The White Gauntlet

“Pooh! pooh! Don’t make your mind uneasy about him. It appears to be only kittenly affection that’s between them. He’s just come home, after a three years’ absence from her apron-string; and it’s natural she should like to play with him a bit. Only as a toy, Stubbs. She’ll soon tire of him, and want another. Then will be your turn, my killing cornet.”

“Do you think so, captain?”

“Think so! Sure of it. Ha! if it were my game, I shouldn’t want an easier to play. Mine’s a different affair – very different. It will require all the skill of – of Captain Scarthe to win in that quarter. Ho! Who’s there? Come in!”

The interrogatory had been called forth by a knock heard outside. At the command to enter, the door was opened, showing a cuirassier standing upon the stoop, with his hand raised to his helmet.

“Your business, sergeant?” demanded the captain.

“A messenger has arrived, escorted by three files of dragoniers.”

“Whence?”

“From London.”

“Show him in; and see that his escort are taken care of outside.”

The sergeant disappeared to execute the order.

“This should be the bearer of the duplicate despatch?” said Scarthe conjecturally; “and, if it contains a countermand, I hope it has been also lost.”

“I doubt it,” rejoined the cornet; “the three files of dragoniers ought to have been a match for the dozen dummies!” and, as Stubbs said this, he smiled conceitedly at the pretty speech he had perpetrated.

The courier came in – a cavalier by his costume and bearing; but of a type very different from the one rifled by the robber. He was a grizzled old veteran, armed from the toes to the teeth; and his steel-grey eye, shining sagely through the bars of his helmet, betokened a character not likely to have been duped by Gregory Garth and his scarecrows. Had this individual been bearer of the original despatch, instead of the copy, in all likelihood the repentant footpad would have committed no other crime on that memorable night; and would have been saved the sin of breaking the promise he had made to his master.

“A courier from the king?” said Scarthe, bowing courteously as the cavalier came forward.

“A despatch from his Majesty,” returned the messenger, with an official salute, at the same time holding out the document. “It is the copy of one sent three days ago, and lost upon the road. Captain Scarthe, I believe, is already acquainted with the circumstance.”

A slight twinkling in the steel-grey eye of the speaker, while making the concluding remark, told that he had heard of the adventure, and was not insensible to its ludicrous nature.

“Oh, yes!” assented Scarthe. “I hope the bearer of the original has not come to grief through his misadventure.”

“Dismissed the service,” was the formal rejoinder.

“Ah! I am sorry for that. The fright he had was I should think punishment enough; to say nothing of the loss of his horse, purse, watch, and love locket. Ha! ha! ha!”

The hearty laugh in which the captain indulged, chorused by Stubbs, sanctioned only by a grim smile on the part of grey eye, told that the sympathy of the latter for the disgraced courtier was not very profound.

“Cornet Stubbs,” said Scarthe, turning to his subaltern, and waving his hand towards the messenger, “see that this gentleman does not die of hunger and thirst. Excuse me, sir, while I peruse the king’s despatch. Perhaps it requires an answer.”

The comet, inviting the courier to follow him, passed out of the room; while Scarthe, stepping into the embayment of the window, broke open the royal seal, and read:

“His Majestie the King to Captain Scarthe, commanding ye Cuirassiers in the County of Bucks.

“In addition to ye orders already given, Captain Scarthe is hereby commanded to raise by recruit in ye county of Bucks as many men as may be disposed to take service in his Maiestie’s regiment of cuirassiers; and he is by these same presents empowered with ye king’s authority to offer to each and every recruit a bounty as prescribed in if accompanying schedule.

“Furthermore, it having come to ye ear of his Majestie, that divers disloyal citizens of said shire of Bucks have of late shown symptoms of disaffection to his Majestie’s Government, in the holding of secret meetings, and divers other and like unlawful acts, and by speeches containing rebellious doctrines against his Majesty’s Government, and person as likewise against the well-being of ye state and ye church; therefore, his Majestie do command his loyal and trusted servant, ye Captain Scarthe aforesaid, to search, discover, and take cognisance of all such dissentious persons; and if he find good and substantial proof of their disloyalty, then is he hereby enjoined and commanded to communicate ye same to ye Secretary of his Majestie’s Council of State, in order that such rebellious subjects be brought to trial before ye Star Chamber, or ye High Commission Court, or such other court or courts as may conform to the nature of their offence and punishment.

“Given at our palace of Whitehall.

“Signed Carolus Rex.”

“Pish!” exclaimed Scarthe, as he concluded reading the despatch. “That’s a pretty duty to put me on! Making a spy of me! The king forgets that I am a gentleman!”

“I shall obey the first command readily enough. My troop wants recruiting; and I suppose, along with the increased numbers, I may get that colonelcy I ought to have had long ago. As to my eavesdropping about inns, and listening for every silly speech that Jack makes to Jem, and Jem repeats to Colin – with the usual embellishments of the rural fancy – I’ll do nothing of the sort; – unless,” added he, with a significant smile, “unless the queen commands me. To gratify her sweet grace, I’ll turn potboy, and wait upon the gossips of the tap. Ho! what’s this? – more writing; – a postscript! Perhaps, as in the letters of ladies, the most important part of the epistle?”

“Since writing the above dispatch, his Majesty hath been further informed that one of his Majestie’s subjects – by name Holtspur – and bearing the Christian name of Henry, hath more than any other been of great zeal in promoting the subversive doctrines aforementioned; and it is believed that the said Holtspur is an active instrument and coadjutor among the enemies of his Majesties government. Therefore Captain Scarthe is directed and enjoined to watch the goings and comings of ye said Holtspur, and if anything do appear in his conduct that may be deemed sufficient for a charge before ye Star Chamber, then is Captain Scarthe directed to proceed against and arrest the said individual. His Majestie in ye matter in question will trust to the discretion of Captain Scarthe to do nothing on slight grounds, – lest the arrest of a subject of his Majesty, who might afterwards be proven innocent, bring scandal on ye name and government of his Majestie.

“C.R.”

“Spy!” exclaimed Scarthe, starting to his feet as he finished reading the postscript, “Spy, you say? I thank you for the office. Fear me not, kind king! I’ll play the part to perfection.

“Did I not say so?” he continued, striding to and fro across the floor, and waving the paper triumphantly over his head. “The women are wise. They keep their best bit for the last. Henceforth of a letter give me the postscript!

“So, Master Henry Holtspur, I thought there was something not sound about you – ever since you drank that toast to taunt me. Aha! If I don’t have you on the hip – as Will Shakespeare says – then I’m not Dick Scarthe, captain of the king’s cuirassiers!

“Stay! I must go gently about this business – gently and cautiously. The king counsels it so. No fear for my rashness. I know when to be stormy, and when to be tranquil. Proofs are required. That won’t be difficult, I ween – where a red rebel stands before the bar. I’ll find proofs. Never fear, your Majesty. I’ll find, or frame them – proofs that will satisfy that scrupulous tribunal – the Star Chamber! ha! ha! ha!”

And, as he gave utterance to the satirical laugh, he passed rapidly out of the room – as if starting off in search of those proofs he so confidently expected to obtain.

Volume Two – Chapter Eight

We left the beautiful Bet Dancey, with her eyes fixed on the man she admired – waiting his entrance into her father’s cottage, and with a throbbing bosom.

Hers were not the only eyes that were watching Henry Holtspur – nor the only bosom throbbing at his approach. There was one other beating as wildly as hers, though with emotions of a far different kind. It was that of her discarded suitor.

On parting with his cruel sweetheart, Will Walford had walked on among the trees, not caring what direction he took. The horoscope of a happy life, as the husband of Bet Dancey – which he had been long contemplating – had become dim and dark by the very decided dismissal he had just received; and the young woodman’s world, circumscribed though it might be, was now, to his view, a vast chaos.

For a time he could find no other occupation for either thought or speech, than to repeat the revengeful phrase with which he had signalised his departure.

Only for a short time, however, did he continue in this reckless mood. The fact of his sweetheart being done up in her holiday dress, once more recurred to him – along with the suspicion that she must be expecting some one.

This thought checked his steps – bringing him to an instantaneous halt.

Despite his ungracious dismissal – despite the hopelessness of his own suit – he determined on discovering who was the happy rival – who it was for whom that boddice had been buttoned on.

That there was such an individual he could scarce have a doubt. The girl’s manner towards himself – her air of anxiety while he stayed in her presence – the desire she had expressed for him to follow, and overtake her father – and finally the banging of the door in his face – all pointed to a wish on her part to get rid of him as soon as possible. Even the dull brain of the brute was quick enough to be convinced of this.

If he had any doubting hope upon the subject, it was determined by the baying of the lurcher, which at this moment broke upon his ear. The dog could no longer be barking at him? Some other arrival must have engaged the animal’s attention; and who could that other be, but the man for whom Bet’s black tresses had been so coquettishly coifed?

The jealous rustic faced round and commenced returning towards the hut – as if the bark of the dog had been a command for him to do so.

Very different, however, was the attitude exhibited on his backward march. Instead of the reckless devil-me-care swagger with which he had taken his departure, he now made approach with the instinctive caution of one accustomed to the woods; sheltering himself behind the trunks of the trees, and gliding from one to the other – as if afraid of being shot at, by somebody lying in wait within the cottage.

After arriving upon the edge of the open ground, that extended some yards outside the enclosure – he came to a final stop – crouching down behind a bush of holly, whose thick dark foliage appeared sufficient to screen him from the observation of any one – either in the cottage or in front of it.

The first glance which he gave, after getting into position, discovered to him the individual whose arrival had set the dog to barking. Had it been the coarse cuirassier – Bet’s latest conquest – or even the officer who at the fête had made so free with her lips, Will Walford would have been pained by the presence of either. But far more dire were his thoughts, on perceiving it was neither one nor the other – but a rival infinitely more to be dreaded – his own patron – the protector of Maid Marian.