The Brown Mask Read online

  CHAPTER XXVII

  OUT OF DORCHESTER

  Watson went back into Dorchester humming the chorus of a tavern song. Itmattered not to him that twenty-nine rebels swung on their gibbets, butit was an intense relief to him that Mistress Barbara Lanison was safelyout of the town. He doubted whether he could have seen her condemned insilence, and to speak might have meant that he would speedily swing bythe roadside, so he was glad for himself as well as for her. Watson wastotally unconscious that he had helped to deliver his prisoner into thehands of Lord Rosmore. He had received definite instructions to see thatshe safely reached the coach in which Gilbert Crosby was awaiting her;he was not to attend her to the door of the coach lest the post-boy andgroom should become suspicious, but to wait and see that she drove awayin safety. These instructions he had fulfilled to the letter, and gladto have been concerned in such a happy escape, he went back singing.

  From first to last Lord Rosmore had carefully matured his scheme. He hadentrusted Watson with one part of it, Sayers with another, and drew aveil over the whole by openly showing and avowing his love for HarrietPayne. He might have enemies in the town, but what power had they? Fearclosed Judge Marriott's mouth; the fiddler, Martin Fairley, had vanishedinto some hole to hide himself; Crosby was waiting patiently for thefulfilment of his promise; and Sydney Fellowes, who, to his surprise, helearnt was also in Dorchester, could do little against him. Still, it isever the little weaknesses which are the danger-points in greatenterprises, and Rosmore realised that Fellowes' presence in Dorchestermight bring all his plans to the ground. Great was his satisfaction,therefore, when Barbara entered the coach and the horses started ontheir journey.

  At that moment Fellowes was listening to Martin Fairley's account of hisvisit to Aylingford. Martin had entered the town half an hour before,and had gone straight to Fellowes' lodging. During his absence themeeting-place at "The Anchor" in West Street might have been discovered,and Martin could not afford to run any risk to-night. To both men itseemed evident that Crosby's reliance in Rosmore's promise was futile.It was possible, even probable, that Sir John Lanison might not know allRosmore's plans, or might not have told everything he knew, but allfaith in Rosmore must fall like a building of cards.

  "That road to the river must be watched, Fellowes," said Martin.

  "I'll go at once."

  "And I will get to 'The Anchor' and see Crosby."

  They were leaving the house when a woman met them, inquiring for Mr.Gilbert Crosby.

  "What do you want with him?" Martin asked.

  "Ah, you are the fiddler, but you are a coward." And Harriet Payne'scloak fell apart as she turned to Fellowes. "Are you Mr. Crosby'sfriend?"

  Martin gave him a quick sign.

  "Yes. Is he in danger? Come in and tell me."

  "Did you know that he was to have escaped from Dorchester with MistressLanison to-morrow night?" said Harriet as Fellowes closed the door.

  "Yes."

  "He's fooled--fooled from first to last. She has gone to-night. She leftDorchester, not an hour ago, with Lord Rosmore. He has lied to her andto me," and the girl's eyes blazed with fury as she spoke.

  "Gone! Willingly, do you mean?"

  "Willingly!" exclaimed the girl. "She hates him; she was wiser than Iwas. I loved him. She is in his power to-night."

  "Which road did they take?" asked Fellowes.

  "That which goes towards the river, afterwards I do not know. If you aremen follow him. Avenge Mistress Lanison and me."

  "You have lied before this," said Martin quietly. "With a lie youbrought Mistress Lanison to the West. You played Lord Rosmore's game forhim. How do we know that you are speaking the truth now?"

  "I hate him! Love turned to hate--do you know what that means?" said thegirl, turning upon him like some wild animal. "To-night I waited for himand he did not come. Servants saw me and laughed; then one man, jeeringat me, told me the truth. He has gone with her, and every moment youwaste he is speeding from you. More, to make himself doubly secure, menwill come here at midnight asking for Mr. Crosby. They will pretend tocome from Mistress Lanison, and then capture him. A hasty trial, andthen the gibbet."

  "We'll follow," said Martin.

  "And kill him--kill him!" said the girl. "And if you have any thoughtfor a deceived woman, let him know that I sent you."

  A few moments later Martin and Fellowes were in the street, talkingeagerly as they went. Martin's head was not barren of schemes to-night.

  "You understand, Fellowes. To Crosby first. Tell him everything. Bid himnot spare his horse, nor pass a coach without knowing who rides in it.Then let him hasten to 'The Jolly Farmers,' Tell him to wait there forme as he did once before. On no account must he leave it. Then start onyour road, and leave Dorchester behind you as fast as horse can gallop.One of us shall find Rosmore before the dawn."

  * * * * *

  Heavy clouds sailed majestically across the face of the moon. Now thelong road lay dimly discernible in the pale misty light, now for a timeit was dark, so that a coach might have driven unawares on to thegreensward, or a stranger stumbled into the ditch by the roadside.Lonely trees shivered at intervals with a sound like sudden rain, andfrom the depths of distant woods came notes of low wailing, as thoughsad ghosts mourned in a hushed chorus. Hamlets were asleep, and not alight shone from wayside dwellings. Yet into a tired man's dreams therecame the rhythmic beat of a horse's hoofs, far distant, then nearer,nearer, and dying again into silence. A late rider, and with thishalf-conscious thought, and an uneasy turning on the pillow perhaps,sleep again. On another road, beating hoofs suddenly came to the ears ofa wakeful woman; someone escaping in the night, perhaps, and shemurmured a prayer; she had a son who had fought at Sedgemoor. Thegrinding of coach wheels on one road, followed by the barking of dogs;and a woodcutter asleep in his hut, which lay at the edge of a foresttrack, was startled by the thud of hoofs, and, springing quickly fromhis hard couch, peeped from the door. Nothing to be seen, but certainlythe sound of a horse going quickly away. There was naught in his hut tobring him a visit from a highwayman.

  A man, riding in haste towards Dorchester, with papers and money in hispocket which might save his son from Judge Jeffreys, halted suddenly.Meeting him came another galloping horseman, and suddenly the moonlightshowed him.

  "Have you passed a coach upon the road?"

  The galloping horseman drew rein, and the anxious father trembled. Horseand rider might have been of one piece; every movement of man and animalwas perfect, and the man wore the dreaded brown mask.

  "No, I have not seen a coach." And the father, remembering vaguely thatthis notorious highwayman was said to have helped many to escape fromthe West, burst out in pleading. "Oh, sir, have mercy. My son lies aprisoner in Dorchester, and the money I have may be his salvation."

  "Pass on, friend. Good luck go with you." And with a clatter of hoofs thebrown mask rode on.

  Galloping Hermit was on the road to-night, but a score of travellers,carrying all the wealth they possessed, might have passed him in safety.He was out to stop one coach wherein sat a villain, and a fair womanwhom he loved. Surely she must be shrinking back in her corner, so thateven the hem of her gown might not be soiled by the touch of the manbeside her.

  Lord Rosmore had not attempted to justify himself as the coach startedupon its journey; he had only told her that escape was impossible, thatthe post-boy was in his pay and had his instructions. Barbara had calledhim a villain through her closed teeth, and then had shrunk into hercorner, drawing the hood of the cloak closely over her head. Sherealised that for the moment she was helpless, that her captor was onhis guard, but an opportunity might come presently. The more sheappeared to accept the situation, the less watch was he likely to keepon her. It was a natural argument, perhaps, but far removed from fact.Never for an instant did Lord Rosmore cease to watch her. This time hemeant to bend her to his will, if not one way, then another; fair meanshad failed, therefore he would use foul. For a long while
he was silent,and then he began to explain why he had acted as he had done. Again heshowed her how impossible a lover was Gilbert Crosby, and he painted themany crimes of a highwayman in lurid colours. He knew she must havethought of these things, and he declared that the day would come whenshe would thank him for what he had done to-night.

  Barbara did not answer him, and there was a long silence as the coachrolled steadily on.

  Then Lord Rosmore ventured to excuse himself. He spoke passionately ofhis love for her. His way with women was notorious; seldom had he lovedin vain, and women whose ears had refused to listen to all other lovershad fallen before his temptations; yet never had woman heard suchburning words as he spoke in the darkness of the coach to BarbaraLanison. He was commanding and humble by turns, his voice was tremulouswith passion, yet not a word did Barbara speak in answer.

  Rosmore lapsed into silence again, and he trembled a little with thepassion that was in him. Love her he certainly did in his own way, andhe bit his lip and clenched his hands, furious at his failure. It tookhim some time to control himself.

  "There are many reasons why you should marry me," he said presently."Some of them I have given, but there are others why you must marry me."

  He gave her time to answer, but she neither spoke nor moved. Herindifference maddened him.

  "Your uncle is wholly in my power, you must have guessed that. A wordfrom me, and this fellow Crosby hangs. Sir John is afraid, and youcannot suppose that I have left Crosby in Dorchester to go or come ashe likes. He cannot move without my help. I wonder if you realise whatyour persistent refusal of me will mean. You may drive me to harshmeasures, and make a devil of me. Thwart me, and I stand at nothing. Iwill bring your uncle to the hangman, and Crosby shall rot in chains atfour cross-roads."

  Barbara moved slightly, but she tightly shut her lips that she might notbe tempted to speak. He thought her movement was one of contempt, andturned upon her savagely.

  "And there is yet another way," he hissed, bending towards her. "I swearto God I will use it rather than let you go. A careless word or twoshall easily suffice to smirch your fair fame. Ah! that has power torouse you, has it? I will do it, and for very shame you shall have tolisten to me."

  Still she did not answer him. Silence had served her well. He had shownhimself to her in all the blackness of his soul. He might kill her, butthere were worse things than death. She would remain silent. And thecoach rolled on, now in darkness, now in the misty light of the moon.

  There was a dip in the road that every coach-driver knew, a sudden stiffdescent into a thick wood, the trees arching and mingling theirbranches, almost like a lofty green tunnel, and then a sharp ascent.Drivers usually let their horses go, so that the impetus of the descentwould help to carry them up the opposite incline, for the road wasloose, and, with a full load of passengers, the climb tested thestrength of the best teams. Lonely Bottom it was called, and well named,for there was no more deserted spot along the road.

  The highwayman checked his horse to a walking pace when he came to thisdip, and went slowly down, and slowly climbed the opposite ascent. Hepatted the mare's neck, and spoke to her in whispers.

  "Well done, my beauty! Unless all the fates are against us we have gotin front of the coach. The glory is yours. I know no other that couldhave carried me as you have done to-night. We shall win, lass, and thenyou shall take life easier."

  The mare seemed to understand as she climbed out of the hollow andappeared ready to gallop on again; but her rider drew her on thegreensward beside the road, just beyond the wood, and dismounted. He hadno doubt that the coach was behind him. He had come by short cuts acrosscountry, along bridle-paths which shortened the journey. He had notstruck the road long before he met the traveller going towardsDorchester who said that no coach had passed him. He leaned against thetrunk of a tree, which years ago had been struck and killed bylightning, and his thoughts were busy as he looked to the priming of hispistols and made sure that certain papers he carried were secure in aleathern case, which he slipped back into the pocket of his ample, capedcoat. His plans were mature. His presence there would be a completesurprise. He could not fail so long as the coach came, and it wouldcome. Yet, in spite of this conviction, he began to grow anxious andrestless as the time passed slowly and no sound broke the stillness ofthe night. It was not the first time he had waited by the roadsidelistening for his victim. Excitement he had experienced before to-night,but never such anxiety, nor such restlessness. To-night's adventure wasa thing apart. A woman's happiness depended on his success, a woman witha crown of golden hair like an aureole about her, who must even now beshrinking from the villain in whose company she travelled.

  Presently he started. Most men would have discovered no new sound uponthe night air, but his ears were experienced and keen. For a moment hestood beside the mare, his hand upon her neck, then he sprang lightly tothe saddle.

  "The time has come, my hearty. Here is our place, in the shadow."

  Out of the silence grew the sound of distant wheels grinding the road,and the beating of horses' hoofs. A coach travelling rapidly. Eachmoment the sounds became more distinct, and then loud as the horsesplunged down the incline into Lonely Bottom. At a gallop they breastedthe climb out, but the clatter of hoofs quickly grew uneven as theweight told. The post-boy was using the whip vigorously as they drew tothe top, and then the coach suddenly came to a standstill. The windowrattled down, and a head was thrust out.

  "Move, and you're a dead man!"

  The coach had drawn out of the shadows into the moonlight, and LordRosmore started back, so close was the pistol to his head. He lookedalong it, and along the man's extended arm, and into his face, and ahalf-smothered cry broke from his lips. He had been caught unawares.Physically he was no coward, but the sight of the brown mask seemed toparalyse him.

  "You!"

  "Open the door and get out. Quickly, or, by heaven, you shall fall outwith a bullet through your brain."

  From this man Lord Rosmore knew he could expect no mercy, knew that hewas likely to be as good as his word, and he got out.

  "Down with you," said the highwayman to the post-boy. "Take this rope,and see that you fasten this gentleman securely to that tree yonder. Oneloose knot that may give him a chance of escape, and I'll see to it thatyou never throw your leg across the back of a horse again."

  Covering them with his pistol, he watched this operation performed.

  "See that he has no firearms," and the lad hastened to do as he wastold.

  The highwayman carefully examined the cord, and made sure that thecaptive could not get free without help. Then he went to the door of thecoach.

  "You are safe, Mistress Lanison."

  "Gilbert!" she whispered.

  "Pitch anything that belongs to this fellow into the road."

  A coat was thrown out.

  "Curse you both!" said Rosmore. "By God! if I live you shall pay foryour work to-night!"

  "Is he to pay the price, mistress?" said the highwayman. "You know whatyou have suffered at his hands. What things have his vile lipsthreatened you with to-night? His life is in your hands. Speak, and theworld shall be well rid of him."

  "Oh, no, Gilbert, no!"

  "I almost wish you had said 'Yes.' Mount!" he called to the post-boy.

  A string of oaths came from Lord Rosmore.

  "Silence!" the highwayman shouted, but the oaths did not cease. Then asharp report rang out upon the night, and a cry came from the captive.

  "Oh, Gilbert, you have killed him!"

  "That was a cry of fear, mistress. The bullet is in the tree a good fourfeet above his head," said the highwayman as he closed the coach door.

  "You must travel for the rest of the journey alone, but have no fear. Iride by the coach to see you into safety. Forward, post-boy! Good-night,Lord Rosmore. A woman betrayed you, even as you have betrayed manywomen. Thank fate that your life lay in the hands of Mistress Lanison,and not in hers. She would have bid me shoot straight. Good-night."
/>   For a moment the highwayman let his horse paw the ground in front of theman bound helplessly to the tree. Then he laughed, as a man will whoplays a winning game, and rode after the coach.