The White Gauntlet

“Ah! if they would, what a happy, comfortable world we’d have o’t! But they woan’t – they woant – dang seize ’em! they woant!”

After giving utterance to this somewhat old-fashioned reflection, Gregory remained for a time in a state of moody silence – as if labouring under some regret which the thought had called up.

“You have some business with father?” said Bet, interrogatively.

“Well – that,” replied Garth, appearing to hesitate about what he was going to say – “that depends. Sartin the old un don’t look much like doin’ business just now – do he?”

“I fear not,” was Bet’s simple reply.

“May be, Mistress Betsey,” continued Garth, giving a glance of scrutiny into the face of the girl. “May be you might do for the business I have on hand – better, maybe, than thy father? I want – ”

“What is it you want?” inquired Betsey, too impatient to wait for the words, that were spoken by Garth with some deliberation.

“A friend. Not for myself; but for one that be in danger.”

“Who – who’s in danger?” asked the girl, with an eagerness of manner, that did not escape the quick eye of him to whom the interrogatory was addressed.

“A gentleman – a real gentleman. You ought to know who I mean?”

“I ought to know! How sir?”

“You han’t heerd, then, what hae’ happened at Stone Dean, this mornin’?”

Bet made no answer. Her look, while proclaiming a negative, told the presentiment with which the question had inspired her.

“You han’t heerd as how Master Holtspur ha’ been tuk a prisoner, and carried away by the kewreseers o’ Captain Scarthe? You han’t heerd that, eh?”

“Oh!” cried Bet, adding a somewhat more emphatic form of ejaculation. “That then is what he meant. I might have known it. O God – it was that!”

“Who meant? What?”

“Walford, Will Walford, oh! – the villain!”

“Thee callest him a villain. Do thy father think him one?”

“When he hears this, he will. Oh! Master Holtspur a prisoner! and to that man who is his deadly enemy! ’Tis Will Walford’s doings – I am sure it is.”

“What makes thee think that, gurl?”

“He said he had done something – this very hour – something to bring it about.”

“Did he say so to thy father?”

“No; only out of spite to me – just as he was going off. My father heard him, but he was too – too sleepy to understand him. If he had – ”

“He would ha’ been angry wi’ him – as thou art?”

“I’m sure he would.”

“All right. I thought as much.”

“A prisoner! Oh, sir! where have they taken him to? What will they do to him? Tell me – tell me!”

“I’ll tell thee, when I know myself; and that, gurl, be just the errand ha’ brought me over here. I see it be no use wakin’ up the old ’un just now. Them Hollands’ll keep him a prisoner, till well-nigh sundown. I’ the meanwhile, somethin’ must be done ’ithout him. Maybe you can sarve my purpose, as well, or better’n him – if thee be that way disposed.”

“What purpose? If it be anything I can do for – for – Master Holtspur! Oh, I shall be only too glad.”

“That be just what I want. Thee must know I’m a friend o’ Master Holtspur – an old retainer o’ his family; and I’ll lay down my life, or a’most that, to get him out o’ the clutches o’ these kewreseers. I know theer captain’ll try to get him beheaded. Ah! an’ he’ll get it done too; if we can’t find some way o’ escape for him. It’s to find that, I wants thy help, Mistress Betsey.”

“Tell me how I can help thee – I am ready for anything?” responded the girl.

As she said this, both her air and attitude betokened the truthfulness of her words.

“There be no time to lose, then; else I mout ha’ waited for yer father to go snacks wi’ us. No matter. We can take the first steps without him. It will be for you to go up to Bulstrode – that’s where they’ve taken Master Henry just now; an’ get inside the house. You be known there, beant ye?”

“Oh, yes; I can go in or out when I like. They won’t suspect anything in that.”

“It be more than I could do, wi’ that an’ a good many other houses,” said Garth, smiling significantly, “else I mout ha’ gone myself. But you’ll do better than me – better than anybody, mayhap. Find out, if ye can, first – whether the prisoner be goin’ to be taken up to London; then, what time they’re goin’ to take him; then, what part o’ the house they’ve put him in: for he’s sure to be shut up somewhere. Find out that; an’ as much more as you can; and fetch the whole story back here to me. Maybe by the time you gets back, the old un’ll be awake, an’ ha’ his noddle clear enough to help us think o’ something.”

“I shall go at once,” said Bet, moving in the direction of the door.

“Ay, start right off. The minutes be preecious for Master Henry. Stay! I’ll go with thee a bit. I’ve got another errand out this direction, that’ll just about take up my time, till ye get back. We may as well go thegither – so far as our roads agree. Good-bye, Dick Dancey! Snore on, old un; an’ sleep it off as quick’s ye can: we may want ye badly bye-an’-bye.”

And with this jocular leave-taking, the retired footpad stepped out of the house, and followed the girl – who, eager upon the errand that had summoned her forth, had already advanced some distance along the path.

Their routes did not correspond for any great length. At a distance of two or three hundred yards from the cottage, the path parted into two; one, the plainer one, running towards the rearward of Bulstrode Park; the other – which appeared as if used by only a few individuals – trending in the direction of Will Walford’s domicile.

The daughter of Dick Dancey faced into the former; and, stepping out nimbly, soon disappeared behind the hanging boughs of the beeches.

The ex-footpad, lingering a little to look after her, as soon as she was out of sight, turned into the other path; which would conduct him to the hut of the woodman.

Before going far in this new direction, he once more came to a stop, alongside a big bush of holly, that grew near the path. Drawing a clasp knife from his pocket, he proceeded to cut off one of its largest branches.

Having severed the sapling from its parent stem, he continued to ply his blade upon it, until it had assumed the shape and dimensions of a stout cudgel. The purpose for which this weapon was designed may already have been guessed at. If not, the mutterings which escaped from the lips of Gregory Garth will make clear his intent.

“I don’t want,” said he, paring off some of the more prominent knots with his knife. “I don’t want to kill the brute outright – though he desarve that much, an’ more too. I’ll gie ’im a dose, howsomever, as ’ll keep ’im in-doors, an’ out o’ further mischief – as long as I’m likely to stay in this sogerin’ neighbourhood. He han’t got much o’ a picter to spoil no how; or I’d make his ugly mug that his own mother if he ha’ one, wouldn’t like to swear to it. Next time he goo to play spy, or help others to do’t eyther, he’ll be apt to remember Gregory Garth. Won’t he?

“A tydish bit o’ stick,” he continued, holding up the piece of trimmed holly, and surveying it with an air of satisfaction, “and if I’d let them knots stay on, I shouldn’t like to ha’ answered for the skull case o’ Mister Wull Walford, thick as that be. I dare say it’ll do now, and I maun keep on to his house. Ha! theers his paltry stye, I suppose? I hope the pig’s in o’ it.”

Saying this, he advanced stealthily a few paces, and then stopped to listen.

“Good!” he exclaimed, “the brute be inside: I hear his gruntin’. Dang seize it, it’s a snore! They be all a-sleepin’ this Wapsey’s Wood! Well, I’ll wake him out o’ that, wi’ a heigh an’ a ho; and here goo to begin it!”

On giving utterance to this threat, he started forward at a quick pace. He was soon inside the hut, and standing over the prostrate form of the slumbering woodchopper.

The latter was lying upon a low bed – the true truckle of the peasant’s cottage – a stout structure of beechen timber, with short legs raising it about a foot from the floor.

The occupant of this coarse couch was upon his back, with arms and legs extended to their full length – as if he had been spread out on purpose to dry. But the liquid that had placed him in that attitude was not water. It was a fluid that had been administered internally: as could be told by the stone jar of hollands that stood upon the floor, within reach of his hand; and which his uninvited visitor upon examination found to be empty.