The Yeoman Adventurer
worse was that there was a comb--as she called it, though I should in my
ignorance have thought it some rich and rare work in filigree belonging to
an empress--which, owing to the smallness of her mirror and the poor
light, she could not get to sit perfectly in its golden cushion, and I was
bidden to put it where and as it ought to be. I was a long time over the
task, in part because I was really clumsy, but mainly because I was in no
hurry. I got it right at last, and even ventured, very craftily and
lightly, to kiss it as it lay there.
"It's quite right now," said I.
"At last! I'm afraid it's been a trouble to you. Now, Oliver, open the
bottle of olives, and, while we eat them, tell me all about the ghost."
Many a time in the hard days that came to me later, I refreshed my soul
by thinking those happy hours over again. They are part of me, but no part
of my story, and I make no record of them here. We had long talks, with
long silences between them, as can only happen with very real friends who
are company for one another without a clatter of words.
At last this golden time came to an end, for in walked the Colonel and
Master Freake to supper.
"I am thankful," said the Colonel to Margaret. "Murray told me you'd been
taken to jail."
"You heard the news with great content, I suppose," said Margaret.
"I did, because--" He stopped to frown into the snuff-box.
"Because of what? Pray observe, gentlemen, what an affectionate father I
have!"
"Because he also told me the name of your jailer!"
"You don't deserve to have a daughter," declared Margaret, with such a
pretence of vehemence that her cheeks, between and beneath her coils of
yellow hair, blazed like two poppies in a wheat-shook.
"I've made up for it by deserving something even better, and that's a
good supper. Pull the bell, Oliver!"
* * * * *
Arrived in the great chamber at Exeter House, we found Charles making his
last stand. Feeling ran riot; there was little regard for the regentship
of the Prince; true to itself to the end, the Stuart cause was dying in a
babel of broken counsels.
The ladies of the party were collected, uncertain and disquieted, on the
hearth, where Margaret joined them, while the Colonel and I made our way
and stood behind the Prince.
"His Grace of Perth desires to go on," said Charles. "So does Glencoe. So
do my faithful Irish friends. Your men, as you well know, expect to go on.
To get them to go back, you must start in the dead of night and lie to
them, telling them they are going on. Only you, their chiefs and fathers,
want to go back."
"To hell with the Irish!" cried one from the background. "They're no'
worth the dad of a bonnet."
"It's no matter to them," said another man by him. "They've neither haid
nor maid to lose."
This fetched O'Sullivan to his feet in a tearing rage. "We've got lives
to lose," he cried, "and, by G--, we're not afraid to lose 'em!"
At this the yelling must have been heard in the square, and the
gesticulating and grimacing would have been amusing on a less serious
occasion. At last, in a lull in the gale, the Colonel, addressing the
Prince, curtly demanded, "Who is the chief military commander of your
army, sir?"
"My Lord George Murray," answered Charles bitterly.
"Then it's time your commander commanded. This spells disaster whether we
go on or go back."
"It's the plain truth you're telling, Colonel Waynflete," said Lord
Ogilvie loudly. In an undertone I heard him say, "Oot wi' it, Geordie!"
When Murray arose, everybody knew the finishing touch was to be put to
the business, and a strained silence fell on the assembly.
"I have advised ye to go back, sir," he said, "because, in the complete
absence of the support we were led to expect, it is foolish to go on. Your
Royal Highness wants to go on, and there's not a man here who does not
honour you for your courage. Now, sir, I will go on, and so shall every
man here I can command or influence, if those who hae tell't ye behind my
back that they think we ought to go on will put their opinion down in
writing and subscribe their names to it, here and now. One condition more,
sir. That writing, so subscribed, shall be sent by a sure hand direct from
this town to His Majesty in Rome, so that he may judge each man justly."
"I agree," said Charles eagerly. "Pen and paper, Mr. Secretary!"
It at once became clear, however, that Murray had taken the measure of
the men he had to deal with.
"Why make flesh of one and fish of another?" asked O'Sullivan, and old
Sir Thomas nodded approval of the question.
"The decision should be the decision of the Council," said the Duke of
Perth.
"Will ye write your names to it, or will ye not?" demanded Murray.
No one spoke.
"That settles it, sir," said Murray. "But I desire you, Mr. Secretary, to
make a note of my offer and its reception."
"Have your way!" said Charles, in sullen anger. "But it settles another
thing for ye. I call no more councils."
He turned and strode out of the room. The Stuart cause was in its coffin,
and it only remained for us to give it a fair burial.
When the door closed behind the Prince, the Colonel whispered in my ear,
"Slip off and tell Freake!"
I did the journey at a run, and found Master Freake sitting, quietly
meditative, but booted and spurred for his journey.
"Well, Oliver?"
"We go back to-night."
In five minutes I was standing in the Ironmarket at his grey mare's head.
"I'm not deserting you, lad," said he, gripping my hand heartily.
"Of course not, sir. Good-bye, and good luck!"
"My love to Margaret. Look out for the sergeant. Good-bye!"
CHAPTER XXII
A BROTHER OF THE LAMP
Two days afterwards, towards six o'clock on a bitter evening, I rode
wearily into Leek. I was having a hard apprenticeship in soldiering under
a master who had no idea of sparing either me or himself. For the Colonel
had accepted the post of second, under Murray, in command of our
rear-guard, and had made it a condition of acceptance that I should be
with him. Some thirty Highlanders, mostly Macdonalds, picked dare-devils,
had been mounted and turned into dragooners, and I, thanks to the Colonel,
had been made Captain over them.
"The lad's no experience, but he's got sense," he said to my lord George
Murray.
"I ken him weel aneugh," said his lordship. "He threatened to knock my
head off. D'ye ca' that sense, Kit Waynflete?"
"Since your head's still on your shoulders," said the Colonel, fumbling
for his snuff, "I do. He knocked Maclachlan's Donald into a log of timber,
and, damme, I hardly saw his hand move."
"That's only a trick, sir," I protested.
"Weel, Captain Wheatman," said Murray, "keep your ugly English tricks to
y'rsel. Mind ye, colonel or no colonel, I'll break ye first chance ye gie
me."
Maclachan was, I must say, very obliging and complimentary over my
promotion. He gave me Donald to be my sergeant and personal servant,
finding him, how I knew not, a horse strong enough to carry him easily.
"It is ferra guid," said Donald to his chief. "Er shall pe lookit to as
if her were ma mither's own son."
To me, Captain Wheatman, clinking about in the corridor waiting for the
Colonel, comes William, suave and confidential as ever.
"Well, William," said I. "Any more coincidences?"
"Yes, sir," said he, and began his hand-washing.
"You'll die a rich man, William."
"No, sir. This particular coincidence made me the poorer by, I should
say," suspending his washing to calculate, "some five shillings."
"The devil it did! How was that?"
"Your honour's clothes that you left behind, sir, when you were
transmuted, as my lord would say, were stolen."
"And you value them at five shillings! I ought to crack your head for you."
"Yes, sir. Cast-offs sells very cheap, sir. But the coincidence, sir!
I've not really come to that yet."
"Go on, William! You interest me deeply."
"I found them, sir, at the bottom of the garden, torn to rags, sir!"
"And sold 'em for fivepence! Eh, thrifty William?"
"Sixpence, to be exact, sir!"
The Colonel rushed me off, but I found time to give the rascal a crown,
which put him sixpence in pocket. A servant ought to have his vails, and,
besides, William's concern amused me a good crown's worth.
This was late on in the night after the final decision to go back, and
since then I had been scouting miles behind the main body of our
rear-guard, so as to make sure that the Duke's horse were not on our
track. I had slept by driblets as opportunity offered. Now, my purpose
accomplished, I was looking forward to supper and bed, having left a
patrol of fresh men some six miles back to watch the southern road.
There was one thing in my mind, however, that must be attended to first.
I must see Mistress Hardy of Hardiwick. My heart ached for her, for I knew
how sorely she would feel the retreat of the Prince. Moreover, the
clansmen were not likely to discriminate between her and other townsfolk,
and I would save her from disturbance. So, jumping off the sorrel, and
giving him in charge to one of my men, I started for the little cottage. I
was turning the corner out of the square when some one, running lightly
behind me, placed a hand on my arm and detained me. It was Margaret.
"You've no need to trouble, Oliver," she said. "I've kept a room for you
at the 'Angel.'"
"Thank you," I replied. "You are very kind, madam."
"Poof! Come along! You're so tired that you can hardly keep your eyes
open to look at me. Come along, sir!" She was merrily pulling at my arm as
she spoke. "I don't want to be obliged to return you every service, you
know, sir!"
"No, madam! Certainly not."
"No, indeed, sir! I'm not going to put you to bed, except as the very
last resource."
"Fortunately, madam, I'm a long way from needing that. In a few minutes I
shall gladly take advantage of your care for me. First, however, I must
see to our old friend to whom the Prince gave the brooch."
"We'll go together!" said Margaret, putting her arm in mine.
The cottage was dark and silent, welcome proof that she was undisturbed.
I knocked gently, and, after a short delay, the door opened, and her woman
appeared, candle in hand.
"I knew you'd come, sir," she said simply. "And this is your lady! Come
in!"
Candle in hand, she paced ahead of us to the door of the room, and then
stood aside, erect and solemn, to let us pass in. I looked at her closely.
The worried, anxious look on her comely face had gone, and she was
subdued, calm, and happy.
"Thank God!" she whispered. "She's at peace!"
I stepped ahead of Margaret into the fine old room, with its pleasant
memorials of ancientry. There they were, just as I had seen them--scutcheon,
portrait, glove, and pounce-box. There was no change in them;
they were the abiding elements on which a strong soul had kept itself
strong. But change there was. At the _prie-Dieu_, kneeling in a
rapture before the Virgin Mother, was a solemn, black-robed priest. A
narrow white bed was in the room. Two large candles burned steadily at its
head, two at the foot; and on the bed, the linen turned down to reveal the
thin, frail hands crossed below the Prince's brooch, lay the still, white
form of our lady of the square. God had taken her to Himself. Death had
caught her with a welcoming smile on her face, and, in pity and ruth, had
left it there.
The Hardys of Hardiwick had given their last gift to the cause.
Tears were streaming down Margaret's cheeks. With shaking hands she
removed her hat and, kneeling down at the bedside, clasped her hands in
prayer.
"She talked no end about you, sir," whispered the serving-woman, "and
about the beautiful lady with you. That standing in the cold square to see