Beau Brocade by Baroness Emmuska Orczy (hardest books to read .txt) 📖

young man stood in the doorway and watched the little squad as, preceded by their Sergeant, they plodded their way northwards in quest of fortune. John Stich too followed them with his eyes, until the bend in the road hid the red coats from view. Then both turned and came within.

But Lady Patience through it all never looked at the soldiers; her eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, were fixed upon the stranger in the forge, as if in a trance of joy and gratitude.

Chapter XI

The Stranger’s Name

Mistress Betty was the first to recover from terror and surprise. She too had fixed a pair of large and wondering eyes upon the stranger.

“‘Tis the gentleman who brought the letter from his lordship last night,” she whispered to her mistress.

Patience closed her eyes for a moment: her spirit, which had gone a-roaming into the land of dreams, where dwell heroes and proud knights of old, came back to earth once more.

“Then he must have guessed my brother was here,” she murmured, “and did it to save him.”

But the tension being relaxed, already the bright and sunny nature, which appeared to be the chief characteristic of the stranger, quickly re-asserted itself, and soon he was laughing merrily.

“Oh! ho! gone, by my faith!” he said to John. “Odd’s life! but he swallowed that, clean as a mullet after bait, eh, friend Stitch?”

It seemed as if he purposely avoided looking at Patience: perhaps, with the innate delicacy of a kindly nature, he wished to giver her time to recover her composure. But now she came forward, turning to him with a gentle smile that had an infinity of pathos in it.

“Sir,” she said, “I would wish to thank you …”

He put up his hand, with a gesture of self-deprecation.

“To thank me, madam?” he said, with profound deference. “Nay! you do but jest. I have done nothing to deserve so great a favour.”

He bowed to her with perfect courtly grace, but she would not be gainsaid. She wished to think that he had acted thus for her.

“Sir, you wrong your own most noble deed,” she said. “Will you not allow me to keep this sweet illusion, that what you did just now, you did from the kindness of your heart, and because you saw that we were all anxious… and that … I was unhappy…”

She looked divinely faire as she stood there beside him, with the rays of the slanting September sun touching the halo of her hair with a wand of gold. Her voice was musical and low, and there was a catch in her throat as she held out one tiny, trembling hand to him.

He took it in his own strong grasp, and kept it a prisoner therein for awhile, then he bent his slim young figure and touched her finger-tips with his lips.

“Faith, madam!” he said, “by that sweet illusion, an it dwell awhile in your memory, I am more than repaid.”

In the meanwhile John had pushed open the small door which led to the inner shed.

“Quite safe, my lord!” he shouted gaily, “only friends present.”

Brother and sister, regardless of all save their own joy in this averted peril, were soon locked in each other’s arms. Captain Bathurst had heard her happy cry: “Philip!” had seen the look of gladness brighten her tear-dimmed eyes, and a curious feeling of wrath, which he could not explain, caused him to turn away with a frown and a sigh.

Patience was clinging to her brother, half hysterical, nervous, excited.

“You are safe, dear,” she murmured, touching with trembling motherly hands the dear head so lately in peril, “quite safe … let me feel your precious hands … oh! it was so horrible! ... another moment and you were discovered! ... Sir!” she added once more, turning to the stranger with the sweet impulse of her gratitude, “my thanks just now must have seemed so poor… I was nervous and excited … but see! here is one who owes you his life, and who, I know, would wish to join his thanks to mine.”

But there was a change in his manner now. He bowed slightly before her and said very coldly,—

“Nay, madam! let me assure you once again that I have done naught to deserve your thanks. John Stitch is my friend, and he seemed in trouble … if I have had the honour to serve you at the same time, ‘tis I who should render thanks.”

She sighed, somewhat disappointed at his coldness. But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out both hands to him.

“Nay, sir,” he said, “I know not who you are, but I heard everything from behind that door, and I know that I owe you my life…”

“I beg you, sir…”

“Another moment and I had rushed out and sold my life dearly. Your noble effort, sir, did more than save that life,” he added, taking Patience’s hand in his, “it spared a deep sorrow to one who is infinitely dear to me … my only sister.”

“Your … your sister?”

“Aye! my sister, Lady Patience Gascoyne. I am the Earl of Stretton, unjustly attainted by Act of Parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is henceforth at your command.”

“Indeed, Philip,” added Patience, gently, “we already are deeply in this gentleman’s debt. Betty, who saw him, tells me that it was he who brought me your letter yester night.”

“You, sir!” exclaimed Stretton in profound astonishment, “then you are …”

He paused instinctively, for he had remembered his conversation with John Stitch earlier in the day; he remembered the anger, the wonder, which he had felt when the smith told him that he had entrusted the precious letter for Lady Patience to Beau Brocade, the highwayman…

“Then you are …?” repeated Philip, mechanically.

Patience was clinging to her brother, with her back towards the stranger, so she did not see the swift look of appeal the slender finger put up in a mute, earnest prayer for silence. But now she turned and looked inquiringly at him, her eyes asking for a name by which she could remember him.

“Captain Jack Bathurst,” he said, bowing low, “at your command.”

Chapter XII

The Beautiful White Rose

But of course there was no time to be lost. Captain Jack Bathurst was the first to give the alarm.

“Those gallant lobsters won’t be long in finding out that they’ve been hoodwinked,” he said, “an I mistake not, they’ll return here anon with a temper slightly the worse for wear. They must not find your lordship here at any rate,” he added earnestly.

“But what’s to be done?” asked Patience, all her anxiety returning in a trice, and intinctively turning for guidance to the man who already had done so much for her.

“For the next hour or two at any rate his lordship would undoubtedly be safer on the open Moor,” said Bathurst, decisively. “‘Tis night on sunset, and the shepherds are busy gathering in their flocks. There’ll be no one about, and ‘twould be safer.”

“On the open Moor?”

“Aye! ‘tis not a bad place,” he said, with a touch of sadness in his fresh young voice. “I myself …”

He checked himself and continued more quietly,—

“Your lordship could return here after sundown. You’d be safe enough for the night. After that, an you’ll grant me leave, my friend Stich and I will venture to devise some better plan for your safety. For the moment, I pray you, be guided by this good advice, and seek the protection of the open Moor.”

He had spoken so earnestly, with such obvious heartfelt concern, and at the same time with such quiet firmness, that instictively Philip flet inclined to obey; the weaker nature turned for support to the stronger one, to whose dominating influence it felt compelled to yield. He turned to Patience, and her eyes seemed to tell him that she was ready to trust this stranger.

“Aye! I’ll go, sir!” he sighed wearily.

He kissed his sister with all the fondness of his aching heart. All his hopes for the future were centred in her and in the long journey she was about to undertake for his sake.

Bathurst discreetly left brother and sister alone. He knew nothing of their affairs, of their plans, their hopes. Stitch was too loyal to speak of his lord, even to a man whom he trusted and respected as he did the Captain. The latter knew that a hunted man was in hiding in the smith’s forge, he had taken a message from the man to the lady at Stretton Hall, now he knew for certain that the fugitive was the Earl of Stretton. But that was all.

Being outside the pale of the law himself, his sympathies at once ranged themselves on the side of the fugitive. Whther the latter were guilty or innocent matter little to Jack Bathurst; what did matter to him was that the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on was unhappy and in tears.

Philip, seeing that he could talk to his sister unobserved, whispered eagerly,—

“The letters, dear, have a care; how will you carry them?”

“In the drawer underneath the seat of the coach,” she whispered in reply, “I’ll not leave the coach day or night until I’ve reached London. From Wirksworth onwards I’ll be travelling with relays: I need neither spare horses nor waste a moment’s time. I can be in town in less than six days.”

“When will your coach be ready?”

“In a few minutes now, and I’ll start at once: but go, go now, dear,” she urged tenderly, “since Captain Bathurst thinks it better that you should.”

She kissed him again and again, her heart full of hope and excitement at thought of what she could do for him, yet aching because of this parting. It was terrible to leave him in this awful peril, to be far away if danger once again became imminent!

When at last he had torn himself away from her, he made quickly for the door, where Bathurst had been waiting for him.

“Ah, sir!” sighed Philip, bitterly, “‘tis a sorry plight for a soldier and a gentleman to hide for his life like a coward and a thief.”

But Bathurst before leaving was looking back at the beautiful picture of Patience’s sweet face bathed in tears.

“Like a thief?” he murmured. “Nay, sir, thieves have no angels to guard and love them: methinks you have no cause to complain of your fate.”

There was perhaps just a thought of bitterness in his voice as he said this, and Patience turned to him, and gazed at him in tender womanly pity through her tears. At once the electrical, sunny nature within him again gained the upper hand. Laughter and gaiety seemed with him to be always close to the surface, ready to ripple out at any moment, and calling forth hope and confidence in those around.

“An you’ll accept my escort, sir,” he said cheerfully to Philip. “I’ll show you a sheltered spot known only to myself… and to Jack o’ Lantern,” he added, giving a passing tender tap to his beautiful horse. “He and I are very fond of the Moor, eh, Jack, old friend? ... We are the two Jacks, you see, sir, and seldom are seen apart. Together we discovered the spot which I will show you, sir, and where you can lie perdu until nightfall. ‘Tis safe and lonely and but a step from this forge.”

Philip accepted the offer gratefully. Like his sister, he too felt that he could trust Jack Bathurst. As he walked by his side along the unbeaten track