The Yeoman Adventurer
its long uneven lines of stables and coach-houses, all packed with
Camerons. At the news of the Prince's coming they trooped out, yelling
lustily. Some sort of order was formed, and the Prince walked up and down
among the swaying, uncouth masses, with a cheery smile on his face, and
with now and again a phrase of their own Gaelic on his lips.
"The men are keen enough," he said to the Colonel apart. "Let us go
within and see what mood young Lochiel is in now."
Lochiel, 'young' only by way of distinction from a Lochiel still older,
wanted no digging out, for, the news having been carried to him, he ran
out bareheaded and breathless. He was, in fact, a middle-aged gentleman,
broody and melancholy at times, as these men of the mountains are apt to
be when they've got brains. At the Council he had been silently set on
going back.
"Your men are in fine fettle, Lochiel," said Charles, "and as keen as
their claymores to be at it."
"They dinnae see the hoodie-craws gathering for the feast," said Lochiel
sombrely.
"They see the battle won and the spoils of victory, after the usual way
with the Camerons," replied the Prince.
"They havenae the gift of far-seeing," said the Chief, gloomily proud of
his own prophetic powers.
Charles started impatiently, and there would have been a wrangle but for
the Colonel.
"Sir," said he, addressing the Prince, "you will forgive an old
campaigner for being a stickler for the rules and procedures of military
operations. An inn-yard, with soldiery around and townsfolk gaping through
doors and windows, is no place for a council of war. The gentleman is
pleased to dream, of birds, as I gather. Let him back to the fireside and
dream of them in peace."
Without another word the Prince turned on his heel and strode out of the
yard. I attended him at first, but missed the Colonel, and turned back to
him, for Lochiel was all a Highlander, seer one minute and savage the
next. Indeed, I found him, all his moodiness gone, as mad as a hatter.
"I'll hae the heart's blood o' ye for this, prince or no prince," he
bawled at the Colonel, who, precisely as I expected, was seizing the
welcome opportunity of having a pinch of snuff.
"Good lad!" said he, holding out the box, as indifferent to the crowding
Camerons as if they were sheep. "Make it pigeons next time, Mr. Lochiel.
Damme, Oliver, this rappee gets unendurable."
His coolness took Lochiel off the boil, and he and I passed out without
another word into Sadler-gate and hurried after the Prince. We found the
progress somewhat ragged, and, as we were only a few yards from the corner
of Rotten Row, which forms the side of the square opposite Exeter House,
it was, I suppose, hardly worth while to trim it into shape again. In
those few yards, however, an incident much more to my liking occurred, for
just as we turned round the leading file of the rear of guards, we found
that the Prince had again halted, in the light of a shop-window, and this
time it was to talk to Margaret, who was standing there with Master Freake.
It was a large shop with two well-stocked bow-windows. The doorway
between them, and half the inwards of the shop, were filled with the shop
master, his apprentices, and customers, crowding and craning to get a
sight of the Prince. Over the door was a shield-shaped sign, bearing the
Derby ram for cognizance, and the legend, "Martin Moyle, Grocer and
Italian Warehouseman." I noted it then, because the word 'Italian' carried
me back to Margaret's tirra-lirring, and I note it down now because,
having looked at it, my eyes ranged over the heads of the gapers in the
doorway to where Maclachlan, on the fringe of the group, was dodging about
to find a place where he could see Margaret without being seen by the
Prince.
Master Freake was talking with the Prince as composedly as if they had
been friends of old standing. We had missed the beginning of their talk,
but it was plain that Charles had expected a recruit and was disappointed.
"And why do you stand aside from us both?" he asked.
"Sir," said the sedate merchant, "I am not interested in making kings."
"What then?"
"Kingdoms, sir."
"Kingdoms!" cried the Prince.
"Kingdoms!" reiterated Master Freake, with pride and emphasis. "But for
me, and men like me, this country would be a waste not worth fighting for."
The Prince looked with astonishment at the calm, solid man who made this
strange announcement. After a minute's reflection, he said, "Mr. Freake, I
would talk with you in private, if you will."
"With pleasure, sir," replied Master Freake.
"And, naturally, Mistress Waynflete will not be cruel," continued the
Prince, offering his arm.
Margaret took it, and the procession moved on again. Master Freake linked
his arm in mine, and we walked on together.
"You've had adventures, I hear, since we parted, Oliver."
"I fell into the claws of poetic justice," I answered, "and, having
failed as a real highwayman, nearly hanged as an imaginary one."
He laughed. "Well, keep out of the sergeant's claws. He's only five miles
off with a brace of his dragoons, but little Dot is watching him. The time
to deal with him is not yet. Wait till his lordship of Brocton joins him.
What do you think of the Prince?"
"I would not have believed a prince could be so likeable, sir."
"I am, and shall remain, a mere observer," he said, "a mere tracker-down
of ten per cent on good security, but I don't mind admitting that, prince
for prince, I prefer this young gentleman to the fat, snuffy, waddling,
little drill-sergeant he's trying to displace."
"You know the King, sir!"
"Well, and I know his weak spot, too, which is more important for our
purposes. If His Gracious Majesty went to bed to-night with as many
guineas in his pocket as that"--he jingled his loose coin vigorously--"he'd
sleep in his breeches."
On the way to Exeter House the Prince recovered his high spirits, and
even kept us waiting in the hall while he continued some lightsome
argument Margaret had led him into. At last he broke it off, laughing.
"Mr. Freake will think me an idle princeling for this, madam," he said.
"For your offence in thus hindering our matters of state we commit you to
ward, and straightly charge our loyal subject, Master Wheatman, to hold
you safe in keeping till after supper, when we will undertake to show you
that our Highland reel can be as graceful as your Italian fandango."
So, in great good humour, he went off with the Colonel and Master Freake.
"Your aide-de-camp's commission runs so far, I trust," said Margaret
demurely, "as to permit me to choose my own cell."
"I think that might be allowed, madam," I replied, with answerable
gravity, "but of course I must sit outside the door and keep strict watch
over you."
"You would, I suppose, feel surer of me if you sat inside the door?"
"Naturally, madam."
"Then come along! I must know all that's knowable about that ghost. 'I
never said any such thing,' quoth he! You're the cleverest man with your
tongue I ever met, Oliver. And with what a pretty heat he said it! Just
as, beyond a doubt, he did it with that pretty way he has."
If words were tones, and smiles, and eye-flashes, and lip-curlings, I
could tell you not only what Margaret said but how she said it, and how,
in saying it, she made mad sweet music ring within me.
We were out in the square again now, threading our way among people I
hardly saw for being so wrapt up in her.
"Was she a pretty ghost?"
"Very," said I decidedly.
"How old was she?"
"Eighteen, or thereabouts."
"Eighteen! Oh, dear! I never dreamed it was as bad as that. I think
kiss-giving and kissable ghosts over thirteen ought not to be allowed.
Eighteen! It's a clear incitement to suicide!"
I was laughing at her whimsical sally when one particular item in the
crowd demanded attention, for it obtrusively barred our way. It was
Maclachlan, once again hot and red with haste, waving a small package he
had in his hand.
"Ye left me, Mistress Margaret," he said. "I've been searching high and
low for ye."
"And I'm glad you've found me, for I see you've got me the olives. You
are indeed kind, Mr. Maclachlan."
"Ye left me!" he repeated passionately.
"That's true," she said lightly. "I forgot all about you till I saw a
hand with an obvious bottle of olives dangling from it."
Now this was not Margaret, or at least it was another strange side of
her. With me she had been almost absurdly grateful for such little
services as I had rendered. I had got her eggs, as he had got her olives,
but I and my eggs had not been received like this. I looked from one to
the other curiously. She was cool and smiling, as befitted some small
social occasion. He was just as clearly throbbing with passion. He, the
Maclachlan, had been neglected, and neglected for me! I wondered why
Margaret did not tell him that the Prince had commanded her company. That
should have satisfied even him; but no, she left him in his error, and
merely took the olives out of his hand, saying, "I hope they'll be fresh,
though it's hardly to be expected in a little town in the middle of
England."
Maclachlan had paid not the slightest attention to me and, while ready
enough to deal with him, I paid none to him, and began to think him
somewhat of an ass to be standing in the market-place of Derby airing his
passions. Fortunately, perhaps, Lord George Murray, striding by towards
Exeter House, caught sight of us and stopped abruptly.
"Ha' ye made a' right at the bridge yonder, Maclachlan?"
The young Chief's face supplied the answer.
"Ye havenae!" stormed Murray. "By gad, sir," lugging out his watch, "if
you don't, in two hours from now, report all arrangements made, I'll hae
ye shot by a squad of the Manchester ragabushes. Aff wi' ye, ye jawthering
young fule!"
Maclachlan went off without so much as a bow to Margaret.
"Have you taken out your commission, sir?" said Murray to me, snapping
the words out as though he would have them shear my head off.
"I have, my lord," I answered, forestalling the words with a correct
military salute.
"Then what the blazes are you doing here?"
"My lord," I answered firmly, "by the direct commission of His Royal
Highness, given to me personally, I am escorting this lady to jail."
"Then I'll forgive ye!" he retorted, and his strong face lost all its
anger and found the wraith of a smile. "Dinnae be too hard on the lassie!
She's ane of the right sort."
He returned my salute, bowed courteously to Margaret, and strode on
"Good lad!" said Margaret, happily mimicking her father. "You shall have
some of the olives in a minute or two."
"Olives seem to me precisely the right thing for us," said I.
"And why, sir?"
It was very curious to me to see how, in her speech to me, she whipped
about from the familiar "Oliver" to the stately "Sir." There was always a
reason for it, and I would have given much to know it.
"Your olives come from Italy, and I have been thinking of your Italian
count."
"So have I," she said very soberly, and never said another word till we
were safe and quiet in her day-room at the "Bald-Faced Stag."
For over two hours I had Margaret to myself, and we were as happy and
companionable as we had been in Dick Doley's cottage. And at this I
marvelled. Our Kate was the only woman I had to judge by, and when our
Kate got into her very best Sunday gown she got into her tantrums along
with it, and poor Jack, what with awe of her finery and anxiety lest he
should anger the minx, commonly had a thorny time of it. With Margaret it
was just the opposite. When we got in, she excused herself and went off to
her own room, coming back, after a weary time, in such a glory of silks
and satins that I blinked my eyes before her dazzlements. What made it