Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 6, July 1905

Another point that stood out strongly against Lord Farquhart – a point that was weighing heavily in public opinion – was that since the night of Lady Barbara’s arrival in London, since which time Lord Farquhart had been obliged to be in close attendance upon his cousin, there had been no hold ups by this redoubtable highwayman. The men who had attacked Lindley and the player’s lad had been but bungling robbers of the road. That they could have had any connection with the robbery of the Lady Barbara, or with the other dashing plays of the Black Devil, had been definitely disproved.

So all of Farquhart’s friends were weighed down with apprehension of the fate in store for him, whether he was guilty or not. The only hope lay in Lord Grimsby, the old man who had been convinced that the highwayman was in league with the devil, if he was not the devil himself; the old man whose only son had vowed to take to the road if the Black Highwayman met his fate at his father’s hands. But the hopes that were based on the demon-inspired terror, and the paternal love of Lord Grimsby, seemed faint, indeed, to Lindley as he rode toward London that night.

XVII

Lindley was first at the tryst in London, but Johan soon slipped from the shadow of Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gateway.

“I can stop but a moment,” he whispered, nervously. “I must not be seen here. My – my master must not know that I – I am abroad in London.”

“And Mistress Judith?” questioned Lindley. “Have you seen her? Is she still here? Is she well?”

“I have seen Mistress Judith for a moment only,” answered the lad. “She is well enough, but she is worn out with the care of her cousin, Lady Barbara, and she is sadly dispirited, too.”

“’Tis a pity Lady Barbara cannot die,” muttered Lindley, “after the confusion she’s gotten Lord Farquhart into. A sorry mess she’s made of things.”

“The poor girl – ” Johan shuddered. “Mistress Judith says the poor girl is in desperate straits, does naught but cry and sob, and vows she loves Lord Farquhart better than her life.”

“Ay, she may well be in desperate straits,” shrugged Lindley. “And she’ll be in worse ones when she finds she’s played a goodly part in hanging an innocent man!”

“Hanging!” Johan’s exclamation was little more than a shrill, sharp cry.

“Ay, hanging, I said,” answered Lindley. “What other fate does she think is in store for Lord Farquhart?”

“But – but this Lord Farquhart is a friend of yours, too, is he not, Master Lindley?” The boy’s question was slow and came after a long silence.

“Yes, a good friend and an honest man, if ever there was one,” answered Lindley.

“An – an honest man!” Johan shuddered again. “That’s it, an honest man he is, isn’t he?”

“As honest as you or I!” Lindley’s thoughts were so preoccupied that he hardly noticed his companion’s agitation.

“But there must be some way of escape,” Johan whispered, after another silence. “Some way to save him! If nothing else, some way to effect his escape!”

“Nay, I see no way,” gloomed Lindley.

In the darkness Johan crept closer to Lindley.

“Is it only grief for Lord Farquhart that fills your heart,” he asked, “or is it your wound that still hurts? Or – or has Mistress Judith some place in your thoughts? You seem so somber, so depressed, my master!”

“Ah, lad!” Lindley’s sigh was deep and long. “Even Mistress Judith herself might fail to comprehend. She still fills all of me that a woman can fill, but a man’s friend has a firm grip on his life. If harm comes to Lord Farquhart, the world will never again be so bright a place as it has been!”

“But harm cannot come to Lord Farquhart!” Johan’s voice was suddenly soft and full. “He must be helped. There are a hundred ways that have not been tried. There is one way – oh, there is one way, in all those hundred ways – I mean, that must succeed. Think, Master Lindley. Cannot I help? Cannot I help in some way – to – to save your friend?”

Lindley was touched by the earnestness of the boy’s tone, and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll think, my lad, but to what purpose I cannot promise you. This is no place for swordplay, however brilliant it may be.”

Johan had drawn roughly away from Lindley’s side. Now he leaned against the gate, dejection in every line of his drooping figure.

“There is one way,” he muttered, slowly. “There is always one way, but – ”

“You need not take it so to heart, boy,” Lindley urged. “You’re sadly worn and tired now. I saw last night that you were quite spiritless and lacking in heart! To-night, I see it even plainer.”

“Oh, ’tis naught but the work I have to do,” Johan answered, wearily.

“The work?” questioned Lindley. “Is it a new part you have to play?”

“Ay, that’s it,” sighed Johan; “a new part, a man’s part and a woman’s part all in one! It’s a most difficult part, indeed.” He was muttering the words to himself, and, under his cloak, Lindley could see his hands twisting nervously.

“Forgive me, lad!” Lindley’s tone was conscience-stricken. “I’d not forgotten the debt I owed you, though I seem to have forgot the promised payment. There’s been over much on my mind these last few days. But I’ll buy your freedom now, to-night, from this master player of yours. Where lies he? Let us go to him at once. Then you can give up this part and take the rest you need.”

“Oh, no, no, I must play this part,” answered the player’s boy, hurriedly. “I – I – Let me win to success before I speak to him of leaving him. I must, must succeed now. Then, perhaps, we can talk of freedom, not before.”

“Well, as you like!” Lindley’s voice had grown careless once again. He was again absorbed in his own affairs. “Think you I might see Mistress Judith to-morrow, if I had a message from Lord Farquhart for the Lady Barbara?”

“But have you access to Lord Farquhart?” The boy spoke quickly, so quickly that Lindley failed to notice the change in voice and manner.

“Why, I suppose I can gain access to him,” answered Lindley.

“But then surely I – surely we can rescue him,” cried Johan. “I’d not supposed that we could see Lord Farquhart, that we could gain speech with him. Now I know that I can help you free him. Think, think from now until to-morrow night at this time of some feasible plan, some way of taking Johan, the player’s boy, into Lord Farquhart’s presence. But wait! Why could you not take me to him disguised as the Lady Barbara? Mistress Judith would provide me with Lady Barbara’s cloak and veil and petticoats. She could coach me in her looks and manners. Have you forgotten how well I can impersonate a woman? And then, if I could pass the jailer as the Lady Barbara, what would hinder Farquhart from passing out as the Lady Barbara? I – I could personate Lord Farquhart, at a pinch, until rescue came to me. Or if it came to a last extremity, why I could still go to the gallows as Lord Farquhart! But that extremity would not come. There would be no difficulty in saving a worthless player’s lad, and they say that ’tis only Mr. Ashley’s work that is telling against the prisoner; that he is using this public means to wreak a private vengeance. Oh, if I can but see Lord Farquhart! If I can but speak to him! Much might be done, even if he refused the disguise of hood and cloak. Be here to-morrow night, with permits for yourself and Lady Barbara to see Lord Farquhart. Leave all the rest to me!” Johan’s impetuous voice had grown stronger, more positive, as his thoughts had formed themselves. His last words savored of a command. They were uttered in the tone that expects obedience, but Lindley ignored this.

“’Twould be but a waste of time,” he answered, gloomily.

“Well, what of that?” demanded Johan. “Perhaps it would be but a waste of one night. But of what value is your time or my time when there is even a chance of safety for Lord Farquhart?”

“I suppose you’re right in that,” agreed Lindley. “I’ll be here with the permits, as you say, to-morrow night. But what think you of my ruse to speak to Mistress Judith in the morning? If I were to present myself here at the house with a message from Lord Farquhart to the Lady Barbara, would not Judith speak with me? Remember, boy, that twenty-five crowns are yours the day I speak with Mistress Judith!”

“Oh, Mistress Judith, Mistress Judith!” cried the lad, impatiently. “Your thoughts are all for Mistress Judith. She will see no one, she will speak to no one, so she said to-day, until the Lady Barbara is recovered, until Lord Farquhart is free. It will be all that I can do to gain access to her to make my demand for the Lady Barbara’s clothes. And she is – she says that she is sick of the whole world. Her cousin’s plight, Lord Farquhart’s danger, have sickened her of the whole world. It’s for her sake that I would free Lord Farquhart. Until Lord Farquhart is released, Judith Ogilvie’s mind cannot rest for a single second. So for her sake you must work to free him, for Judith’s sake, for the sake of the woman you love!”

Without further word Lindley was left standing alone in the empty street, and his entire mind was absorbed in amazement at the impetuosity of the lad’s voice and manner.

XVIII

The following night it was again Lindley who was first at the tryst under Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gateway. A gusty wind blew down the street, and there was little comfort to be found in any shelter that was near at hand. Just as Lindley’s patience was about exhausted, though, he saw a slender shadow move with hesitating steps out from the gate, then scurry back to its protection. A voice, muffled in the folds of a cloak that covered the figure, a voice sweet as a silver bell, called softly:

“Master Lindley, Master Lindley, are you not here? Are you not waiting?”

Lindley advanced somewhat slowly until he saw that a woman stood half in, half out, of the shadow.

“But is it not you, Johan?” he asked, with some hesitation.

“Nay, ’tis I, Lady Barbara Gordon,” a girl’s voice answered. “Judith – Johan, the lad that came to Judith, told me that you were to take him to-night in my guise to Lord Farquhart. But I would speak to Lord Farquhart myself. I must see Lord Farquhart myself. I may not have another chance. You have the permits of which the boy spoke? You will take me in his place?”

She advanced slowly, still hesitating, her manner pleading as her words had pleaded; her trembling voice seeming but an echo of the tremors that shook her frame.

Lindley hurriedly tried to reassure her. Yes, he said, he had the permits. Assuredly he would take her. And yet, even as he spoke, he chafed at the woman’s interference with Johan’s plan of rescue. Why could she not have let the boy offer Lord Farquhart a chance to escape? But nothing of this was in his manner. Instead he soothed her fears, assuring her that ’twas but a short distance to the place where Farquhart was lodged, and, undoubtedly, the stormy night would aid their purpose, for few inquisitive stragglers would be abroad.

With faltering steps the lady moved by his side. Once he thought he heard a sob, and he laid a hand on her arm to comfort her.

“You must have courage, my lady,” he muttered. “You must take courage to Lord Farquhart.”

Once in the flare of a passing torch he saw the girl quite distinctly. She was draped all in scarlet, a scarlet velvet coat and hood, and, underneath, a scarlet petticoat. One hand held a corner of the cloak about her chin and lips, and, under the drooping hood, he saw a black silk mask. She shrank toward him as the light fell on her and caught his arm with her free hand. He laid his hand protectingly on hers, and after that, until they reached the sheriff’s lodge, she held fast to him.

Even when Lindley showed his permits to the guard on duty, she still held him fast, and it was well that she did, for she seemed almost to swoon when their entry was denied.

All permits to see the prisoner had been revoked at sundown, the fellow said. The prisoner’s case had come before the court that afternoon. He was to be sentenced in the morning at ten o’clock. No, Lord Grimsby had not been present. Lord Grimsby had been summoned from Padusey, however, to pronounce the highwayman’s doom.

For an instant the Lady Barbara seemed about to fall forward. Her entire weight hung on Lindley’s arm. He supported her as best he could, but his own voice shook as he whispered once more:

“Courage, courage, my lady!”

Then his anger vented itself upon the guard.

“Have you no sense, blockhead?” he cried. “How dare you blurt out your tidings in such a careless fashion? Do you not see the lady? Did I not tell you that it was the Lady Barbara Gordon’s name in that permit? You’ve likely killed her with your words.”

For, indeed, it seemed a dead weight that he held in his arms. The guard thrust forward a bench, and Lindley tried to place the lady down upon it, but she clung to him almost convulsively. When he attempted to take the cloak from over her mouth, he heard her whispered words.

“Ah, get me away from here, away from here – anywhere. I can walk, I – Indeed I can walk!”

Then she stood erect and turned away from the guarded door, but Lindley still hesitated there.

“At ten o’clock you said the prisoner would be sentenced?” he asked.

“Ay, at ten o’clock, they said.”

Then Lindley heard the Lady Barbara’s voice.

“You said Lord Grimsby would come to-night from Padusey?” she asked, faintly.

“Yes, from Padusey, to-night,” the guard answered once again.

Why did she care from where Lord Grimsby would come, Lindley demanded, savagely, of himself. Was this a time to think of trivial things like that? And although he supported her as tenderly, as courteously, as he could, he felt in every fiber of him that it was this woman alone who was responsible for Lord Farquhart’s fate, and he longed to be free from her. Monotonously he was counting the distance that must be traversed with her clinging to his arm, when suddenly she drew away from him and stopped short.

“Enough of this, Master Lindley!” It was Johan’s voice that came from the hidden hooded face.

“Johan!” cried Lindley, now in a frenzy of indignation. “What do you mean by bringing your cursed play acting into a tragedy like this? Have you no heart whatsoever?”

“Nay, I’ve heart enough and to spare,” the boy returned. “And ’tis not all play acting, by any means. Did I not tell you that I would personate the Lady Barbara? Did I not have to practice my part before I passed the guards? Did you not serve me as well for that as anyone? But there’s no time for more of it. And I’ve no time for foolish words and explanations, either.” He had thrown aside the mask, the scarlet coat and hood, and at last he stepped from the scarlet petticoat, standing slim and long in black silk hose and short black tunic, his black curls that fringed his small black cap alone shading his eyes. “Listen to me, Master Lindley, and save your reproaches until I’ve time for them. There are still more chances to save Lord Farquhart, and not one must be lost. Not one second can be wasted. Take these woman’s togs and throw them inside Master Timothy Ogilvie’s gate, where they’ll be found in the morning. I – I leave you here.”

“But where are you going?” demanded Lindley. “You cannot cross London at night in that guise, with no coat or cloak about you. You’ve woman’s shoes on your feet. You’re mad, boy, and you’ll be held by the first sentry you pass.”

Johan, who had turned away, stopped and came back to Lindley’s side.

“Ay, perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Give me your coat and lend me your sword. I may have need of it, and you’ve but to pass Master Ogilvie’s, and then to reach your own lodging, a safer transit than mine by many odds. And – and, Master Lindley, wait in your lodgings until you hear from me. Wait there unless it nears ten o’clock. If you’ve not heard from me by then, you’ll find me there, where Lord Farquhart is to be sentenced, and – and be on the alert for any signal that may be made to you by anyone, and – and – ” He had buckled Lindley’s sword about his waist, he had wrapped himself in Lindley’s coat, and still he hesitated. Suddenly he dashed his hand across his eyes. “Ah, I’ve no time for more,” he cried, “save only – only good-by.”

He was gone into the darkness, and Lindley was left alone – coatless and swordless – with a bundle of scarlet garments under his arm, and, in his heart, an inexplicable longing to follow the boy, Johan, into the night.

XIX

It seemed as though fate had decreed that there should be but two more acts in the career of Lord Farquhart. All London knew that he was to be condemned to death for highway robbery at ten o’clock on the Friday morning. All London knew that his hanging would quickly follow its decree, and all London, apparently, was determined to see, at least, the first act in the melodrama. The court was crowded with society’s wits and beaux, with society’s belles, many of the latter hooded and masked, but many revealing to all the world their ardent sympathy for the prisoner at the bar.

Lord Farquhart’s habitual pose of indifference, of insolent indifference to the world and its opinions, stood him in good stead on that October morning. He had passed through moments of blackest agony, of wild rebellion against the doom in store for him. He had gibed and mocked and railed at fate, at the laws of his country that could condemn an absolutely innocent man to so grewsome a death. He had struggled and fought with his jailers; he had appealed in vain to man and God, but now he sat quite calm and still, determined only that the world that had so incomprehensibly turned from him should not gloat over his despair. Only once had his lips twitched and his eyelids contracted, and that was when he recognized in a figure hooded, cloaked and masked in black, the Lady Barbara Gordon. He had turned his eyes from her instantly, but not quickly enough to miss, the sight of the pathetic white hands she’d stretched toward him. Was she asking for pardon, he wondered. No word from Barbara had reached him in his confinement.

A moment later a faint smile flickered across Lord Farquhart’s face. He had caught sight of Harry Ashley occupying a prominent place near the judge’s stand, and his conviction that Ashley was responsible for his imprisonment and for the sentence that was so soon to be pronounced strengthened his determination to hide his anguish from the world. For the rest, his eyes traveled impersonally over the crowded room. He would greet no one of the intimate friends who crowded as close as they dared to the place where he sat.

Lord Grimsby had not yet entered the room, but from behind the curtains that covered the door of Lord Grimsby’s private apartment rolled Lord Grimsby’s sonorous voice. It reached the first circle of inquisitive ears, and the meaning of his words slipped through the courtroom.

“Ay, but I tell you it was the same. I’ve had dealings with the fellow before. I’ve seen him at close quarters before. I know his voice and his touch and his manner. He’s like enough to Lord Farquhart in size and build, but he’s not like him altogether.”

“And you say he stopped you, my lord?”

“Stopped me not two hours’ ride from Padusey!” roared Lord Grimsby. “On the darkest bit of the road, the fellow sprang from nowhere and brandished his sword in front of my horse. And then he took my purse and my seal and my rings. You’ve questioned all the guards most carefully? They’re sure that the prisoner did not leave his quarters last night? That no one entered his room or left it?”

“Why, yes.” The answer was low and deferential. “He had visitors asking for him in plenty, some with permits and some without, but no one saw him save the guard.”

“And the guard is sure he did not leave his room?” Lord Grimsby’s roar was heard again.

“They’re sure, my lord. And, in very truth, would the prisoner have returned had he once escaped? Lord Farquhart’s presence here argues Lord Farquhart’s innocence of this latest outrage.”

“One can argue little of the devil’s doings,” raged Lord Grimsby.

“But will this not free Lord Farquhart?” asked the deferential voice.

“How can it free him, fool?” demanded the roaring voice. “How could I prove that the fellow I met was not the devil trying to save one of his own brood? And would there not be fools a-plenty to say that I’d met no one, that I’d invented the tale to save myself from the devil’s clutches, if I freed Lord Farquhart on such evidence? The whole affair from the beginning has savored of the devil’s mixing. Who else would have driven his majesty on to demand such hot haste against the fellow? ’Tis all most uncanny and most unwholesome. I’ll be thankful, for one, when my part in it’s over.”

“I wonder on what we wait. ’Tis surely long after ten o’clock!”

It was Ashley’s voice that made this statement loud enough for all the room to hear, loud enough to penetrate even to Lord Grimsby’s ears; loud enough to force that timorous jurist back into a judicial calm.

It was then that Lord Farquhart’s lips parted in a second smile. It was then that some fifty hands sprang to their swords, for there were fifty gentlemen there who resented Ashley’s unseemly eagerness to hurry on Lord Farquhart’s fate.

“And ’tis like the devil, too, to make me finish his black work,” commented Lord Grimsby’s natural voice, ere his judicial voice took up the opening formalities of the sentence he was to pronounce.

’Twas well known that the crown left naught to the court save the announcement of the crown’s decree. Thus was Lord Grimsby hiding himself behind his majesty, the king, in order to protect himself from his majesty, the devil, when he was interrupted by a commotion that would not be downed, by the cries of silence from the court’s servants.

“I tell you I must speak! I will be heard! I will speak! Will you all stand by and hear an innocent man sentenced to be hanged merely for the sake of custom, of courtesy to the court; merely on a question of privilege to speak? I should have been here before. I was detained. Now I will speak. I will be heard, I say. Will be, will be, will be!”

It was a girl’s voice that rang out sharp and clear. To Lindley it seemed faintly familiar, and yet the girl who spoke was a stranger to him; a stranger, apparently, to everyone in the room. She stood in front of Jack Grimsby. It was Jack Grimsby she was haranguing. She was, evidently, a woman of rank and quality, for she carried herself as one accustomed to command and to be obeyed. She was gowned in blue velvet, and her russet hair, drawn high in a net – a fashion in favor in France – was shaded by a blue velvet hat, over which drooped heavy white plumes. A thin lace mask veiled her eyes. Only her small, red mouth and delicate chin were visible.

“Is an oath nothing to you, then?” she cried, impetuously, still addressing Jack Grimsby. “You’ve sworn to do all in your power to save this highwayman. Now is your chance! Gain me but five minutes and I’ll have Lord Farquhart freed from, this absurd charge against him.”

And then it was Lord Grimsby’s voice that answered her.

“Ay, madam, the court will willingly grant you five minutes. Nay, I will grant you ten, in the cause of justice, for I like not the way this matter has been handled.” And even Lord Grimsby himself could not have told whether it was the devil who had prompted him to so interfere with the decorum of the law.

The girl bowed her thanks with informal gratitude, then hurried from the room. She passed so close to Lindley that he seemed enveloped in a strange perfume that floated from her, and after she had passed he, and he alone, saw a tiny scrap of paper lying at his feet. As carelessly as possible he picked it up, and saw that it was written on. He read as follows:

Mistress Judith’s Star is at Cavanaugh’s inn, three squares away. Fetch him to the end of the lane with what speed you may.

Johan.

In the tumult that followed the curious interruption of the morning’s work, Lindley’s exit was unnoticed. It was less than five minutes before he returned, and in that time he had delivered the white horse, with its starred forehead, to Johan, who was waiting, apparently at ease, at the end of the lane. Lindley stopped not to question the boy, so anxious was he to see what was happening in the court.

There were a clamor of voices, a rustle of silks, a clanking of spurs and swords. Many averred that the lady was some well-known beauty infatuated by Lord Farquhart, playing merely for time. Others thought she might be lady to the real highwayman, whoever he was, and that she was about to force him to reveal himself. Some suggested that she might even be the highwayman himself. Lord Grimsby was trying to recall if ever he had heard of the devil guising himself as a young red-headed girl, covering himself, from horned head to cloven hoof, in azure velvet. Lord Farquhart still sat quite unmoved, seemingly as indifferent as ever to the world, apparently unmindful of his champion. Ashley’s face was black with rage, and he stood all alone in the midst of the crowd. Lady Barbara had flung aside her mask; her loosened cloak and its hood had fallen from her, but her white face was hidden behind her white hands. Jack Grimsby, Treadway, all of Farquhart’s friends, were watching eagerly, intently, the door through which the woman had disappeared, through which she or the real highwayman must reappear. There had been a movement to follow her, but this had been checked by Lord Grimsby’s voice. The word of the court had been given. Its word was not to be violated. The stranger should not be followed or spied upon. Lord Grimsby’s lips were working feverishly, and those nearest to him heard muttered imprecations and prayers, but prayers and imprecations were alike addressed to the ruler of the nether world.