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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 45. Companions In Misfortune |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE Scarlett Markham passed some hours by his father's side, listening to his breathing in the darkness, and from time to time taking his hand as a low moan was uttered, accompanied by a restless movement; but as the time passed on, in spite of anxiety and his own weariness and pain, an intense desire for food of some kind kept on attacking him, and each time with more force. What was he to do? Had he been alone the task would have been simple. He would have gone at once to the broken archway, waited his opportunity, and crept out. Then he would have done his best to escape, and the worst that could have happened to him would have been seizure by the enemy, who, in spite of party hatred, would have given their prisoner food. But he felt that he could not take this course, and risk capture, which would mean imprisonment to his father as well. The difficulty was solved at last by an uneasy movement on Sir Godfrey's part. He seemed to start suddenly from sleep, and, after listening for a few moments, Scarlett said gently-- "Are you in pain, father?" "Ah, my boy, you there?" said Sir Godfrey, feebly. "I was puzzled and confused. I recollect now. Have I been asleep long?" "Yes, father, I think so. I cannot tell, for I have been asleep too." "Where are we?" Scarlett explained, and from time to time Sir Godfrey uttered a few words of surprise and wonder, till his son had finished. "I could hardly have thought it possible," he said, as Scarlett ceased. "Then we are so far safe?" "Yes; but your wounds, father? What am I to do about getting help?" Sir Godfrey remained silent for a few minutes, and then said quietly-- "I am terribly weak, boy, and in a good deal of pain; but from what I know of such things, I do not think my wounds are either deep or dangerous, and if this is so, nature is the best chirurgeon. But you say there is a way out?" "Yes, father; and I am afraid that Fred Forrester has given notice, and that it is watched." "The young villain!" muttered Sir Godfrey, and somehow those words seemed to send a sting through Scarlett's brain. After a silence, Sir Godfrey went on. "Well, my boy," he said, "I shall not be able to escape for days to come. You must go and try and make your way to our friends." "And leave you?" "Only for a time, my boy, of course. You must find some of our men, and come and get me away." "I cannot leave you, father;" said Scarlett, firmly; and Sir Godfrey remained silent for a time. "Thank you, Scar," he said at last; "and of course I do not want to be left. Can you propose any better way, for my thinking powers are very weak?" Scarlett was silent in turn, and then he said quietly-- "Yes, father; I will wait my chance, steal out, and then contrive to make my way to some cottage where I can get food. I can bring it back, and we can continue to remain here in hiding till you are strong enough to go." "Not a very pleasant prospect, Scar," said Sir Godfrey, "but I can propose no better." "I might be able to make my way to the Manor." "No, no; you must not get help from there, my boy," said Sir Godfrey, hastily. "Why not, father? My mother and Lilian are there." "True, Scarlett, but--" "Mrs Forrester would be only too eager to help us." "Her husband's enemies?" "She is affording protection to my mother. Yes," added the lad, after a pause, "I must go there." Sir Godfrey remained silent. "Father." "Yes." "You frightened me by being so still." "I was only thinking, Scarlett," replied Sir Godfrey, sadly--"thinking I was wrong to speak as I did. There, I have fought my best, and it is my turn to lie down. I would we were both prisoners in such good hands." "Then you consent to my going, father?" There was another pause before Sir Godfrey said in a low, weary voice-- "Yes, my boy; you must throw yourself upon their mercy. This is no time to nurse one's hatred against one's foes. When shall you start?" "Directly I can get unseen from the opening, for you must have refreshment, father, and it is absolutely necessary that I should be back to-night." "Heaven's will be done," said Sir Godfrey, softly; and, after a long firm pressure of the hand, he added, "Be careful, my boy; keep your liberty if you can. The king wants the help of every loyal hand." "And you will not mind my leaving you?" "No, my boy. I dare say, in my weak state, I shall pass many hours in sleep." Even then Scarlett felt that he could not go, and it was not until long after, when he felt the absolute necessity of obtaining food and help, that he at last tore himself away, but with the one satisfaction of knowing that Sir Godfrey had dropped into a heavy sleep. It was while he was once more making his way to the opening that Scarlett realised how faint and weak he, too, was. But, summoning all his energy, he stood at last beneath the opening, trying to make out where the sentinel or sentinels might be. He drew his sword ready for action, and then, with an impatient movement, restored the weapon to its sheath, realising fully that if he was to succeed, it must be by cunning stratagem, not by blows. All was silent, but the occasional twitter of some bird. If a watcher was there, he gave no sign of his presence, and quite a couple of hours must have passed away before, utterly tired out, and hearing not the slightest sound, Scarlett determined to venture so far as to get his head above the top of the opening. No; he felt that would be only to court seizure, for his position would be so disadvantageous that he could not defend himself if he were seized. Besides, he would be betraying his father into the enemies' hands. In spite of his trouble and anxiety, a smile came upon his lip, as he thought of a plan by which he might make the watcher or watchers discover their presence. He believed thoroughly that he had not so far been heard, and, under that impression, he took hold of one of the hazels above his head, and, trusting to old forest recollections in the days when he had hunted rabbits with Fred Forrester, he shook the bough above him so as to make a sharp rustling noise, and uttered with his compressed lips a sharp screeching sound such as is made by the little white-tailed furry denizen of the wood when trapped or chased by a stoat. "That will bring him to see," thought Scarlett, as he felt that such a sound would suggest to a foraging soldier a capital addition to his camp-fire supper. But there was not a sound in reply, and, beginning to doubt his belief that there was a sentry watching, he uttered the shrill squeal again. Then his heart gave a bound, for there was a movement close at hand, as of some one trying to pass through the bushes, but it was not continued; and, while the lad was wondering, there came a low groan. "No sentinel! Some poor wounded fellow who has crept into the old wilderness for safety," thought Scarlett. "But will it be an enemy?" he asked himself. "No; one of ours," his heart replied. "An enemy would have called for help." "Ah, if I was only as I used to be!" came in a low-muttering tone. "Is he in agin?" "Nat!" cried Scarlett, the word starting from his lips involuntarily, and without his seeming to have the power to stay it. "Eh!" came from close by, "who called? Master Scar, that you?" "Yes, yes," cried Scarlett; and, leaping up, he caught at a bough, which snapped in two, and he dropped down again. But his next attempt was more successful, for he drew himself out, and the next minute was kneeling by his old follower, as Nat lay nearly hidden among the undergrowth. "I say, don't play tricks, sir," said Nat, feebly. "I aren't dreaming, are I?" "Dreaming, Nat?" "I mean, I've been all in a squabble, with things mixed up in my head, and people talking to me, and rabbits squealing, and Master Scar shouting 'Nat,' I aren't asleep now, are I?" "Asleep now, Nat? No, no, my dear old fellow," cried Scarlett, whose voice sounded thick with emotion. "But you are badly hurt eh?" "Well, tidy, Master Scar, tidy. They give it to me pretty well. But I'm better now, dear lad; I'm better now. Oh, oh, I say, Master Scar, lad, hit me in both eyes hard. I'm so weak I'm going to blubber like a gal." "No, no, my dear old Nat," whispered Scarlett. "Keep up, man, keep up. I want you to help me." "Help you, Master Scarlett? Why, I don't believe I could even pull my sword out of its sheath!" "But you will soon, Nat," whispered Scarlett, eagerly. "I want your help. My father is wounded, and in hiding close by here." "The master?" "Yes, yes." "Sir Godfrey?" "Yes, yes, Nat; badly wounded. We were nearly burned in the fire, when the Hall was in a blaze; but we got out, and he is badly wounded, and I was going to try and get food." "Oh, if that's it," said Nat, feebly, "it's time there was an end to all this nonsense. Here, give's a hand, Master Scar. I must get up." The poor fellow made an effort, then sank back with a groan. "Pitchforks and skewers!" he muttered. "Didn't that go through one." "Lie still, Nat." "Needn't be afraid, Master Scar," groaned the poor fellow, with a comical look in his young master's face. "I don't think I shall get up yet." "No; lie still. I'm going to try and steal away to the Manor." "Eh? Then if you come across my brother Samson, you knock him down, sir. Don't you hesitate a moment. Knock him down." "Nonsense! Now look here." "Oh yes, sir, I'm a-looking," said Nat, dismally; "and a pretty dirty face you've got." "What do you mean?" "Why, it's all black, as if you'd been--" "Why, Master Scar, what yer been a-doing to your hair?" "Hair? My hair?" "Yes, sir. Them Roundhead vagabonds cut it all off before, but now it's all scorched and singed away." "Eh? Yes. I suppose so," said Scarlett, sadly. "I did not know, Nat. I suppose it was in the fire." "And your face all scorched too." "Is it, Nat? I did feel that it smarted and was sore." "Why, my poor dear lad, what have you been a-doing of? And me not with you, but lying here like a pig in a sunny hole, pretending I was bad!" "Hush! not so loud. Never mind the singeing, Nat. There, keep quiet till I come back with some food. Do you want a drink of water?" "Food? What did you say about some food?" "I'm going to try and get some, Nat. I am starving." "Think of that now!" cried Nat, feebly. "Why, I've got some here. Master Scar! Now, let me think. I'm all in a muddle like in the head, and can't tell what's been dreaming and what isn't; but I've got a sort o' notion that some one come in the dark, and talked to me or talked about me, and then said they'd leave me something to eat." "Dreaming, Nat, my poor fellow! Your loss of blood has made you a little off your head." "Well, then, if I was dreaming, there aren't nothing to eat, Master Scar. But if I warn't dreaming, there's something close by me here, and--There, Master Scar, it warn't a dream!" "Nat!" cried Scarlett, joyfully, as the poor fellow feebly brought forth the food Fred and Samson had left. "May--may I take some?" he faltered. "Take it all, my dear lad, take it all, and yeat it. I couldn't yeat anything now. Shouldn't mind a big mug o' water. That's about my tune." In spite of himself, Scarlett broke off a piece of the bread cake, and began to eat ravenously. But he recollected himself directly, and placed some to the wounded man's lips. "Thank ye, lad, no," said Nat, sadly; "but if you could get me a drop o' water, I'd be 'bliged, for I feel just like a flower a-drying up in the sun." Poor Nat did not look it, whatever he might feel; but almost before he had ceased speaking, Scarlett had slipped through the hole as the safest way, gone to the opening by the lake, dipped his hat three-parts full of water, and borne it back, placing it safely between two boughs at the side of the top, while he climbed out; and the next minute he was holding the dripping felt to Nat's lips. "Hah!" ejaculated the poor fellow, feebly; "it's worth being chopped a bit and lying here for the sake of the appetite it gives you." "Appetite, Nat?" said Scarlett, taking up the bread. "'Tite for water, lad. That's the sweetest drop I ever did taste, I will say." "Drink again?" "Ay, that I will, hearty," whispered Nat; and he partook of another long draught. "There," he said, "now you give me one bit o' that cake to nibble, and you may go. To get food, didn't you say, sir, just now?" "I want some--for my father, Nat, but--if--I can have some of this?" "Take it all, my dear lad, take it all. Where is the master, sir?" Scarlett told him in as few words as possible, and Nat stared at him. "No, it's of not a bit o' good, Master Scar," he said sadly. "I know you're telling me something, but I bled all the sense out of me, and I can't understand what you mean. Never mind me. I dare say it's all right." "But, Nat," cried Scarlett, eagerly, as a thought struck him, and he realised that it was useless to try and impress upon the poor fellow about the secret passage, "you are lying out here." "Yes, sir; not a nice place, but cool and fresh." "Could you, if I helped you, get down that hole, where my father lies?" "Sir Godfrey?" "Yes." "But you said you were going away somewhere, sir." "Only to get some food, and you have enough for the day. To-night I'll go out and get more. Do you think you could crawl down?" "I think I could try, sir, if it comes to that." "And trying is half the battle, Nat." "Right, sir; I'll try. That drop o' water seemed to put life in me." "But--" Scarlett stopped short, thinking. Some one had been and brought Nat food, for there it was in solid reality, tempting him to eat; and if he took the poor fellow down into the secret passage, it would no longer prove to be a secure hiding-place, for those who missed the wounded man would search perhaps and find. That did not follow, though. They might think that he had crept away; and besides, the case was desperate, and he must risk it. "You said, 'But,' Master Scar," said Nat, feebly, after waiting for his young master to go on. "Nothing, nothing," said Scarlett, hastily, for his mind was made up. "Now then, pass your arms round my neck, clasp your hands together, and hold tightly. I'll draw you out of that place." "Take the food first, Master Scar. There, stuff it in your wallet, lad." Scarlett did not hesitate, but placed the precious treasure in the receptacle, and then bent down. Nat obeyed his instructions, and by a strong effort he was drawn out. "Have I hurt you much, Nat?" said Scarlett, as he gazed through the dim light at the pallid face so close to his. "Well, sir, not to make much bones about it, tidy, pretty tidy. What next, sir?" "I want to lower you down through the branches into that hole." "Eh?" ejaculated Nat, forgetting his weakness and the aching pain he suffered, as he gave quite a start. "No, no, Master Scar, don't do that." "But you will be safe there for the present, Nat." "Safe enough, I suppose, sir," groaned the poor fellow. "Well, let me lay your legs here, and I can slide you down." "But I aren't dead yet, dear lad. Don't hurry it so fast as that." "What do you mean?" "Going to bury me, aren't you, sir?" "What nonsense, man! There's a long passage there leading to a vault." "Yes, sir; that's what I thought. Don't do it till I'm quite gone." In spite of hunger, misery, anxiety, and pain, Scarlett Markham could not refrain from laughing at Nat's perplexed countenance, with so reassuring an effect that the poor fellow smiled feebly in return, took heart, and allowed himself to be slid down through the opening, the task being so well managed that Nat sank on the stone floor, and when Scarlett loosened his hands, he subsided gently against the wall. Then, after removing a few of the tracks of his passage, the elasticity of the undergrowth and its springing up helping the concealment, Scarlett descended to his henchman's side, and after a pause helped him along the passage right to the vault, where, as soon as he had got rid of his burthen, the lad found his father sleeping calmly. "Aren't it a bit dark, Master Scar, or be it my eyes?" said Nat, feebly. "Dark, Nat, quite dark. But you will, I hope, be safe here till we can escape." "Right, sir. I'll do what you tell me, for I feel just like a big babby now with no legs, and my head all of a wobble, 'cause there's no bone in the neck. Yes, sir, thank ye, sir. Ease my head down gently. That's it. That's it. That's it. That's it. Ah!" the poor fellow kept on repeating to himself, and ended with a low sigh of relief; and when spoken to again there was no reply. Scarlett's heart seemed to cease beating, and then it gave a leap. Had he done wrong in getting the poor fellow down there, exhausted as he was? How did he know but that he might have caused the wounds to bleed again? There was consolation directly after, for he could hear Nat's calm, regular breathing, and, satisfied and relieved, Scarlett stepped now to his father's side to touch him, but found that he too was still sleeping calmly, while for the present it seemed that his duty was to keep guard. He seated himself on the stone floor, with his back in one of the angles, and listened for a time to the regular breathing; then his ravenous hunger made itself known to such an extent that, after comforting himself with the promise that he would get food that night, he took out and broke a piece off the bread cake, put it back, thought that those by him might require it, and determined to fight down his hunger. Hunger won the day. Scarlett made a brave fight, but he was weak; and, try how he would, his hand kept on going to the pocket wallet, and at last he did what was quite necessary under the circumstances--he ate heartily and well; and then, with a guilty feeling; troubling him, he yielded to a second kindly enemy. The breathing of his two patients was as regular as clockwork, and the silence and darkness seemed to increase, with the result that they acted in a strangely lulling way, and with such potency that, after a time, Scarlett started up, and stared about him at the dense blackness around. "Have I been to sleep?" he muttered, as he drew himself up a little more tightly, and prepared to keep his black watch firmly and well to the end--that is to say, till the time when he would start at dusk for the Manor. The next instant he was on his way there, creeping cautiously through the undergrowth, listening to the crackling of the wood he pressed with his feet, and finally making his way to the old house, where he was able to embrace his mother and sister, feeling his cheek wet with their tears, while Mistress Forrester made him up a basket of dainties, such as would invite the appetite of a wounded man. How delightful it all was! only he had to start back so soon, and as he hurried away, his mother called him back. "Scarlett! Scarlett!" How the words rang in his ears, as he looked back through the darkness-- Scarlett leaped to his feet, with a feeling of shame and contrition. "I must have been asleep," he exclaimed; and he listened to the breathing once more. "And what a vivid dream that was! How real it seemed!" he added. "I'll go along to the opening, and look out. That will keep me from going to sleep again." He started down the steps, and climbed out, wondering whether he had slept a minute, an hour, or a day, and to his delight he found and took back with him the provision lately placed there by Fred and Samson. "Well, we shall not starve," said Scarlett, thankfully, as he began thinking of his dream; but all the same, the voice which had broken in upon him calling his name sounded wonderfully real. _ |
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