Beau Brocade

Master Inch was somewhat taken off his balance. Mittachip's disappearance and this stranger's impertinence had taken his breath away. Before he had time to recover it, Bathurst had pressed the silver crown into his capacious palm.

"Now tell Squire West, friend," he said with that pleasant air of authority which he knew so well how to assume, "that I am here by the command of Lady Patience Gascoyne and am waiting to speak with him."

Master Inch was so astonished that he found no word either of protest or of offended dignity. He looked doubtfully at the crown for a second or two, weighed it in his mind against the problematical half-crown promised by the defaulting attorney, and then said majestically, —

"I will impart her ladyship's cognomen to his Honour myself."

The next moment Jack Bathurst found himself alone in a small private room of the Court House, looking forward with suppressed excitement to the interview with Squire West, which in a moment of dare-devil, madcap frolic, yet with absolute coolness and firm determination, he had already arranged in his mind.

CHAPTER XXIV

HIS HONOUR, SQUIRE WEST

Squire West was an elderly man, with a fine military presence and a pleasant countenance beneath his bob-tail wig: in his youth he had been reckoned well-favoured, and had been much petted by the ladies at the county balls. Owing to this he had retained a certain polish of manner not often met with in the English country gentry of those times.

He came forward very politely to greet the courier of Lady Patience Gascoyne.

"What hath procured to Brassington the honour of a message from Lady Patience Gascoyne?" he asked, motioning Bathurst to a chair, and seating himself behind his desk.

"Her ladyship herself is staying in the village," replied Jack, "but would desire her presence to remain unknown for awhile."

"Oh, indeed!" said the Squire, a little flurried at this unexpected event, "but … but there is no inn fitting to harbour her ladyship in this village, and … and … if her ladyship would honour me and my poor house…"

"I thank you, sir, but her ladyship only remains here for an hour or so, and has despatched me to you on an important errand which brooks of no delay."

"I am entirely at her ladyship's service."

"Lady Patience was on her way from Stretton Hall, your Honour," continued Bathurst, imperturbably, "when her coach was stopped on the Heath, not very far from here, and her jewels, money, and also certain valuable papers were stolen from her."

Squire West hemmed and hawed, and fidgeted in his chair: the matter seemed, strangely enough, to be causing him more annoyance than surprise.

"Dear! dear!" he muttered deprecatingly.

"Her ladyship has written out her formal plaint," said Jack, laying the paper before his Honour. "She has sent her coach on to Wirksworth, but thought your Honour's help here at Brassington would be more useful in capturing the rogue."

"Aye!" murmured the worthy Squire, still somewhat doubtfully, and with a frown of perplexity on his jovial face. "We certainly have a posse of soldiers – a dozen or so at most – quartered in the village just now, but…"

"But what, your Honour?"

"But to be frank with you, sir, I fear me that 'twill be no good. An I mistake not, 'tis another exploit of that rascal, Beau Brocade, and the rogue is so cunning! … Ah!" he added with a sigh, "we shall have no peace in this district until we've laid him by the heels."

It was certainly quite obvious that the Squire was none too eager to send a posse of soldiers after the notorious highwayman. He had himself enjoyed immunity on the Heath up to now, and feared that it would be his turn to suffer if he started an active campaign against Beau Brocade. But Bathurst, from where he sat, had a good view through the casement window of the village green, and of the Royal George beyond it. Every moment he expected to see Sir Humphrey Challoner emerging from under the porch and entering this Court House, when certainly the situation would become distinctly critical. The Squire's hesitancy nearly drove him frantic with impatience, yet perforce he had to keep a glib tongue in his head, and not to betray more than a natural interest in the subject which he was discussing.

"Aye!" he said gaily, "an it was that rogue Beau Brocade, your Honour, he's the most daring rascal I've ever met. The whole thing was done in a trice. Odd's fish! but the fellow would steal your front tooth whilst he parleyed with you. He fired at me and hit me," he added ruefully, pointing to his wounded shoulder.

"You were her ladyship's escort on the Heath, sir?"

"Aye! and would wish to be of assistance in the recovery of her property: more particularly of a packet of letters on which her ladyship sets great store. If the rogue were captured now, these might be found about his person."

"Ah! I fear me," quoth his Honour, with singular lack of enthusiasm, "that 'twill not be so easy, sir, as you imagine."

"How so?"

"Beau Brocade is in league with half the country-side and…"

"Nay! you say you have a posse of soldiers quartered here! Gadzooks! if I had the chance with these and a few lusty fellows from the village, I'd soon give an account of any highwayman on this Heath!"

"Dear! dear!" repeated Squire West, sorely puzzled, "a very regrettable incident indeed."

"Can I so far trespass on your Honour's time," queried Bathurst, with a slight show of impatience, "as to ask you at least to take note of her ladyship's plaint?"

"Certainly … sir, certainly … hem! … er… Of course we must after the rogue … the beadle shall cry him out on the green at once, and…"

It was easy to see that the worthy Squire would far sooner have left the well-known hero of Brassing Moor severely alone; still, in his official capacity he was bound to take note of her ladyship's plaint, and to act as justice demanded.

"'Tis a pity, sir," he said, whilst he sat fidgeting among his papers, "that you, or perhaps her ladyship, did not see the rogue's face. I suppose he was masked as usual?"

"Faix! he'd have frightened the sheep on the Heath, maybe, if he was not. But her ladyship and I noted his hair and stature, and also the cut and colour of his clothes."

"What was he like?"

"Tall and stout of build, with dark hair turning to grey."

"Nay!" ejaculated Squire West, in obvious relief, "then it was not Beau Brocade, who is young and slim, so I'm told, though I've never seen him. You saw him plainly, sir, did you say?"

"Aye! quite plainly, your Honour! And what's more," added Jack, emphatically, "her ladyship and I both caught sight of him in Brassington this very morning."

"In Brassington?"

"Outside the Royal George," asserted Bathurst, imperturbably.

"Nay, sir!" cried Squire West, who seemed to have quite lost his air of indecision, now that he no longer feared to come in direct conflict with Beau Brocade, "why did you not say this before? Here, Inch! Inch!" he added, going to the door and shouting lustily across the passage, "where is that cursed beadle? In Brassington, did you say, sir?"

"I'd almost swear to it, your Honour."

"Nay! then with a bit of good luck, we may at least lay this rascal by the heels. I would I could rid this neighbourhood of these rogues. Here, Inch," he continued, as soon as that worthy appeared in the doorway, "do you listen to what this gentleman has got to say. There's a d – d rascal in this village and you'll have to cry out his description at once, and then collar him as soon as may be."

Master Inch placed himself in a posture that was alike dignified and expectant. His Honour, Squire West, too, was listening eagerly, whilst Jack Bathurst with perfect sang-froid gave forth the description of the supposed highwayman.

"He wore a brown coat," he said calmly, "embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots and three-cornered hat. He is tall and stout of build, has dark hair slightly turning to grey, and was last seen carrying a gold-headed riding-crop."

"That's clear enough, Inch, is it not?" queried his Honour.

"It is marvellously pellucid, sir," replied the beadle.

"You may add, friend Beadle," continued Jack, carelessly, "that her ladyship offers a reward of twenty guineas for that person's immediate apprehension."

And Master Inch, beadle of the parish of Brassington, flew out of the door, and out of the Court House, bell in hand, for with a little bit of good luck it might be that he would be the first to lay his hand on the tall, stout rascal in a brown coat, and would be the one to earn the twenty guineas offered for his immediate apprehension.

Squire West himself was over pleased. It was indeed satisfactory to render service to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne without interfering over much with that dare-devil Beau Brocade. The depredations on Brassing Moor had long been a scandal in the county: it had oft been thought that Squire West had not been sufficiently active in trying to rid the Heath of the notorious highwayman, whose exploits now were famed far and wide. But here was a chance of laying a cursed rascal by the heels and of showing his zeal in the administration of the county.

The Squire, in the interim, busied himself with his papers, whilst Bathurst, who was vainly trying to appear serious and only casually interested, stood by the open window, watching Master Inch's progress across the green.

Outside the Court House faithful John Stich stood waiting, with Jack o' Lantern pawing the ground by his side.

CHAPTER XXV

SUCCESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT

Thus it was that when Sir Humphrey Challoner, after his lengthy interview with Mittachip, stepped out of the porch of the Royal George on his way to the Court House, he found the village green singularly animated.

A number of yokels, including quite a goodly contingent of women and youngsters, were crowding round Master Inch, the beadle, who was ringing his bell violently and shouting at the top of his lusty voice, —

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Take note that a robber, vagabond and thief is in hiding in this village."

Interested in the scene, Sir Humphrey had paused a moment, watching the pompous beadle and the crowd of gaffers and women. He still carried his riding-crop, and flicked it with a certain pleasurable satisfaction against his boot, eagerly anticipating the moment when the village crier would be giving forth in the same stentorian tones the description of Beau Brocade, the highwayman.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" continued Master Inch, with ever-increasing vigour. "Take note that this vagabond is apparelled in a brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff nether garments and riding-boots. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that he carried with him this morning a gold-headed riding-whip, that he is tall and slightly rotund in his corporation and has raven hair slightly attenuated with grey.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that if any of you observate such a person as I have just descriptioned, you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that I may take him by force and violence even into the presence of his Honour.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"

The gaffers were putting their heads together, whilst the young ones whispered eagerly, —

"Brown coat! … embroidered waistcoat! … a gold-headed whip!.."

Nay, 'twas often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman.

It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"

At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a sudden idea, stated at him and whispered to his neighbour, —

"He's got a brown coat on…"

"Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an embroiderated waistcoat too."

Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily, —

"What the devil are ye all staring at?"

It was at this very moment that Master Inch suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle of a stentorian, —

"Oyez!"

He gave one tremendous gasp, the bell dropped our of his hand, his jaw fell, his round, beady eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"'Tis him!" murmured the yokel, who stood close to his ear.

This remark brought back Master Inch to his senses and to the importance of his position. He raised his large hand above his head and brought it down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey Challoner's shoulder.

"Aye! 'tis him!" he shouted lustily, "and be gy! he's got guilt writ all over his face, and 'tis a mighty ugly surface!"

Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was positively purple with rage.

"Death and hell!" he cried, clutching his riding-whip significantly. "What's the meaning of this?"

But already the younger men, full of excitement and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently seized him by the collar. They felt neither respect nor sympathy for a vagabond attired in gentleman's clothes.

Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst the beadle majestically replied, —

"You'll have it explanated to you, friend, before his Honour!"

The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace.

"Got him!" shouted most of the men.

"Showin' his ugly face in broad daylight!" commented the women.

"Hold him tight, beadle," was the universal admonition.

"You rascal! you dare!.." gasped Sir Humphrey, struggling violently, and shaking a menacing fist in the beadle's face.

"Silence!" commanded Master Inch, with supreme dignity.

"I'll have you whipped for this!"

But this aroused the beadle's most awesome ire.

"To the stocks with him!" he ordered, "he insultates the Majesty of the Law!"

"You low-born knave! Aye! you'll hang for this!"

It was all this clamour that at last aroused Master Mittachip in the parlour of the Royal George from the happy day-dreams in which he was indulging. At first he took no count of it, then he quietly strolled up to the window and undid the casement, to ascertain what all the tumult was about.

What he did see nearly froze the thin blood within his veins. He would have cried out, but his very throat contracted with the horror of the spectacle which he beheld.

There! across the village green, he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner, his noble patron, the Squire of Hartington, being clapped into the village stocks, whilst a crowd of yokels, the clumsy, ignorant d – d louts! were actually pelting his Honour with carrots, turnips and potatoes!

Oh! was the world coming to an end? There! a peck of peas hit Sir Humphrey straight in the eye. No wonder his Honour was purple, he would have a stroke of apoplexy for sure within the next five minutes.

At last Master Mittachip recovered the use of his limbs. With one bound he was out of the inn parlour, and had pushed past mine host and hostess, who, as ignorant as were all the other villagers of their guest's name and quality, were watching the scene from the porch, and holding their sides with laughter.

Jack Bathurst had watched it all from the window of the Court House: his dare-devil, madcap scheme had succeeded beyond his most sanguine hopes. When he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner actually clapped in the village stocks, with the pompous beadle towering over him, like the sumptuous Majesty of the Law, he could have cried out in wild merry glee.

But Jack was above all a man of prompt decision and quick action. For his own life he cared not one jot, and would gladly have laid it down for the sake of the woman he loved with all the passionate ardour of his romantic temperament, but with him, as with every other human being, self-preservation was the greatest and most irresistible law. He had readily imperilled his safety in order to obtain possession of the letters, which meant so much happiness to his beautiful white rose: but this done, he was ready to do battle for his own life, and to sell his freedom as dearly as may be.

He hoped that he had effectually accomplished his purpose through the arrest of Sir Humphrey Challoner, whose pockets Master Inch was even now deliberately searching, in spite of vigorous protests and terrible language from his Honour. His heart gave a wild leap of joy when he saw the beadle presently hurrying across the green and holding a paper in his hand. It looked small enough – not a packet, only a single letter: but if it were the momentous one, then indeed would all risks, all perils seem as nothing when weighed against the happiness of having rendered her this service.

But Jack also saw Master Mittachip darting panic-stricken out of the inn opposite. He knew of course that within the next few moments – seconds perhaps – the fraud would be discovered and Sir Humphrey Challoner liberated, amidst a shower of abject apologies from the Squire and parish of Brassington combined. What the further consequences of it all would be to himself was not difficult to foresee.

He looked behind him. The Squire was sitting at his desk, apparently taking no notice of the noise and shouting outside. Down below, John Stich, who had been watching the scene on the green with the utmost delight, stood ready, holding Jack o' Lantern by the bridle. In a moment, with a few courteous words to the Squire, Bathurst had hurried out of the Court House. He met the beadle at the door, who, paper in hand, conscious of his own importance and flurried with wrath, was hurrying to report the important arrest to Squire West.

Bathurst stopped him with a quick, —

"'Twas well done, Master Inch!"

And pressing a couple of guineas into the beadle's hand, he added, —

"Her ladyship will further repay when you've found the rest of her property. In the meanwhile, these, I presume, are the letters she lost."

"Only one letter, sir," said Master Inch, as somewhat taken off his pompous guard he allowed Jack to take the paper from him.

There was not a minute to be lost. Master Mittachip, having vainly tried to harangue the yokels, who were still pelting his Honour with miscellaneous vegetables, was now hurrying to the Court House as fast as his thin legs would carry him.

Bathurst took one glance at the paper which Master Inch had given him. A cry of the keenest disappointment escaped his lips.

"What is it, Captain?" asked John Stich, who had anxiously been watching his friend's face.

"Nothing, friend," replied Bathurst, "only a receipt and tally for some sheep."

John Stich uttered a violent oath.

"And the scoundrel'll escape with a shower of potatoes and no more punishment than the stocks. And you've risked your life, Captain, for nothing!"

"Nay! not for nothing, honest friend," said Jack, in a hurried whisper, as he mounted Jack o' Lantern with all the speed his helpless arm would allow. "Do you go back to her ladyship as fast as you can. Beg her from me not to give up hope, but to feign an illness and on no account speak to anyone about the events of to-day until she has seen me again. You understand?"

"Aye! aye! Captain!"

At this moment there came a wild cry from the precincts of the Court House, and Master Mittachip, accompanied by Squire West himself, and closely followed by the beadle, were seen tearing across the green towards the village stocks.

"The truth is out, friend," shouted Jack, as pressing his knees against Jack o' Lantern's sides, and giving the gallant beast one cry of encouragement, he galloped away at break-neck speed out towards the Moor.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE MAN HUNT

By the time Squire West and the whole of the parish of Brassington had realised what a terrible practical joke had been perpetrated on them by the stranger, the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud of dust to mark the way he went.

But the hue-and-cry after him had never ceased the whole of that day. Squire West, profuse and abject in his apologies, had told off all the soldiers who were quartered in the village to scour the Heath day and night, until that rogue was found and brought before him. The Sergeant, who was in command of the squad, and the Corporal too, had a score of their own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the general consensus of opinion declared to have been none other than that scoundrel unhung, the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade.

Master Inch, as soon as he had recovered his breath, distinctly recollected now seeing a beautiful chestnut horse pawing the ground outside the Court House during the course of the morning: he blamed himself severely for not having guessed the identity of the creature, so closely associated in every one's mind with the exploits of the highwayman.

The yokels, however, at this juncture, entrenched themselves behind a barrier of impenetrable density. In those days, just as even now, it is beyond human capacity to obtain information from a Derbyshire countryman if he do not choose to give it. Whether some of those who had pelted Sir Humphrey Challoner with vegetables had or had not known who his Honour was, whether some of them had or had not guessed Beau Brocade's presence in the village, remained, in spite of rigorous cross-examination a complete mystery to the perplexed Squire and to his valiant henchman, the beadle.

Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual.

"I dunno!" was the stolid, perpetual reply to every question put on either subject.

Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with fatigue, was too ill to see anyone.

The posse of soldiers, a score or so by now, had however been reinforced as the day wore on by a contingent of Squire West's own indoor and outdoor servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington itself, of the sort that are to be found in every corner of the world where there is an ale-house, the idlers, the toadies, those who had nothing to lose and something to gain by running counter to popular feeling and taking up cudgels against Beau Brocade, for the sake of the reward lavishly promised by Squire West and Sir Humphrey Challoner.

The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer down at this late hour of the day when, all arrangements for the battue after the highwayman being completed, he at last found himself on horseback, ambling along the bridle-path towards the shepherd's hut, with Master Mittachip beside him.

It had been a glorious day, and the evening now gave promise of a balmy night to come, but the Heath's majestic repose was disturbed by the doings of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken lizards and toads had gone to rest in the marshy land beyond, waterhen and lapwing were asleep, but all the while on the great Moor, through the scrub and blackthorn, along path and ravine, man was hunting man and finding enjoyment in the sport.

As Sir Humphrey Challoner and the attorney rode slowly along, they could hear from time to time the rallying cry of the various parties stalking the Heath for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels of Beau Brocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse had been seen to make its way, riderless, towards the forge of John Stich.

The quarry was on foot, he was known to be wounded, he must fall an easy prey to his trackers soon enough: sometimes in the distance there would come a shout of triumph, when the human blood-hounds had at last found a scent, then Sir Humphrey would rouse himself from his moody silence, a look of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes, and reining in his horse, he would strain his ears to hear that shout of triumph again.

"He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey," whispered Mittachip, falling obsequiously into his employer's mood.

"No! curse him!" muttered his Honour with a string of violent oaths, "I shall see him hang before two days are over, unless these dolts let him escape again."

"Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey! that's not likely!" chuckled Master Mittachip. "Squire West has pressed all his own able-bodied men into the service, and the posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, nay, he'll not escape this time."

"'Sdeath!" swore his Honour under his breath, "but I do feel stiff!"