver, brought a letter, on which my lord went out on foot and alone. He would not even have his page, but carried his sword himself."
"Methinks that was rash," said Richard de Ashby; "these are not times to trust to. Can I speak with the lady Lucy? Know you where she is?"
"In her own chamber, I fancy, poor lady," replied the porter. "Go, Ned, and tell her, that Sir Richard is in the hall, and would fain see her."
Richard de Ashby was a hypocrite--he was a hypocrite in everything. Though a man of strong passions and of fierce disposition, it was not when he seemed most furious or most angry that he really was so, any more than when, as on the present occasion, he seemed most gay and light-hearted, that he was in reality cheerful. While the page went to seek for his fair cousin, he walked up and down the hall, humming a light tune, and seemingly occupied with nothing but those dancing phantasms of imagination which serve a mind at ease to while away a few idle minutes. The only thing which, during the whole time he was kept waiting, could have betrayed even to eyes far more keen and scrutinizing than those which now rested upon him, that there were more deep and anxious thoughts within, was a sudden start that he gave on hearing some noise and several persons speaking loudly in the court; but the sounds quickly passed away, and the next minute Lucy herself entered the hall.
She was pale, and her countenance seemed thoughtful; but her demeanour was calm; and though she had never loved the man that stood before her, she addressed him in a kind tone, saying, "I give you good day, Richard; we have not seen you for a long time."
"No, fair cousin," he replied, "and I rode here in haste from Nottingham, thinking I might be the bearer of good tidings to you; but I fancy from your look you have heard them already."
"What may they be?" said Lucy, the colour slightly tinging her cheek.
"Why," answered Richard de Ashby, "they are that a certain noble lord, a dearer friend of yours than mine, fair cousin, who lay in high peril in Nottingham Castle, has made his escape last night."
"So I have heard," replied Lucy, her eyes seeking the ground; "people tell me they had condemned him to death without hearing him."
"Not exactly so," said Richard de Ashby; "they heard him once, but then----"
"Oh, lady! oh, lady!" cried one of the servants, running into the hall, with a face as pale as ashes, and, a wild frightened look, "here's a yeoman from Eastwood who says he has seen my lord lying murdered in the pit under the Bull's hawthorn!"
Lucy gazed at the man for a moment or two, with her large dark eyes wide open, and a vacant look upon her countenance, as if her mind refused to comprehend the sudden and horrible news she heard; but the next moment she turned as pale as ashes, and fell like a corpse upon the pavement.
"Fool! you have killed her!" cried Richard de Ashby, really angry; "you should have told her more gently.--Call her women hither."
The man remarked not, in his own surprise and horror, that Richard de Ashby was less moved by the tidings he had given, than by the effect they produced upon Lucy. All was now agitation and confusion, however; and in the midst of it, the poor girl was removed to her own chamber. The peasant, who had brought the news, was summoned to the presence of the murdered man's kinsman; and informed him that, in passing along, at the top of the bank, he had been startled by the sight of fresh blood, and at first thought some deer had been killed there, but, looking over the hedge, he had seen a human body lying under the bank, and, on getting down into the pit, had recognised the person of the Earl.
He was quite dead, the man, said, with a cut upon the head, and a dagger still remaining in a wound on his right side. Instantly coming away for help to bear him home, he had found by the way, not far from the pit, the murdered man's sword, which he picked up and brought with him. On examination, the blade was found to be bloody, so that the Earl had evidently used it with some effect, but the peasant had found no other traces of a conflict, and had come on with all speed for aid.
One of the flat boards, which in that day, placed upon trestles, served as dining-tables in the castle hall, was now carried out by a large party of the Earl's servants and retainers, in order to bring in the corpse. Richard de Ashby put himself at their head, and by his direction they all went well armed, lest, as he said, there should be some force of enemies near. It was now his part to assume grief and consternation; and as they advanced towards the well-known spot, he felt, it must be acknowledged, his heart sink, when he thought of the first look of the dead man's face. But he was resolute, and went on, preparing his mind to assume the appearance of passionate sorrow and horror, calculating every gesture and every word.
The old hawthorn tree, which was a well-known rendezvous for various sylvan sports, was soon in sight, and a few steps more brought them to the bloody spot, near the edge of the pit, where both the green grass and the yellow sand were deeply stained with gore in several places. Many an exclamation of grief and rage burst from the attendants, and Richard de Ashby, with a shudder, cried, "Oh, this is terrible!"
"Hallo! but where's the body?" cried a man, who had advanced to the side of the pit.
"Don't you see it?" said the peasant who had brought the news, stepping forward to point it out. "By the Lord, it is gone!"
Richard de Ashby now became agitated indeed.
"Gone!" he exclaimed, looking down, "Gone!--The murderers have come back to carry it off!" and, running round to a spot where a little path descended, after the manner of a rude flight of steps, into the sandpit, he made his way down, followed by the rest, and searched all around.
The spot where the body had lain was plainly to be seen, marked, both by some blood which must have flowed after the fall from above, and also by a fragment of the Earl's silken pourpoint, which had been caught and torn off by a black thornbush, as he fell.
"They cannot be far off," said the peasant, "for the poor gentleman was a heavy man to carry, and there seemed nobody near when I was here."
"Pshaw!" cried Richard de Ashby, "there might have been a hundred amongst the bushes and trees without your seeing them. However," he continued, eagerly, "let us beat the ground all round. Some one, run back to the castle for horses; if we pursue quickly, we may very likely find the murderers with the corpse in their hands."
"It may be, Sir Richard," said one of the attendants, "that some of the neighbouring yeomen, or franklins, coming and going from Eastwood to Nottingham market, which falls today, may have chanced upon the body, and carried it to some house or cottage near."
"Well, we must discover it at all events," said Richard de Ashby, who feared that one-half of his purpose might be frustrated if the letter, which he had written under the name of Hugh de Monthermer, was not actually found upon the corpse. "Spread round! spread round! Let us follow up every path by which the body could be borne, shouting from time to time to each other, that we may not be altogether separated. But here come more men down from the castle; we shall have plenty now. Let six or eight stay here till the horses arrive, then mount, and pursue each horse-road and open track for some two or three miles; they cannot have gone much farther."
All efforts, however, were vain. Not a trace could be found of the body, or of those who had taken it; and, although Richard de Ashby at first had entertained no doubt that they would find it in the hands of some of the neighbouring peasantry, and only feared that the important letter might be by any chance lost or destroyed, he soon became anxious, in no ordinary degree, to know what had become of the body itself.
Had it been found, he asked himself, by those bold tenants of Sherwood, whose shrewdness, determination, and activity he well knew? and if so, might not the dagger, which Ellerby had left in the wound, and with the haft of which he himself had sealed the letter, prove, at some after period, a clue to the real murderers? His heart was ill at ease. Apprehension took possession of him again; and, towards nightfall, he returned to the castle, accompanied by a number of the men who by that time had rejoined him, with a spirit depressed and gloomy, and a heart ill at ease indeed.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The grey twilight hung over the world when Richard de Ashby re-entered the outer court of the castle at Lindwell; but still he could perceive horses saddled and dusty, attendants running hither and thither, armed men standing in knots, as if resting themselves for a moment after a journey, and every indication of the arrival of some party having taken place during his absence. His first thought was, that the corpse must have been found and brought back by some of the small bodies of Prince Edward's troops, which were moving about in all directions; but he soon saw that such an event was impossible, as he himself, or some of those about him, must have met any party which had passed near the scene of the murder. The next instant, in going by one of the little groups of soldiers we have mentioned, he recognised the face of some of the retainers of the house of Ashby, and exclaimed, "What! has the Lord Alured returned?"
"Not half an hour ago, Sir Richard," replied a soldier; and Richard de Ashby hurried like lightning into the hall. There was a coldness at his heart, indeed, as he thought of meeting the man whose father's blood was upon his hand, and against whose own life he was devising schemes as dark as those which had just been executed. But he was most anxious nevertheless to meet his cousin, ere he had conversed long with Lucy, and to give those impressions regarding the causes of the bloody deed which best suited his purposes.
Alured de Ashby was not in the great hall, but Richard, without a moment's delay, mounted the great staircase to the upper chamber, where Hugh de Monthermer's last happy hour had been passed with Lucy. There were voices speaking within, but the kinsman paused not a moment; and opening the door, he found the sister weeping in the arms of her brother. They had been sometime together; the first burst of sorrow, in speaking of their father's death, had passed away; an accidental word had caused them to converse of other things connected therewith, indeed, but not absolutely relating to that subject, and the first words that met Richard de Ashby's ear were spoken by the Lord Alured.
"Never, Lucy," he was saying--"never! Fear not, dear girl! I will never force your inclination. I will try to make you happy in your own way. As my poor father promised, so I promise too."
Their dark kinsman saw at once that the proud and stubborn heart of his hasty cousin was softened by the touch of grief, and that he had made a promise which no other circumstances would have drawn from him, but which--however much he might regret it at an after period--would never be retracted.
Lucy started on her cousin's entrance; and, why she knew not, but a shudder passed over her as she beheld him. He advanced towards them, however, with an assumption of frank and kindly sympathy, holding out a hand to each. But Lucy avoided taking it, though not markedly, and saying in a low voice to her brother, "I cannot speak with any one, Alured," she glided away through the door which led to her own apartments, leaving Richard de Ashby with all the bitter purposes of his heart only strengthened by what he had seen and heard. Alured took his cousin's hand at once, asking, "Have you brought in the body? Where have you laid him?"
In a rapid but clear manner, Richard explained that the search had been ineffectual, and told all that had been done in vain for the discovery of the corpse. After some time spent in conjectures as to what could have become of the body, the peasant who had first discovered it was called in, and questioned strictly as to what he had seen, and his knowledge of the old Lord's person. His replies, however, left no doubt in regard to the facts of the murder; and when he was dismissed, Alured turned, with a frowning brow and a bewildered eye, to his cousin, asking, "Who can have done this?"
Richard de Ashby looked down in silence for a moment, as if almost unwilling to reply, and then answered, "I know of but one man whom he has offended."
"Who, who," demanded Alured, sharply. "I know of none."
"None, but Hugh de Monthermer," said Richard de Ashby.
"Hugh de Monthermer!" cried the young Earl.--"Offended him! Why he has loaded him with favour. 'Twas his letter, telling me that he intended to give our Lucy's hand to one of our old enemies, that brought me back with such speed. Offended him! He is the last man that had cause of complaint."
"You know not, Alured--you know not all," cried his false cousin. "Far be it from me to accuse Hugh de Monthermer behind his back. I have ever said what I have had to say of him boldly, and to his face; and all I wish to imply is, without making any accusation whatsoever, that I know of not one man on earth whom your poor father has offended but Hugh de Monthermer."
"And how offended him?" asked the young Earl.
"By withdrawing his promise of your sister's hand," answered his cousin. "'Tis but yesterday, upon some quarrel--I know not what--that he who is now dead retracted every rash engagement of the kind, and told him he should never have her. Lucy will tell you the same."
"Ha!" cried Alured, knitting his brows thoughtfully--"Ha! But--no, no, no! To do him justice, Monthermer is too noble ever, to draw his sword upon an old man like that. His name was never stained with any lowly act. He might be a proud enemy, but never a base one."
"I dare say it is so;" answered Richard; "though I have seen some mean things, too. Did he not avoid meeting you in arms, on quarrel concerning my poor little paramour? But all this matters not; I bring no charge against him--'tis but suspicion, at the most. Only when I recollect that yesterday your father crossed all his hopes, and that Guy de Margan, Geary, and the rest who were with this poor Earl, told me that there was a violent quarrel, with high and fierce words on both sides, I may well say that he was offended--and, as far as I know, he was the only one offended--by the good old man. Lucy will tell you more, perhaps."
"Stay!" cried Alured, "I will go and ask her."
"Nay," rejoined his cousin, "I must away with all speed to Nottingham, to learn if aught has been heard of the body there. I will ask Guy de Margan and the others, what really passed when they were here yesterday, and let you know early to-morrow."
"Bring them with you--bring them with you said Alured.
"I will," replied Richard; "but in the meantime, by your good leave, my lord. I will take some of your men with me, for I came alone, and am not well loved, as you know, of these Monthermers."
"Take what men you will," said the young Earl; "but yet I cannot think they have had a hand in this. Good night, Richard--good night!"
So prone is the mind of man to suspicion, so intimately are we convinced in our own hearts of the fallibility of human nature at every point, that accusation often repeated will ever leave a doubt in the most candid mind. "Be thou as cold as ice, as chaste as snow, thou shalt not 'scape calumny," cried Shakspeare, addressing woman; and he might have said to the whole race of man--"Armour thyself in the whole panoply of virtue, cover thee from head to foot in the triple steel of honour, honesty, and a pure heart, still the poisoned dart of malice shall pierce through and wound thee, if it do not destroy."
In the heart of Alured de Ashby, there had never been a doubt that Hugh de Monthermer was, in every thought and in every deed, as high, as noble, and as true, as ever was man on earth; and yet--alas, that it should be so!--the words of a false, base man, whom he himself knew to be full of faults and detected in falsehoods, left a suspicion on his mind, in favour of which, his jealous hatred of the race of Monthermer rose up with an angry and clamorous voice.
It was with such feelings that he now strode away to his sister's chamber; but ere he knocked at the door he paused thoughtfully, remembering that she was already grieved and shaken by the sad events of that evening. He called to mind that he was her only protector, her only near relation, now; and a feeling of greater tenderness than he had ever before suffered to take possession of his heart rose out of their relative position to each other, and caused him to soften his tone and manner as far as possible.
He knocked at the door, then, and went in, finding Lucy with her maids; the latter following mechanically the embroidery--on which one half a woman's life was then spent,--the former sitting in the window, far from the lamp, with her cheek resting on her hand, and a handkerchief beside her to wipe away the tears that ever and anon broke from the dark shady well of her long-fringed eyes.
As gently as was in his nature to do, Alured sat down beside her, and questioned her as to what had passed on the preceding day. She answered very briefly; for his inquiries mingled one dark and terrible stream of thought with another scarcely less dreadful. She knew little, she said, as she had not been present. She was not aware why her father had so acted; but she acknowledged that he had withdrawn his consent to her union with the man she loved, and had spoken words concerning him which had wrung and pained her heart to hear.
So far, the tale of Richard de Ashby was confirmed; and Alured left her, with a moody and uncertain mind, hesitating between new-born suspicions and the confidence which the experience of years had forced upon him. He paced the hall that night for many an hour, ever and anon sending for various members of the household, and questioning them concerning the transactions of the day. But he gained no farther tidings; and in gloom and sadness the minutes slipped away--the gay merriment, the light jest, the tranquil enjoyment, all crushed out and extinct, and every part of the castle filled with an air of sorrow and anxiety; all feeling that a terrible deed had been done, and all inquiring--"What is to come next?"
The last words of the young Earl, ere he retired to rest, were, "Let horses be prepared by nine in the morning. I will to Nottingham myself. This must be sifted to the bottom."
Ere he set out, however, Richard de Ashby, accompanied by several gentlemen of the court, had reached Lindwell, and were met by Alured in the hall, booted and spurred for his departure.
"Ha! give you good day, sirs," he exclaimed, in his quick and impetuous manner, "I was about to seek you, if you had not come to me."
"This is a sad affair, my lord the Earl!" said Sir Guy de Margan. "Little did I think, when I rode over hither the day before yesterday with your noble father, that it was the last time I should see him living!"
"Sad, indeed, sir--sad, indeed!" replied the young Earl. "But the question now is, 'Who did this deed?'"
"Who shalt say that?" said Sir Guy de Margan.
Alured de Ashby paused, and crushed his glove in his hand, wishing any one to touch upon the subject of the suspicions which had been instilled into his mind, before he spoke upon them himself; but finding that Guy de Margan stopped short, he said, at length, "May I ask you, Sir Guy, to tell me the circumstances which took place here during your stay with my father yesterday? Any act of his is of importance to throw light upon this dark affair."
"I can tell you very little, my noble lord," replied Sir Guy. "When we arrived, we were told that the Lord Hugh de Monthermer was in the upper hall with your fair sister, the Lady Lucy. We all went thither together; but, as we came to the Lord Hugh with a somewhat unpleasant summons to the presence of the King, your noble father, wishing to spare his feelings, desired us to wait without at the head of the stairs, while he went in to break the tidings. We soon, however, heard high words and very angry language on the part of the young lord. Then there was much spoken in a lower tone; and then Monthermer came nearer to the door, where he stopped, and said aloud, 'You will not fail, my lord?' Your father answered, in a stern tone, 'I will meet you at the hour you named. Fear not, I will not fail!'"
Alured de Ashby turned his eyes upon his cousin with a meaning look, and Richard de Ashby raised his to heaven, and then let them sink to the earth again.
"I heard those words myself," said Sir William Geary, "and thought it strange Monthermer should appoint a meeting when he was aware he was going to a prison. It seems, however, that he well knew what he was about."
"God send he met him not too surely!" burst forth Alured de Ashby, with his eyes flashing.
"After all, we may be quite mistaken," observed Richard, who knew that now, having sown the suspicions,--ay, and watered them, too,--it was his task to affect candour, and seem to repress them; as a man lops off branches from a tree to make it grow the stronger. "Hugh de Monthermer was always noble and true, and of a generous nature, as you well said last night, Alured."
"But you forget," said Guy de Margan, "he was at this very time under a strong suspicion of a base treason, and had been seen speaking secretly in the forest with three masked men unknown!"
"Ha!" cried Alured de Ashby, seizing the speaker by the arm, and gazing into his face, as if he would have read his soul. "Ha! three masked men?"
"It is true, upon my life!" replied Guy de Margan.
"Be calm--be calm, my dear cousin," exclaimed Richard de Ashby.
"Calm!" shouted the young Earl--"Calm! with my father's blood crying for vengeance from the earth, and my sword yet undrawn!"
"But listen," said Richard. "I have thought, as we came along, of a fact which may give us some insight into this affair. Yesterday evening, on my arrival here, ere any of us knew aught of your father's death, the old hall porter told me, on my inquiring for him, that the Earl had gone forth alone, having received a letter brought by some peasant boy. He mentioned the boy's name, for he seemed to know him, and therefore I ventured, as we passed the gates just now, to bid the warder speak with the old man, and have the boy sent for with all speed. 'Tis but right that we should know who that note came from."
"Let the porter be sent for," cried Alured--"let the porter be sent for."
"I will call him," said Richard, and left the ball.
In a moment after, he returned with the old man, followed by a young clown of some thirteen years of age. The boy stayed near the door, but Richard de Ashby advanced with the porter, the latter bowing low to his lord as he came up.
"Who brought the letter given to my father just before he went out yesterday?" demanded the young Earl, in a stern tone.
"Dickon, the son of Ugtred, the swine-driver, my lord," replied the porter; "he lives hard by, and there he stands."
"Did he say aught when he delivered it?" asked Richard de Ashby.
"Nothing, Sir Richard," answered the porter, "but to give it to my lord directly."
"Come hither, boy," cried Alured. "Now speak truly; who gave you that letter?"
"There were four of them, my lord," replied the boy; "but I never saw any one of them before."
"Were they masked?" demanded Richard de Ashby.
The boy replied in the negative; but his wily questioner, having put suspicion upon the track, was satisfied, so far, and Alured proceeded.
"What did they say to you?" he asked.
"They bade me take it to the castle," replied the boy, "and tell the people to give it to my noble lord the Earl, as fast as possible."
"Did they say nothing more?" demanded Alured de Ashby. The boy looked round and began to whimper.
"Speak the truth, knave," cried the young Earl, "speak the truth, and no harm shall happen to you; but hesitate a moment, and I'll hang you over the gate."
"They told me," answered the boy, still crying, "that if I saw the Earl, I might say it came from the Lord Hugh de Monthermer, but not to say so to any one else."
The whole party looked round in each other's faces, except Richard de Ashby, who gazed down upon the ground, as if distressed, though to say truth, his heart swelled with triumph, for the words the men had used had been suggested by him at the last moment before he left them. He would not look up, however, lest his satisfaction should appear; and Alured set his teeth hard, saying, "This is enough!"
"But one more question, my good lord," cried Sir William Geary, "Do you know the Lord Hugh de Monthermer, boy?"
"Yes, sir, very well," replied the boy; "I have seen him many a time with my lord and my lady."
"And was he amongst them?" asked Sir William Geary.
"Oh, no," cried the boy, his face brightening up at once. "There was one of them as tall, and, mayhap, as strong, but then he was black about the mazzard; and the other who was well-nigh as tall, had a wrong looking eye."
"This serves no farther purpose," said the young Earl. "I must to Nottingham at once. You, gentlemen, will forgive a son who has his father's death to avenge; but you must not quit my castle unrefreshed. Richard will play the host's part while I am absent; so fare you well, with many thanks for your coming.--Ho! are my horses ready, there?"