AN ADVENTURE ON THE CANTERBURY ROAD

It is difficult for me to describe my feelings at this time. For while on the one hand I was pleased that the king should speak so kindly to me, I was in a most unaccountable way disturbed at the news of Mistress Constance Denman's imprisonment. So much so that, as I have said, I determined that, happen what would, I would rescue her from prison. Why I should decide to do this may seem to the reader somewhat of a puzzle.

I knew but little of her, and even that which I knew was not in her favour. She was the wife of a man who, although calling himself a Puritan, was a hard, unscrupulous man, evidently one who would intrigue against the king, and be a party to murder. But not only this, she was herself guilty of attempted murder, and therefore a dangerous woman. I knew that General Monk had been much hated when he had yielded to the desires of those who sought to bring about the king's return, especially as he was thought to have been a traitor to all the promises he had made. Nevertheless, none but a desperate lawless woman would be guilty of attempted murder, and thus the justice of which the king had spoken was surely merited.

In spite of this, however, I determined to save her. It is true she had treated me with scant courtesy, and although she had told me to wait outside Pycroft Hall until her return, she had never again appeared.

Evidently she had left Pycroft Hall only to be taken prisoner, and then conveyed to Bedford. I knew by the look on Monk's face that no mercy would be shown, while it was easy to be seen that the new king would be anything but clement towards the daughter of John Leslie, who had been one of the princ.i.p.al actors in bringing about the death of his father.

Still, I was not changed in my resolution, neither for that matter could I bring myself to believe that she was guilty of the crime of which she was accused. I knew that she was a brave, resolute woman. No one could be with her as I had been and not be sure of that, but her face was not the face of one who could coldly meditate upon and arrange for murder.

Pa.s.sionate she might be, and therefore in the heat of the moment might be led to do a terrible deed. But she could not plan to do it. Such a scheme as had been described to me must have been brooded over in cold blood, and I could not believe that she could have done this.

I called to mind my first sight of her features, and I felt confirmed in my impression. She was only twenty, and her face was free from the possibility of such a crime. A n.o.ble face I thought it was, and even at the time I felt that its possessor was a n.o.ble woman.

All this pa.s.sed through my mind as I stood beneath the canopy prepared for the king, while the mult.i.tudes were shouting all around. So much was I occupied with them, moreover, that unlike the others I did not follow his Majesty to the great coach in which he was to ride to Canterbury; but remained there alone, brooding over what I had heard.

"Roland."

"Yes, father."

"Come! we must needs haste."

"Why?"

"Because we will follow in the procession to Canterbury. The horses are saddled. I have seen to that."

"Yes, father."

This I said like one in a dream, for while I had it in my mind that the journey to Canterbury would suit me well, seeing that we should be on our way to London, my mind was so occupied with other things that I paid but scant heed to his words.

A little later we were on our way out of the town, a great crowd following the king, while a greater crowd prepared to remain in Dover, so as to take part in the carousing which had, been arranged. On the hill near I saw Dover Castle, which looked stately and grand in the smiling sunlight, while seaward the waters gleamed brightly, as though nature sought to harmonize with the gladness of the mult.i.tude. All around the people continued to cry "G.o.d save the king!" while guns boomed with a great, thundering noise, and bands of music played merry tunes.

"Methinks, this is a great day, Roland," said my father, who rode close to my side.

I did not reply, for my mind was full of the thought of the woman who lay in prison.

"The king seemed pleased with you."

"Ay," I replied, "I trust so."

"Trust nothing, Roland."

I gazed nervously around, fearing lest my father's words should be heard and reported to the king.

"You need not fear to speak, Roland," said my father. "No attention is paid to us. Besides, there is such a noise that no man can hear you speak, save me, whose ear is close to your mouth. In truth had I a matter of secrecy to discuss I would desire no better place."

I continued silent, first because there seemed nought to say, and second because I thought of other matters.

"I have thought much of what you related to me last night," continued my father, "and I have concluded that you have forgotten to speak to me of many matters."

In this my father spoke truly, for although I had spoken freely concerning my interview with old Solomon, I had said but little concerning the woman whose fate had become of so much interest. Why I had refrained from doing this I knew not, yet so it was.

"I have told you all I know concerning the thing I went to seek," I replied.

"Ay, that is so, Roland, and thou hast never told me a lie. But I am convinced of this: That old man never intended thee to die in that cavern."

"No," I replied. "What is your reason for believing that?"

"I have many reasons."

"Then why did he leave me?"

"To return after you had fasted two or three days, and when your strength would be so gone that he would be able to make his own terms with you."

I had not thought of this before, and I wondered at my dullness, for there was sense in my father's surmise, and I fancied there might be truth in it.

"I see gay doings ahead," said my father presently.

"Ay," I replied, for I was thinking of the reception the king would meet in London.

"Never did a king come to a throne under fairer skies," said my father.

"He hath come back without conditions. His will is as powerful as his father desired his own to be. But there will be a terrible time for the Puritans."

"But he hath promised general forgiveness."

"He is the son of his father, and all the world knows what a Stuart's promises are worth. But never mind, thou hast found favour. See that thou dost make use of it. But ask for nothing yet; throw your dice carefully. But, Roland, you must obtain those papers."

Again I looked nervously around, but I saw at a glance that no one paid heed to us.

"I tell you, you must do nothing until they are in your possession."

"No," I replied eagerly enough, for his commands fell in with my mood.

"I can do nothing to help you."

I looked at him inquiringly.

"Nothing. I shall have other things to look after. But you are no fool, and you must do it yourself. And mind, never sow your seed until your ground is prepared."

At this I set to wondering much as to what might be in my father's mind, but not, I am afraid, to much purpose, seeing that the noise of the crowd seemed to increase rather than diminish, especially as we drew near Canterbury.

Arrived at this old city, the king make straight for the Cathedral, and so great was the mult.i.tude who desired to follow him that I became separated from my father; and then, scarcely regretting the happening, I rode away from the turmoil, and set out for London town with all speed.

A full hundred miles lay before me, but I hoped that by hard riding, even although the day was somewhat spent, I should get thither before midnight. My horse had rested for several days, and had been well fed and groomed during the time, and being a creature of high mettle, he responded to the feelings of his rider, and dashed forward at a fine speed. I had not ridden many miles, however, before I noticed that two men were riding behind me, and as I judged were anxious to keep me in sight. At first I took but little note of them, but when I found they kept about the same distance from me, neither losing nor gaining upon me, I began to wonder what was in their minds. About five o'clock in the afternoon I stopped at an inn, so that I might obtain refreshment for my horse and myself, and also, as I thought, give them an opportunity of pa.s.sing me. I took my place near the window, so that I might be able to watch my horse and the road, at the same time, but although I let nothing escape me, I saw neither of them pa.s.s by the hostelry in which I was sitting.

"They must have taken some other road," I said to myself, and when after a few minutes I again mounted, and on looking around saw no sign of them, I was confirmed in my impression. But in this I was quickly deceived, for I had not gone a mile along the road, before I heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and on turning round, I saw these same two men at a short distance from me.

I stopped, determining to have the matter out with them, but the moment I did so they likewise stopped, as if by set purpose.

"Two to one," I said to myself, "and both are armed. It were foolish for me to pick a quarrel." So I determined to outdistance them by hard riding. But here again I failed to succeed, for although as I have said Black Ben was young and fleet, I could gain not one yard upon them.