Chapter Twelve.
Jack meets Pearson at Saint Faith’s and accompanies him to the North.
John Deane’s stay at Saint Faith’s was to be very short, and then he and Brinsmead were to take their way back to Nottingham.
Will Brinsmead seemed somewhat out of temper as Jack rode alongside him on their journey to the former place. He seemed unreasonably jealous of the attention which Jack had received from Mr Gournay. He had also, it appeared, not got over some suspicion of Jack, in consequence of his apparent intimacy with the stranger who called himself Master Pearson.
“He may be Master Pearson, or he may not be Master Pearson,” observed Will, sententiously: “and he may be an honest man, or he may not be an honest man. There are many rogues going about the world, and he may be one, or he may not be one; but I do not like a man who turns up here and turns up there, and dodges one’s footsteps, and does not give a reasonable and proper account of himself. Now, it appears to me, Master Deane, that you have talked to this Master Pearson, supposing he is Master Pearson, a great deal too much. If you had held your tongue, he would have gained no information out of you. When you are among strangers, it’s my opinion, that, if you are wise, you will say nothing. If you hold your tongue, those you are with will think you wise; but if you talk, ten chances to one they will think you a fool!”
“Thank you, Master Brinsmead, for the compliment,” said Jack. “I told you before that I did not think I had said any thing to this man Pearson in any way detrimental to our interests, or to those of our employer, Mr Strelley. If I did, I am heartily sorry for it: but even if I did, it must be proved that he is a rogue before you should say that any harm could have happened from what I talked about.”
Brinsmead, however, was not to be brought back into good-humour; and Jack was very glad when the tall, square tower of Saint Faith’s church rose up in sight above the dead flat of marshy country over which they were travelling, which, however, was relieved by occasional groups of tall beech and birch-trees, and lines of weeping ash, amid which in spring and summer were happy birds singing all day, and some too even during the night.
Saint Faith’s, although but a small village, was just now crowded with visitors, albeit rather of a rough description, being chiefly highland drovers in plaid and kilt, or trowes, with daggers stuck in their belts, carrying, however, long goads or staves in the place of broadsword and targets. There were purchasers also of the cattle they came to dispose of from all parts of the country, mostly as rough in their way as the Scotchmen they came to meet. The accommodation which the inn afforded was suitable to such characters as the visitors who frequented it. Fortunately for Jack, their stay was to be short, as Brinsmead had merely to make arrangements with certain drovers he expected to meet to purchase cattle, which, instead of coming so far south, were to be driven to Nottingham. Jack heard Brinsmead making inquiries about the person he expected to meet, and seemed rather disappointed at not finding him at the hostelry where he had arranged to come. On a second visit, however, to the Black Bull, the landlord informed Brinsmead that a Highlander had been inquiring for him, and was even now in the public room awaiting his coming.
“There he is, Master Brinsmead!” said the landlord, pointing to a strongly-built man in Highland dress, who was seated at a table, with a huge tankard of ale before him. By his side, in rather incongruous company, it appeared to Jack, was the reverend minister he had met at Cambridge. The Scotchman rose as Brinsmead, conducted by the landlord, approached him.
“If you are Master Brinsmead, as I have ne’er doobt is the case,” he said, “I have to tell you of a sad accident which occurred to our respected friend, Jock McKillock, whom you expected to meet here: and, seeing that he could not come himself, he deputed me to transact the proposed business with you.”
On saying this the speaker presented a letter to Brinsmead, which the latter handed to Jack to read, observing, “You’re a better scholar than I am, Mr Deane, and I’ll beg you just to see what friend McKillock has to say.”
Jack took the epistle, which was somewhat dirty, the superscription being in a large though not over-legible hand. He saw, however, that it was addressed to Master Brinsmead, drover, at Saint Faith’s. On opening it, Jack saw that it purported to be signed by Jock McKillock, introducing his trusted friend Mr Allan Sanderson, who would make all the arrangements for the sale of the cattle they had spoken of at their meeting on the previous year. The price had risen somewhat, he observed, in consequence of the demand for salt-beef for the fleet, and the licence-fees, which, against all right and justice, they were compelled to pay to King William, who, worthy as he had been in other respects, had committed the same grievous sin of which the King of Israel had been guilty when he neglected to hue Agag in pieces, in not taking away the life of the Popish monarch when he was delivered into his hands, as also in favouring the prelatic priests of the Church of England.
These remarks had a considerable effect with Brinsmead, who agreed with the principles of his correspondent, though he did not object to his master paying the licence-fees, considering they did not come out of his own pocket.
Jack on delivering the letter to Brinsmead, examined more narrowly the countenance of the person who had brought it, and felt immediately convinced that it was no other than Master Pearson. He could not help giving a glance which showed that he recognised him; but the other returned his look with so calm and unmoved an expression of countenance, that he was almost staggered for a moment in his belief. Still, when he recollected that Pearson might have some cause why he should not wish to let Brinsmead know of their previous intercourse, he determined—wisely or not, it may be a matter of opinion—not to address him as an acquaintance. The minister in the same way stared at him as if they had never met before. Jack was exceedingly puzzled, not being able to understand for what reason he did not wish to be recognised. He had time, however, to think over the matter while Brinsmead and the Highland drover were making their arrangements, in accordance with the suggestions contained in the letter. The minister also pulled a volume out of his pocket, and appeared to be completely absorbed in it.
“But who is this young man with you, Master Brinsmead?” asked Sanderson, turning an inquisitive eye, as it seemed, towards Jack. “Though you are unable to travel so far north to inspect the beasts, if he understands cattle, and is intelligent and trustworthy, would it not be well to let him come in your place? My respected friend, Jock McKillock, would rather you looked at the cattle before they are driven south.”
“The lad is trustworthy enough,” answered Brinsmead, in a low voice, so that Jack should not be supposed to hear it. “He understands, too, the points of a beast better than most lads of his age. Though his shoulders are young, he has got an old head on the top of them; but it’s a long way to send him all alone, and he has yet to learn something more of the world than he knows at present. An old bird like me is not to be caught by chaff. He must be a sharp blade to deceive me, you may suppose, Master Sanderson, whereas he might easily be led in the toils of the many sharpers and impostors going about in all directions. It would be wiser not to trust him alone.”
“Do not fear that, Master Brinsmead,” answered Sanderson, “I am returning north, and will look after the lad, and guard him from all dangers such as you hint at. I cannot side with him when he is making his bargain, and help to beat down Jock McKillock, but I will give him all the advice in the general way I can, and Jock’s an honest chield, and would not take advantage of him when he puts his trust in his honour.”
Jack all this time could not help overhearing the conversation, and became more puzzled than ever how to act. A journey to the north for the purpose of purchasing cattle was exactly after his own taste, but he could not understand the deception which was being practised upon his companion. If Pearson was honest, why did he now assume a different name from that by which he had before been known? Which, also, was his right name? The minister too, who was his companion, had heard him called Pearson, and he now announced himself as Allan Sanderson in his presence, and yet the reverend gentleman made no remark on the subject.
Sanderson continued to urge his point with Brinsmead, and used many arguments to induce him to allow Jack Deane to proceed north. At last, not a little to Jack’s satisfaction, Brinsmead yielded his consent, provided Jack would wish to accept the offer.
“What say you, Mr Deane, will you take a trip into the land o’ cakes, and make a purchase of three hundred head of cattle for Mr Strelley? You will have the driving of the beasts south, and have the pleasure of seeing good honest meat and fat put on their bones in our rich water-meadows before many months have passed away after their arrival.”
Jack had had time to consider the matter, and without hesitation accepted the offer, believing that in a short conversation with Pearson he could soon clear up the mystery.
“I should be on my guard,” he thought to himself, “more than would Brinsmead, who does not suspect him, and thus I think I shall better be able to look after the interests of my master Mr Strelley.”
When a person desires to do a thing, it is very easy to find excuses, and as easy to lull the conscience asleep, and hide the consequences which may be the result.
It was finally arranged that Jack should start the next morning in company with the respectable Mr Allan Sanderson, Brinsmead purposing to follow at a slower pace in the course of the day.
Jack was aroused next morning by the sound of his quondam acquaintance calling him to “boot and saddle,” and to be off. Slipping on his clothes, he went to the bedside of Will Brinsmead, who was still sleeping soundly, to tell him that he was summoned to be off.
“Ah, lad, the Scotchmen keep early hours,” said Will, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “The dawn has scarcely broke, surely. He is right, though, thou hast a long ride before thee, and it’s as well to be off by times, though it would have been prudent to lay in a store of provender before you depart; however, two or three hours’ ride before breakfast will do thee no harm, lad. And now, Master Deane, I have a word to say before you leave me. Thou hast a fair opening, lad, and an important commission to execute. Take this advice from an old man. Keep your own counsel on all occasions. Judge which is best for your master’s interests, and let nothing turn you aside from following that out. Avoid quarrelling with any one, and let no one pick a quarrel with thee. Mr Sanderson seems a fair-spoken man, but there’s one thing I would have you remember, that he is not Jock McKillock himself. Jock I have known well-nigh a score of years, and an honest and fair dealer, as I doubt not thou wilt find, if he is afoot and well again when you get to the north. And now, fare-thee-well, John Deane, an old man’s blessing go with thee! Thou hast shown thyself to be ready-witted and brave, and if thou rememberest always that it is better to please God than man, thou wilt not fail to succeed in thy undertakings.”
With these words the old man put on his clothes, and accompanying Jack down-stairs, assisted him in getting his horse ready for his journey.
“Weel, weel, laddy, you’re o’er long in mounting your nag!” shouted Master Sanderson.
“I am ready for you now, at all events,” answered Jack, as he threw himself into his saddle, and once more shook hands with Brinsmead.
“Stop, stop, Mr Sanderson, you be off without your stirrup-cup!” exclaimed the landlord, who at that moment appeared at the door with a tankard in his hand. “Such doings are never allowed at my house, however early in the morning my guests depart. It will do thee good, man, and help to keep the cold mists of our fen-country out of thy throat this morning; and thou, lad, must not break through our rules, either,” he said, turning to Jack, who, it must be confessed, took the proffered tankard and drained its contents, then touching the flank of his horse with his spur, and giving a farewell wave of the hand to honest old Brinsmead, rode after his new acquaintance nothing loath.
Chapter Thirteen.
Jack and Pearson’s Journey to the North, and how Jack was employed on the Road.
The sky was clear overhead, and a damp mist was swept by a south-east wind over the face of the country. Jack and the Scotchman rode on till they were clear of the village without speaking.
“I am glad to have you in my company, Master Deane,” said the latter, now for the first time throwing off all disguise.
“I am obliged to you,” said Jack. “I knew you, Master Pearson, the moment I saw you.”
“So I thought,” was the answer. “When we parted at Cambridge, I was not certain in which character I should come to Saint Faith’s. However, you might have found it difficult to come north without me, and I therefore have made arrangements to accompany you.”
“But why this masquerading, Master Pearson?” asked Jack. “Mr Harwood’s recommendation makes me place confidence in you, but I tell you frankly, I would rather know more about you than I do!”
“Very sensibly spoken,” said Pearson, laughing. “The state of the times makes ‘masquerading,’ as you call it, necessary; but of one thing you may be sure, that I mean you fair; I will treat you honourably. Had I not given you warning, you would have returned to Nottingham, and have been clapped probably into the stocks; for depend upon it some of the country gentlemen round would have been too glad to get hold of your father’s son, and by punishing him, keep in awe others of less degree.”
“I am sure you mean me well,” said Jack, whose disposition made him unsuspicious of others. “But we shall pass within a short distance of Nottingham, and I should like to go and pay them a visit during the evening, when the darkness will prevent me being recognised, just to tell them where I am going, and what I propose doing.”
“Oh, Master Brinsmead will do that in a few days!” answered the northern drover; “depend upon it there are some on the watch for you, and you would run a considerable risk in returning home, even for a short time.”
Jack thought this very likely, and did not press the point, but suddenly another idea occurred to him.
“I might surely visit Harwood Grange?” he observed; “no one would be looking for me there, and I should like to see Mr Harwood and gain some information respecting the persons to whom I am to deliver these letters.”
“I will think about that, my lad, as we ride on,” answered Pearson. “Our direct road will take us a good deal to the east of Sherwood Forest, and your visit to the Grange would cause considerable delay. I do not at present see that this is necessary, though, to be sure, you may have some attraction there with which I am not acquainted.”
He gave a peculiar glance as he spoke, which drew the colour into his companion’s cheeks.
Jack was mounted on a strong, active nag, but he soon found that it was very inferior in speed to the one Pearson bestrode, and frequently he had to use whip and spur to keep up with him.
“We must get you another beast,” observed the latter; “it will make the difference of two or three days to us in our journey, and I always like to know that my friend is mounted on as good a steed as I am when we ride together. We know not the moment when we may have to try the metal of them both.”
“If that’s the animal you were riding when I met you between Nottingham and Cambridge, it’s a good one,” observed Jack, remembering the leap he had seen Pearson take, and the speed with which he had afterwards gone over the ground.
“Ay, the very same,” answered Pearson; “Black Bess and I seldom part company. I would have no other person bestride her; and I doubt whether she would allow it, if any one were to make the attempt.”
“But this horse belongs to Mr Strelley,” said Jack; “I have no business to change it for another.”
“Oh, I will settle that matter,” answered Pearson; “you will accept the loan of one from me, and I will send your nag to meet old Will as he comes west. In a couple of hours we will stop to breakfast at the house of an old friend of mine, and I have no doubt that we shall find a steed in his stables just suited for you.”
At the time Master Pearson specified, they drew up before a farm-house a little off the high-road. A sign, however, swinging over the door showed that occasional entertainment was afforded there also to man and beast. The landlord, who had very few of the characteristics of a Boniface, being a tall, thin, hard-featured man, received Pearson as an old acquaintance, and, the horses being sent to the stables, ushered them into a small oak parlour, intended for the accommodation of his private guests.
“We may here rest without the risk of being observed,” said Pearson to Deane, as he threw himself into a chair. “A wise man will not make more confidants than are necessary, and will not let the rest of the world know what he is about or where he is going. We will have some refreshment, and then I will go and search for a better steed than yours, which shall be returned in due course to your employer.”
Pearson having intimated to the host that refreshment would be required, it was quickly placed on the table; and, like a man who knew not when he might have another opportunity of feeding, he applied himself to the viands, advising his companion to do the same. This Jack did with right good will; and the meal being despatched, Pearson advised him to amuse himself as best he could in the room, while he went out to look for a horse fit, as he said, for Jack to ride.
Deane could not help feeling puzzled at times at the caution his companion considered necessary to use. Still, so little accustomed was he to the world, that it did not occur to him that he was otherwise than a respectable character, with whom he was perfectly safe in consorting. He paced the room without finding any thing to amuse himself with. Not a book on a shelf, nor a picture on the wall. A sanded floor, a dark oak table, several benches, a chair of large proportions, used probably for the president at clubs of convivial meetings; with a few of smaller size, completed the furniture of the oak-wainscoted room. He was not, however, kept very long before Pearson returned, telling him that he had procured a horse on which his saddle was to be placed; and Jack, going out into the stable-yard, found a man leading up and down a fine, strongly-built steed, which, if not possessing all the points of which Pearson’s own horse could boast, was evidently an animal well capable of performing a rapid and long journey at a stretch.
“The account is settled; and now let us mount and be off,” said Pearson, throwing himself into his saddle, and, having whispered a few words into the ears of their ill-favoured host, he put spurs to his horse, and with Jack by his side quickly left the village behind. Jack was highly pleased with the paces of his new acquisition, and soon saw that he should be able to push on over the ground at far greater speed than when he had his own steady-going nag under him. In a short time, coming to a fine open, grassy piece of land, he could not resist the temptation of putting spurs to the animal’s side, and starting off for a gallop. Pearson shouted after him to stop; but Jack found it no easy matter to rein in his steed. On turning his head, he found that the drover was following him; and, though he fancied that he himself was going at full gallop, his companion was quickly alongside him.
“That is very like a young man, but not the act of a wise one!” said Pearson. “You should always keep your horse’s strength for an emergency on a long journey. His limbs are supple enough, I’ll warrant; there was no necessity for trying them just now.”
“I could not help it,” said Jack, tugging at the same time at the rein. “The animal has mettle enough for any thing, I should think.”
“I see that I must help you,” said Pearson, “or you will not bring that animal up in a hurry, till you have well-nigh sawn his mouth in two. So-ho! Rover!” he cried out, adding a few cabalistical-sounding words.
In an instant the animal threw himself on his haunches, so suddenly indeed, as nearly to unseat his rider. He was too good a horseman though to be played such a trick.
“The beast is no stranger to you, Master Pearson,” he observed.
“No; he has carried me over many a mile,” was the answer. “I would not wish to put you on an animal I had not tried. And now we will make play over this ground, though at more moderate speed than you were going at just now.”
They found accommodation for the night in a small roadside inn. On the next day, when passing through Grantham, as the travellers were approaching the open square of the market-place, they observed a large crowd collected round a person elevated above their heads on the top of a huge cask or table, so it appeared. He was throwing out his arms in every direction. Now pressing his hands together, now lifting them towards heaven in the attitude of prayer. Most of his auditors seemed to be listening to him with rapt attention. As they drew nearer, Jack, on looking at the countenance of the speaker, was convinced that it was no other than the Independent preacher whom he had met in company with Master Pearson. From the words which fell from his mouth it was difficult to ascertain what principles he was inculcating. He was speaking at the moment of some wonderful dream with which he had been favoured by Heaven. He was warning the people of the dreadful calamities which he knew, in consequence of what he had seen in his vision, were about to fall upon the land. He seemed, however, to be dealing out tolerably even-handed justice towards all other denominations. He had nothing in its favour to say of Protestant Episcopacy, and as little of Romanism. He was hurling abuse at Presbyterianism, and warning the Independents that their day of grace had passed, that they were no longer holding up a standard in Israel, while he condemned the Baptists for maintaining unscriptural doctrines.
“Woe! woe! woe!” he shouted, “woe to this country! woe to this people! Listen, ye stiff-necked and stubborn generation! A new revelation is about to be vouchsafed to you; will you receive it, or will you refuse it? Those who are ready to receive it will hold up their hands, and shout with joy at the thoughts of their emancipation from the slavery under which ye have hitherto groaned in the bonds of bitterness and the darkness of despair! Those who have made up their minds not to receive it must take their departure from among us, and go back to the place whence they came, there to await till summoned to go down into the pit full of fire and brimstone, already boiling up to welcome them!”
No one moved from among the crowd, the greater number of whom held up their hands, as invited by the speaker, and gave way to a shrill cry, which swelled by degrees into a loud ringing shout, which was repeated again and again.
Jack, to satisfy himself, asked Pearson if he knew the name of the speaker.
“I know his name, Master Deane,” answered his companion: “you must ask the bystanders if they know it. They will probably tell you that it’s the Reverend Simon Stirthesoul, one of the newest of new lights who have appeared in the kingdom in this favoured reign. There are many such; and of great advantage will they prove to the spiritual welfare of the people. They have an especial work, it seems to me, to show that all the old forms of worship are wrong, and invent as many new ones as their imaginations can devise. Wherever they spring from, they’re serving the Pope of Rome well, for the more the Protestants are divided, the better will it be for his faithful children in this realm of England.”
Jack wished to stop and hear more of the remarks made by the preacher, but to this Pearson objected, observing that he did not wish to delay, and that they would bait their steeds a few miles beyond the town, at a roadside inn.
Pearson expressed a more important truth than he himself was aware of at the time. From the time of Elizabeth up to that period, a number of Popish priests, chiefly Jesuits, had been introduced into the country under various disguises, having received dispensations from the Pope to act any part they might consider most advisable for the establishment of new and strange doctrines; thus dividing Protestant interests. There is undoubted evidence of this. Most of these men, well trained in foreign universities, accustomed to the ways of the world, were admirably fitted for the part they were destined to perform. Some pretended to be Episcopalians, others Presbyterians, and others Nonconformists of all denominations. Many exerted their talents in the invention of new sects, and they were certain to gain proselytes, being well versed in the study of human nature. They knew thoroughly how to adapt the principles they advocated, and the tenets they taught, to the tastes of their hearers, and there can be no doubt that the rise of the many strange sects which appeared at different times, from the accession of Elizabeth, was owing to the efforts of these Popish emissaries. A considerable number were from time to time apprehended, and found possessed of treasonable documents, proving that they were Papists in disguise. Some indeed were executed in consequence of having been found guilty of treasonable practices, while others narrowly escaped the same fate. It seemed but probable, from his connexion with the Jacobites, that the Reverend Simon Stirthesoul was one of these disguised plotters.
“I gave you a packet of letters from Mr Harwood,” observed Pearson, as they were standing in the evening at their inn. “If you look over them, I shall be able to tell you the best route to take in order to call on the persons to whom they are directed. Your friend made it a great point that you should deliver them in person, and I am sure that he is a gentleman you would wish to oblige.” He fixed his keen glance at Jack as he spoke. “The greater number are, I see, directed to gentlemen in Yorkshire. You may well consider it an honour to be so employed. Sir Herbert Willington, I see; Colonel Slingsby, Joe Hovingham of Hovingham Hall, Master Haxby of Haxby Grange, are all good men and true. In Northumberland too, I see you have a few to Oxminston, and Widdrington. It will take you some time to get through them all, for they’re not men who let you come to their door and ride away again without showing you hospitality. It will give more time to Jock McKillock to get the herd together.”
Deane made many inquiries of his companion with regard to the character of the people on whom he was to call, and he was somewhat surprised to find that they were all strong Jacobites, the greater number indeed being Romanists. Still, his suspicions were not sufficiently aroused to make him refuse to deliver them. This would of course have been the wisest thing to have done. He was, in truth, anxious in every way to please Mr Harwood. He still continued to indulge in dreams of some day winning the fair Alethea. He very naturally thought that if he could please her father, he would have less difficulty in so doing.
The horse Pearson had selected for Deane showed wonderful speed and bottom, and seemed scarcely fatigued when, between sunrise and sunset, he had gone over the best part of a hundred miles. When once in Yorkshire they proceeded at a somewhat slower pace, having somewhat longer time to rest at the houses at which they called. On these occasions, Pearson assumed the character of Jack’s servant, and invariably accompanied the horses to the stables, and stayed during the visit with the grooms and other servants. He was not idle, however, though he might have appeared to be so. He lost no opportunity of making inquiries as to what was going on in the neighbourhood, as well as informing himself of the proceedings of their masters.
Jack had no cause to complain of any want of hospitality on the part of those to whom he delivered Mr Harwood’s letters, but in several instances he was received with an air of stiffness and formality which showed that full confidence was not placed in him. Indeed, when on one or two occasions he was cross-questioned, having really no information to give, he was speedily again dismissed. He received, however, several letters in return, which he was especially directed to deliver in person to Mr Harwood. On looking at the covers, he was surprised to find that no superscription was placed on them.
“Never mind,” was the answer, “you know for whom they are intended. Keep them securely, and the object we have in view will be attained.”
He mentioned, at length, the circumstance to Pearson.
“It’s all right,” he replied; “a letter without an address, provided the bearer knows to whom he is to deliver it, is safer in these perilous times than a letter with one. Keep them carefully, Master Deane, and Mr Harwood will be duly grateful to you when you deliver them.”
As they advanced north, Pearson invariably left the high-road to seek for quarters at some distance from it during the night. Before lying down to sleep on these occasions, he never failed to visit the stables. Jack observed also that he remained booted and spurred during the night. Generally before daybreak they were again in the saddle, and proceeding at a rapid rate on their road. The Cheviots were already in sight, when one morning Pearson roused up Jack.
“To horse, my lad, to horse!” he exclaimed. “If you wish to retain your liberty, or your life indeed, you will put a hundred miles between you and the Cheviots before sundown. I have just had the information brought me, that you have been accused of delivering letters to disaffected persons, and that a plot has been discovered for dethroning the present king and bringing back King James. As I did not see the letters which you had to deliver, I cannot say how far the accusation is just, but to you it will come to the same thing. I have so far led you into the scrape by giving you the letters, and I have resolved to bear you company; for I doubt, without me, that you would manage to escape.”
“This is bad news indeed,” exclaimed Jack, sitting up in bed, and beginning to dress as rapidly as he could.
“But if I go south, how shall I be able to execute Mr Strelley’s commission? What will Jock McKillock do with the cattle he has brought thus far on the way? and what am I to do with the money with which I was to pay for them?”
“I have thought of all that, my friend,” answered Pearson. “Give me the money, and I will settle the matter with Jock McKillock, and the cattle shall be driven south as safely as if you were at their tails.”
Jack could not help feeling considerable hesitation as to the propriety of yielding to Pearson’s proposal. Honest and unsuspicious as he was himself, great doubt had crossed his mind as to the character of his companion. To be sure, if he persisted in continuing his journey, and endeavouring to meet Jock McKillock, he very likely might be apprehended, and in that case he would certainly lose the money in his possession; but then if Pearson was not honest, it would equally be lost. The latter saw by the working of his countenance, the doubts that were crossing his mind.
“You hesitate to give me the cash,” he observed. “You are perfectly right; at the same time, I promise you that it shall be properly spent for the advantage of your employer. Oaths are like pie-crusts, too often only made to be broken, therefore I will not swear what I will do: but accept the promise of a man who wishes you well, and you will have no cause to regret having trusted me.”
Jack at length, seeing that there was no help for it, agreed to Pearson’s proposal, and, though not without some reluctance, handed him over the money for the proposed purchase of cattle.
“It is safer in my pocket than in yours, let me tell you, Master Deane,” said Pearson, as he stowed it away in his leathern pouch. “There breathes not the man on either side of the border who would attempt to take it from me.”
Chapter Fourteen.
Adventures at the Hagg.
“There is ne’er use fashing yourself, my young friend, about the matter,” observed Pearson, in his usual unconcerned manner, “many as pretty a man as yourself has been in a far worse difficulty, and my advice now to you is to make the best of it. I could hide you away among the mountains in the north, where, should every man in Dutch William’s army be sent out on the search, they could not find you; but, I’m thinking, a lad of your spirit would not be altogether satisfied with that sort of life. Better far come with me south. There will soon be work for you to do in that quarter, such as will be more suitable to your taste, I’m thinking, than following at the heels of a drove of bullocks. I own a dairy-farm in the fens of Lincolnshire, where I have a wife and daughter, and am known as a steady, quiet-going farmer, who, may be, has a little better notion about horse-flesh than his neighbours, and bestrides occasionally a fleeter steed than most of them. No one would think of looking for me there, nor will they for you, or, if they did, it would be no easy job to find us. For that matter, indeed (your vanity will not be offended, I hope, when I say it), your countenance has so little remarkable about it, and so few people know you, that you might safely go to London without the slightest risk of detection. You should understand that some friends of ours may ask you to undertake a commission of importance in the metropolis, and I would advise you not to refuse it. All your expenses will be paid; and if you prove trustworthy and discreet, it will lead to your further advantage.”
“You have proposed so much to me, Master Pearson, that I am rather confused, and must think a little before I reply,” answered Jack. “You tell me that information has been laid against me for delivering treasonable letters between persons desirous of overturning the present order of things and of restoring King James to the throne, and that if I am not very careful I shall be taken and imprisoned, and perhaps hung. Now, even though I have really been accused, as you have heard, of treason, I am sure that I can have no difficulty in proving my innocence. I was not aware of the contents of the letters I delivered, and have certainly no wish to overturn the present Government.”
“Very possibly, my young friend,” remarked Pearson; “but it will avail you nothing to say that you did not know the contents of the letters, or that you did not do this or that. You must confess to having delivered the letters, and you cannot prove that you did not know their contents and are not anxious to support the cause they advocate. Judges and juries require proofs of a man’s innocence. Can you give proofs of yours? that is the question, Master Deane. Besides, let me ask you, suppose a certain young lady, who shall be nameless, were to promise you the best reward she can bestow, if you will join heart and hand in the cause her father supports, what reply would you make—eh, my lad?”
“You seem to know every thing, Master Pearson!” exclaimed Jack, somewhat annoyed at his companion’s familiarity, and not wishing to give a direct answer. “With regard to the probability of my being unable to prove my innocence of the accusations which may be brought against me, I acknowledge that you are right; but with respect to other matters, it is no man’s business to interfere.”
“Of course, Master John Deane, you are the best judge in your own affairs. I gave you but the advice of a friend,” answered Pearson: “what motive can I have to speak otherwise? But again let me remind you, that if you venture within the lion’s jaws it will be no easy matter to get you out again. Be wise, then, put yourself under my guidance, and you will be safe. Go your own gait, and you will find yourself shut up in prison, or, maybe, run your head into the noose. However, an obstinate man is not to be persuaded.”
“But I am not an obstinate man,” said Jack; “I believe that your advice is kindly intended, and I beg that you will understand I do not reject it. I only ask time to think over the matter, that I may decide what course I should pursue.”
It was not without a considerable amount of vexation and disappointment that Deane found himself galloping away to the south, instead of proceeding, as he had hoped, over the border into Scotland. He felt some doubt, also, as to whether he had acted wisely in confiding so completely to Pearson; and he also regretted having allowed himself to be made a tool, as it appeared too evident that he had been, of the Jacobite party. Still he did not blame Mr Harwood, and thought that probably some of the other gentlemen whom he had visited were the cause of the accusation being brought against him. Though Pearson pressed him to proceed south, he did not object to the proposal Jack made of visiting Harwood Grange on his way.
“It is the best thing you can do,” he observed. “You can then in person deliver the letters you have received, and he may better be able to explain matters to you than I am, and he will also advise what steps to take that you may clear yourself from the accusation which has been brought against you.”
Jack’s heart beat at the thought of the proposed visit. The inconvenience and disappointment which he had gone through, seemed as nothing when he contemplated again seeing Alethea. It did not occur to him that he was rushing into a trap in which he was very likely to lose his liberty altogether. They had proceeded about forty or fifty miles to the south, when a horseman was seen approaching them. He drew up as he reached Pearson, and exchanged greetings with him. He then turning round, and allowing Jack to go on out of ear-shot, the two rode alongside each other. In the course of ten minutes or so they again overtook Jack.
“Mr Deane,” said Pearson, “I have fortunately met a friend who knows the country well, and will prove a good guide to you. He is willing to return south, that I may ride to the north and make the arrangements which you were to have done with our friend Jock McKillock, for the purchase of the cattle. There is no time to be lost, and I assure you that you may trust my friend as you would me.”
Without any further remark, Pearson shook Jack by the hand, and, wheeling round his horse, galloped away to the north, while the stranger rode on alongside Jack. As Jack glanced at his companion, it struck him that he had seen him before, but where, or under what circumstances, he in vain attempted to discover. He was a strongly-built, active-looking man, considerably younger than Pearson, with a determined look and expression in his countenance which Jack did not altogether like. He did not seem either much inclined for conversation, and answered briefly all the questions which Deane put to him.
“I think we have met before,” said Jack.
“It’s very likely,” was the reply; “but you have the advantage of me, if you know where it was, for I see so many people in the course of a day, that it would be a difficult matter for me to recollect those I have met once in a way. I will give you a useful piece of advice, however: remember, the fewer questions you ask, the less likely you will be to have falsehoods told you. You have a long ride before you, and you will be wiser if you save your breath, instead of wasting it in talking.”
It is hopeless to enter into conversation with one who is determined not to speak. Jack found this to be the case, his companion generally only answering in monosyllables to all the remarks he made.
When, at length, they stopped at nightfall at a farm-house, similar to those which Pearson had selected on their way north, his companion pursued the same system, exchanging only a few words with the people of the house, and scarcely speaking to him all the evening. As Pearson had done, he visited the stables several times to see that the horses were well cared for, evidently considering it as important as did his friend, that they should be in a fit condition for a hard gallop. They travelled, indeed, a couple of days before Jack discovered the name of his companion. He at length heard him spoken to as Master Burdale.
“Yes, that’s my name,” he said, when Jack addressed him as such; “I am known here and elsewhere as Ned Burdale, at your service.”
Jack at last became heartily tired of his companion’s society: at the same time he had to confess to himself that there was nothing particularly with which he could find fault about the man, except his sulky silence. With great satisfaction Deane at length caught sight of the well-remembered patches of woodland scenery by which he knew that he was once more within the ancient boundaries of Sherwood Forest. He now, for the first time, told Ned Burdale of his intention of visiting Harwood Grange.
“My directions were to conduct you to Master Pearson’s farm in the fens,” said his companion. “I cannot be answerable for your safety if you part company from me.”
“I have no desire to do so,” said Jack; “but if you will accompany me to the Grange, as soon as I have delivered my message to Mr Harwood, I shall be ready to set forward to the place you speak of.”
“Remember, then, it’s at your own risk,” said his companion. “I have my reasons for not wishing to go there myself, but I will wait for you at a farm which we shall reach in a couple of hours, and from thence you can ride over to the Grange. I would advise you to go there in the evening, to avoid being seen by the people in the neighbourhood. We can send a messenger on before to the Squire, that he may be on the watch for you. Take my advice: don’t allow a bright eye and a rosy cheek to detain you there longer than is necessary.”
Jack, being unable to suggest any better arrangement, was compelled to be contented with his companion’s proposal.
Putting spurs to their horses, they galloped on through the forest. Now they had to pass several miles of cleared country; then again they came to more forest-land. Now they passed over a wild piece of heath; then through dingle and dale, and thick copses, and along the banks of a stream, avoiding the high-road as much as possible, and making their way wherever they could across the country. At length they entered a thicker part of the forest than any they had hitherto passed through.
“We shall soon be at the farm,” observed Burdale. “We will take a day’s rest then for the sake of our steeds; for though at a push they would have gone twice as far without knocking up, it’s as well to give them a holiday where it can be done.”
At length a grey-stone tower, with a building attached to it, round which ran a broad balcony, appeared in sight. It had evidently been a hunting-lodge in olden times, and from the balcony ladies fair used to shoot with cross-bow, or, perhaps, in later times with fire-arms, at the deer as they were driven past. An old man and woman, apparently as old as the building itself, came forth at the sound of the horses’ hoofs. They looked somewhat askance at Jack, but welcomed Burdale as an acquaintance.
“You can give us shelter for the night, Master Rymer, I hope,” he said, jumping from his horse. “Here, I will help look after the steeds, while your dame shows my companion the way into your house.”
The old couple continued to cast somewhat doubtful glances at Jack.
“Have no fear,” said Burdale; “he is of the right sort, and no risk of his peaching, even if he did find out any thing he should not know.”
With this assurance, as soon as Jack dismounted, the old man took his horse, and accompanied Burdale round the tower to the stables. The dame, meantime, beckoned to Jack to follow her. A flight of dilapidated stone steps led them up to the entrance-hall, which occupied the whole of one floor of the tower. A rough stair led to another floor above it; and Jack observed the top of a flight of steps of more pretensions, descending apparently to chambers below.
“Sit down, young sir,” said the dame, pointing to an old oak chair. “Thou wilt be hungry after thy long ride; and I will prepare a steak for you and Ned Burdale.”
The view from the window of the tower was confined on all sides by the forest, through which, however, here and there glades opened out for some distance, up which, in former days, the deer were accustomed to sweep by, and afford an opportunity to fair dames and lords to exercise their skill with their fowling-pieces. Already the sun was sinking beneath the tops of the trees; and Jack began to fear that he should not have time to reach Harwood Grange before the night altogether closed in. He waited impatiently, therefore, for the return of Burdale, purposing to set off immediately his horse should have had its food and enjoyed a short rest. His companion, however, was longer than he expected, and by the time he arrived the meal prepared by the old dame was almost ready.
“Take my advice,” said Burdale: “remain here quietly to-night, and to-morrow you will be able to visit the Grange, and give our horses sufficient time to rest, that we may continue our journey into Lincolnshire. The distance from this to the Grange is far greater than you suppose: you could not reach it till an hour or more after dark, and you would scarcely be able to find your way back through the forest by yourself.”
Unwilling as Jack was to give up his purpose of paying a visit to his friends that evening, he was compelled to comply with his companion’s wishes, for Burdale gave him to understand very clearly that he had no intention of accompanying him. A substantial meal of venison-steaks, wheaten bread, and oaten cakes, to which Jack was nothing loath to do ample justice, was soon placed on the table.
“Come, Master Rymer, you can find us a flagon of wine, too, and of the best, I know that,” said Burdale. “Come, man, rummage out your stores, you used not to be niggard of your liquor.”
The old man, after some hesitation, pretended or real, took a bunch of keys, and descended the stairs to the chamber beneath the hall. He soon returned with a flagon of wine, which his guests pronounced to be excellent. Burdale drank freely himself, and pressed Jack to imitate his example. Being generally temperate, Jack found at length that he had taken more wine than was his wont, and began to feel an unusual drowsiness stealing over him. The old couple kept up a conversation with Ned Burdale, seemingly somewhat indifferent of Jack’s presence. Now and then they addressed him.
“You belong to these parts, do you?” asked the old man, fixing his keen glance on Jack.
“I was born and bred in Nottingham,” answered Jack.
“And never been out here at the Hagg before?”
“No,” said Jack, “I never heard of the place before.”
“Well, to be sure it’s a good long distance from the town, and away from all high-roads. You would have a hard job to find it, even if you were looking for it, I suspect.”
“You have a bold heart, I hope,” said the old woman, “for those who spend a night in this house require one.”
“I am not much given to be afraid,” answered Jack, laughing; “but what makes you say that?”
“Why, for a good reason: because the old tower is haunted. We didn’t like it when we first came here, but we’ve got accustomed to it. There was an old family lived here in the time of Charles, the king whose head was cut off, when all the men of the family lost their lives in the Civil Wars, and the ladies died of broken hearts, or something of that sort. At all events, the old tower was left deserted, and for many years no one came to live in it. At length, one family came to try and see how it would suit them, but they very soon gave up; and then another and another rented the farm, and tried to stop in the tower, but they could not stand the sights they saw, or the sounds they heard, and threw it up, one after the other. At last my good man and I came here. We were told before what we were to expect, and so we made up our minds for the worst. Well, the very first night we came, as we were sitting here at supper, just as we may be now, we heard the ghosts of the family to whom the tower had belonged all talking away below us. Sometimes it was an old man’s voice, then a young girl’s, and then the voice of a strong man of middle age, and then a youth, maybe, like yourself, and young children. It was curious to hear them go on in that way. We could not make out what they said exactly, but there was a change in the tone of their voices, just as clearly as if they had been in the room with us. As to sights, I cannot say that we saw any thing; and I’m not ashamed to confess it, neither my good man nor I felt inclined to go into the chamber below, to have a look at the ghosts. They went on talking for some hours, till we heard them scuffling off to bed, so it seemed, and we therefore followed their example. This went on, as I say, night after night. I need not tell you what we saw when we did see any thing, but I will just advise you to be prepared, should you hear any strange noises; and provided you don’t go and interfere with the ghosts, depend upon it they will let you alone.”
“Thank you,” answered Jack, “for the advice. I never yet have met a ghost, though maybe I shall some day, and if I do I intend to treat it with all due respect.”
“You had better treat the ghosts here in that way,” observed Burdale, with a peculiar glance at Jack; “I have heard of them before, and I am sure they would not like any one to interfere with them.”
“Oh, yes,” said the old woman, “we have ghosts inside the house and out of it too. Did you mark that big old oak, as you rode up to the door? They say there’s a ghost lives inside it, of some man who was murdered under its branches years gone by. How he do groan at night sometimes! It has been the same ever since we came here. At first I could not sleep for listening to him, and thinking what a pain he was in: just like the pains of souls in purgatory.” This remark made Jack suspect that his hosts were Romanists.
He could hear very little more about the ghost in the old oak, but he promised next morning to examine the tree, and ascertain in which part of it the spirit resided.
“You had better let he alone,” observed the old man; “these sort of gentry don’t like anybody to come and pry after them. That’s what I think; and so I have let them alone, and he has never come to do me any harm.”
The guide and the two old people talked on for a considerable time; but gradually to Jack’s ears their voices grew less and less distinct, till his head dropped on the table, and he fell fast asleep. How long he had been asleep he could not tell, but when he awoke he found himself stretched on a pile of straw in a corner of the great hall, so it appeared to him, but no light was burning, and it was with difficulty he could distinguish objects by means of the streaks of moonlight which came through the chinks of the shutters. He had not been many minutes awake before he heard voices. They were certainly not those of the old people or of Burdale, and they appeared to come from below him. He listened attentively. He had no doubt that they were human voices he heard; in earnest conversation, too. Now high, now low; now the voice was that of a strong, hale man; now that of one shaking with age; now of a bold, eager youth; now several seemed to be speaking together. The tales he had heard that night recurred to his mind. Could it be possible that these were the spirits of the departed owners of the Hagg? Again he listened, to assure himself that he had not been misled by fancy. He sat up and rubbed his eyes—still the voices reached his ears. He was constitutionally brave.
“I will not be mocked by real ghosts or pretended spirits,” he said to himself, springing to his feet.
He felt for his weapons. His pistols were in his belt and his knife was by his side. He looked about him, and ascertained the position of the doors in the room.
“I can find my way to the top of the stairs which I saw led down into the vaults below,” he said to himself, “and I can easily grope my way down-stairs, and find out what these ghosts really are.”
To think was to act with him. The moonlight enabled him to find his way with greater ease even than he had expected, and on reaching the top of the stairs he was more sure than ever that people were talking below. Holding a pistol in one hand, he felt his way with the other, descending the stone steps, careful to make his footing sure before he advanced again. He thus, without breaking his neck, reached the bottom, when not only did he hear the voices more distinctly and catch many of the words which were spoken, but he saw a bright light shining through a chink of a door before him. He approached the door in the hope of being able to see through the chink, but this he found was impossible. As, however, he was pressing against the door, it flew open, and what was his amazement to see between two and three dozen people, either sitting or standing round a long table, with many others, strongly armed, scattered about the vault! The noise made by the door as it flew open was heard by the assembly, and several men sprang forward and seized him ere he could make his retreat.
“An eavesdropper!” exclaimed one.
“We are betrayed!” cried another.
“His mouth must be stopped,” muttered a third.
“It would be safer to kill him at once,” growled another.
“What has brought you here?” asked a fine, dignified looking man, in a handsome costume of somewhat antique fashion.
“I am a traveller, and put up here on my way to the fens,” answered Jack. “I do not wish to injure any one, but hearing voices, and having been told that the house was haunted, I came to see whence they could proceed, not believing that ghosts could make such a racket as disturbed my rest.”
“The lad is no spy, or he would not speak as frankly as he does,” observed the gentleman.
“I can answer for his honesty,” said another person, whom Jack had not hitherto noticed, rising from his seat and advancing towards him. “He is ready to serve in a right cause and be of use to his country.”
Jack on looking towards the speaker discovered that he was no other than Mr Harwood.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, “for your good opinion of me. I was, in truth, on my way to visit you, to give an account of the mode in which I have executed your commissions, and I’m sure that you will bear witness that I am not addicted to telling falsehoods.”
“A brave lad, and worth winning for a good cause!” exclaimed the gentleman who had first spoken. “Mr Harwood having answered for your fidelity, you will be put to no inconvenience about this matter, but as we have affairs of importance to discuss, and the night is drawing on apace, you must go back to your bed, and try to persuade yourself that what you have seen is merely a dream which you are not at liberty to mention to any one.”
“Though we have met here, Mr Deane, I shall be glad to see you at the Grange, to speak to you more at large than I can now,” said Mr Harwood, as he shook Jack by the hand.
Accompanied by two of the persons present, Jack returned once more to the room above, where, having advised him to go to sleep instead of listening to the voices of the ghosts, they left him. He wisely endeavoured to follow their advice.