The Brown Mask Read online

  CHAPTER XXIX

  SAFETY

  The door of "The Jolly Farmers" had only just been opened to thebusiness of a new day when Gilbert Crosby came by a narrow track throughthe woods on to the road. His horse was jaded, and bore evidences ofhaving been hard ridden.

  At the inn door Crosby dismounted, and the landlord came hurrying outto welcome his early visitor. He looked at the horse, and then shoutedtowards the stables.

  "It's evident you are going no further on that animal at present. ShallI hide him in the place I have in the woods yonder? Have you given themthe slip, or are they close upon your heels?"

  "There is no need to hide him," said Crosby, as he entered the inn. "Itwould seem that you remember me."

  "Aye, faces have a way of sticking in my memory. I had to conceal youone night when you came inquiring for a fiddler."

  "This morning I am come to look for him again."

  "His appointment?" asked the landlord.

  "Yes."

  "Then you may wait contentedly. I never knew him to fail. If he failed Ishould say he had met his death on the way. Death is the only thing thatwould stand between his promise and its fulfilment. Come into the innerroom. We might get other early visitors, and the door in the wall mightbe useful."

  "And food--what about food at this early hour? I am well-nigh starving."

  "I'll see to that, and I take it that a draught of my best ale will takethe dust out o' your throat pleasantly. That beast of yours has done along spell from stable to stable, I warrant."

  "From Dorchester," said Crosby.

  "And that's a place you're well out of, since Jeffreys must be there bythis time."

  Crosby nodded, and the landlord drew the ale and busied himself withordering his guest's breakfast.

  Crosby had but half appeased his hunger when the sound of wheels wasupon the road. As he hurried out the landlord stopped him.

  "Carefully, sir. Better let me see who it is."

  "Quickly, then! It is a coach, and I must know who rides in it."

  The tired horses came to a halt before the door, and by the coach was ahorseman, the dust of a long journey upon his horse, upon his clothes,even upon the brown mask which concealed his face. Then the window ofthe coach was lowered, and a head was thrust out, a head shining withgolden curls which the hood did not wholly conceal. Only a few minutesago Barbara had roused from her long sleep, startled for a little spacethat the walls of her prison at Dorchester were not about her. Theknowledge that she was free, that she had escaped from Lord Rosmore,quickly brought the colour to her cheeks, and her eyes were bright andfull of questions as she looked at the man in the mask.

  "Barbara!"

  She turned with a sharp little cry of bewilderment. The landlord,standing at the inn doorway, had been thrust aside, and Gilbert Crosbywas beside her. He lifted her from the coach, yet even when he had sether on the ground he did not release her.

  "Gilbert, I do not understand--I thought--" and her eyes turned towardsthe masked horseman.

  "I know not who you really are, sir," said Crosby. "I know that you arecalled 'Galloping Hermit,' I know that I am so deeply your debtor that Ican never hope to repay. At Lenfield a little while ago you saved mylife, to-day you bring me what is more than life."

  "And a message," said the highwayman. "Word from a certain fiddler youexpected to find here. He will not come. It has fallen to my lot torescue this lady from a scoundrel, and I do not think he will attempt tofollow you. There are horses to be had from the landlord here, and inhalf an hour you may be on the road for Southampton. The fiddler bidsyou not to wait for him, but, on the road, to stop at a house named 'TheSpanish Galleon,' There you will find a friend who has secured your safedeparture from the country."

  "You will not tell me who you are?" said Crosby, whose keen eyes weretrying to penetrate the disguise.

  "'Galloping Hermit,' Mr. Crosby."

  "While fresh horses are being harnessed, Mistress Lanison will have ahasty breakfast, at least share the meal with us."

  "Daylight is dangerous for me. I ride safely only in the night. Atankard of ale, landlord, and then for a hiding hole."

  Barbara gently put Crosby's arm away from her, and went to thehorseman's side.

  "Whoever you may be, I thank you from the bottom of my heart," she said."You cannot know all that you are to me. You have been constantly in mythoughts; I will not tell you why, but I have shuddered to think whatmust sometimes have happened when you rode in the night. Might not thebrown mask cease to exist? Some day I may be in England again, may bestrong to help if need should come. Take this ring of mine. The man whobrings it to me, though many years should pass between now and then,shall never ask of me in vain. Burn the mask, sir, and learn that youare too honest a gentleman for such a trade."

  The man took the ring.

  "Mistress Lanison, I have stopped my last coach," he said. "It was agood ending since it saved you from a scoundrel. Do not think tooharshly of the past. It has had more honesty in it than you wouldimagine. For love of a woman I took to the road; for love of a woman theroad shall know me no more. Ah, landlord, the ale! To you, mistress, andto you, Mr. Crosby. May God's blessing be with you to the end."

  He drank, and tossing the empty tankard to the landlord, turned hishorse and galloped back along the road.

  For half an hour or more the coach stood before the door of "The JollyFarmers," and then, with fresh horses, started briskly on its journey toSouthampton. At the inn the landlord had waited upon his guests soattentively that they could say little to each other, but in the coachthey were alone, shut away with their happiness from all the pryingworld. With her golden head upon his shoulder, Barbara told Crosby allthat she had feared, all her doubts. There were so many things to makeher certain that he was "Galloping Hermit."

  "I know," he answered. "It has suited my purpose sometimes while I havebeen helping men to escape out of the West Country to let my enemiessuppose that I was; but it never occurred to me that you would think so.Now I understand some of your words which troubled me, hurt me, almost.Are you content to take the way with me, dearest? I have not forgottenmy promise."

  "Gilbert, I am ashamed now that I ever asked you to make it," she said,clinging close to him. "Kiss me, and forgive me. I think I should havegone with you even if you had been 'Galloping Hermit.'"

  Awaiting them, and beginning to grow anxious, they found Sydney Fellowesat "The Spanish Galleon." Crosby was not surprised, although he had halfexpected to see Martin Fairley.

  As Fellowes bent over her hand, Barbara thanked him.

  "Gilbert has told me how much you have done for me," she said. "I haveheard of the triple alliance Surely no woman ever had better friendsthan I."

  "I wish Martin were here," said Crosby.

  "We must talk of him presently," said Fellowes. "An hour for rest andfood, then you must be on the road again. I must come with you as far asSouthampton. It is my part to bid you farewell out of this country. Ihope before long it may be my part to welcome you back."

  When they had started again, Fellowes took some papers from his pocket.

  "These are for you, Mistress Lanison, to read at your leisure. I hadthem from Martin Fairley to give to you."

  "I wish I could have seen Martin to thank him too."

  "That is impossible."

  "Impossible! Why? Surely he is not dead?"

  "No; yet I do not think you will ever see him again. Have you neverguessed his secret, Mistress Lanison?"

  "Secret?"

  "Nor you, Crosby?"

  "Surely Martin cannot be 'Galloping Hermit'!" Barbara exclaimed.

  "He is. You will find the whole history in those papers," said Fellowes."I knew soon after that night at Aylingford, the night Rosmore and Ifought in the hall. It is a strange history. He came to Aylingfordshortly after you were brought there as a child, a chance derelict itseemed, and not a little mad at times. But his coming was no chance. Heknew your father, and came to be near you and watch over
you. In a senseMartin was always a dreamer, but he was never a madman. He played a partto get a lodging within the Abbey, and he has played that part in yourinterest ever since. Many things which must have set you wondering attimes you will understand when you read these papers. He soon discoveredwhat manner of man your uncle was, and the kind of company the Abbeygave shelter to. It was worse than you have imagined--a whirlpool ofvice and debauchery. Such vice is expensive, and a long run of bad luckat play might easily bring a man to the verge of ruin. Your uncle cameto the brink of the precipice, his appetite for vice and play stillinsatiated. Your fortune was in his keeping, and he used it."

  "Then I have nothing!" exclaimed Barbara, turning to Gilbert, "and Ihave been thinking and planning that--"

  "My dear, your money was nothing to me."

  "I know, but--"

  "Better let me finish the story, Mistress Lanison," said Fellowes. "Insome way, I cannot tell you how, Lord Rosmore discovered what your unclewas doing. He therefore obtained a hold over Sir John, which hold heused for the purpose of forcing himself upon you, meaning to marry you.I do not doubt that, in a way, he loved you, but he wanted your moneytoo, for Rosmore has squandered his possessions for years past, and mustbe near the end of his tether. Martin declares that it is only money hewants."

  "Has he been using my fortune, too?"

  "No, except those large sums which he has won from your uncle from timeto time. Possibly, in the firm belief that your money would some day behis, he may have checked your uncle's recklessness, and he has never letSir John know his position. Sir John was usually an unlucky player, inthe long run he invariably lost, and there has hardly been a guest atthe Abbey who has not enriched himself. This fact set Martin Fairleyscheming. He became 'Galloping Hermit,' the notorious wearer of thebrown mask, and plundered travellers with amazing success. It has beensaid of him that he never made a mistake, that the plunder he took wasalways large. His victims, too, were always those who had badreputations; and, one thing more, Mistress Lanison, his victims havealways won largely at Aylingford Abbey. Where Sir John squandered yourfortune, Martin compelled Sir John's guests to disgorge on the highroad. He knew when they were worth robbing. As 'Galloping Hermit' he gotback a considerable part of your fortune--from the very persons whoprofited by Sir John's ill use of it. For my part, I cannot call thatrobbery. His plunder he stored at the Abbey, somewhere near the Nun'sRoom. You and Crosby escaped from Martin's tower one night that way.While you have been a prisoner in Dorchester, Martin has been toAylingford, and, playing upon Sir John's superstition, showed him oneway of breaking into the secret chamber where a treasure was hidden, andin exchange heard what Lord Rosmore intended to do with you. You were tobe smuggled back to Aylingford. You will find all the history of hisrobberies very clearly stated in those papers, but of the history of thelast few weeks, his rapid movements, his changes of character, hispretence of poor horsemanship, you will find no mention. Crosby will beable to tell you much of this. Having rescued you, Martin wantedcompletely to secure your safety, and believing that Rosmore's greed wasfar greater than his love for you, he conceived a plan which no doubt hecarried out and which I hope was successful. He had carefully placed ina leather case papers containing his secret, together with the key ofhis tower, and full instructions of how his hiding-place was entered.This case he intended to drop where Rosmore could see it. He believedthat Rosmore would hurry to Aylingford before he made any attempt tofind you. We are close to Southampton, and safe so far, so Martin's ideaof Rosmore may have been a correct one."

  "And Martin's money?" asked Barbara.

  "Your money," Fellowes corrected. "It was moved from the Abbey somelittle time ago, and is hidden at 'The Jolly Farmers.' Since you must beout of England for a while, Martin thought you might like to give meinstructions concerning it."

  "Mad Martin," murmured Barbara.

  "Mad. Yes, in one way, perhaps," said Fellowes. "That way you will notlearn from those papers. He was a man, and near him you grew to be awoman. Poor Martin! He was mad enough to love you."

  Barbara put her hand into Crosby's. She remembered what the highwaymanhad said that morning, she remembered how she had once stood in the darkpassage under Aylingford, one hand in Gilbert's, one in Martin's; twomen who loved her and had braved so much for her. And then she looked atFellowes, whose face was turned from her. He had said nothing of what hehad done, but she remembered that night in the hall.

  "Three men; Gilbert and Martin, yes, and you, Mr. Fellowes," she saidsoftly, putting her other hand into his. "It was a triple alliance, and,indeed, never was woman better served."

  That night Gilbert Crosby and Barbara Lanison left England, and a fewweeks later were married in Holland, in which country they found theirfirst home together. When, a little later, England rose in revoltagainst King James, some of the negotiations with the Prince of Orangewere conducted by Crosby, and he accompanied the Prince when he landedat Torbay, receiving later a baronetcy for his services. He became ofsome importance at the Court of William and Mary, but his happiest hourswere those spent at his manor at Lenfield. There his dreams hadfulfilment. Barbara flitted from room to room, as, in his visions, shehad so often seemed to do; many a time he watched her slowly descendingthe broad stairs and held out his arms to her.

  Sometimes a shade of sorrow would rest upon her brow.

  "I was thinking of Martin," she said, when her husband questioned her.

  Martin had never come to Lenfield. Gilbert could find out nothing abouthim. There were still highwaymen on the road, but nowadays no one wasever stopped by "Galloping Hermit" in his brown mask.

  "I wonder what became of him," said Barbara; but she never knew.

  CHAPTER XXX

  ALONG THE NORTH ROAD

  On the North Road there is a small inn, rather dilapidated and notattractive to travellers. Its customers are yokels from the neighbouringvillage, but occasionally a gentleman may be found warming himself atthe open hearth and drinking the best that the house contains. Such agentleman invariably rides a good horse, and is the recipient ofopen-mouthed admiration from the yokels. No gentleman but a highwaymanwould be there, they believe.

  Only one man remained in the bar to-night, a jovial fellow of the farmertype, a lover of horses by his talk, and he was wont to boast that hehad made the fortune of more than one gentleman of the road by theanimal he had sold him.

  "Shut the door, landlord. I'll wait a bit, and have another tankard ofale. I'm expecting a visitor."

  "Who may that be?"

  "One you know well enough, but perhaps you haven't seen him for sometime."

  In a few minutes there was a sharp knock at the door, and, when thelandlord opened it, there entered a man wearing a brown mask andcarrying a shapeless parcel under his arm.

  "'Galloping Hermit!'" exclaimed the landlord, and it was evident that hewas pleased to see his visitor.

  "So you got my message," said the highwayman to the farmer.

  "Aye, but I doubt if I've got a horse to sell that you would care toride. What's become o' that mare o' yourn?"

  "She's in the stables--I've just put her there. I want you to take her."

  "Buy her? Well, I'll look at her, but buying and selling are twodifferent things."

  "Do you suppose I'd sell her?" was the answer. "No; I want you to takeher and keep her--keep her until she dies, and then bury her in thecorner of some quiet field. You're honest, and will do it if you say youwill; and here's gold to pay you well for your trouble. She's done herwork, and the last few days have finished her. She had to help me save awoman in the West Country, and it's broken her."

  "I'll do it," said the farmer. "And you'll be wanting another horse?"

  "Not yet. When I do you shall hear from me. Will you take the mareto-night? If I looked at her again I do not think I could let her go."

  "Aye, it's like that with horses, we know," said the sympathetic farmer."I'll take her to-night."

  The landlord went to the stables with him, and when h
e returned foundthe highwayman standing in deep thought before the fire.

  "I'm tired, friend. Is there a hole I can sleep in until daylight?"

  "Of course."

  "I must start at daybreak."

  "What! Without a horse?"

  "Yes, and without this," he said, taking off his brown mask, showing thelandlord his features for the first time. "To-night 'Galloping Hermit'ceases to exist."

  He kicked the dying embers into a blaze, and dropped the mask into thefire.

  "That's the end of it. Show me this sleeping hole of mine," he said,taking up his parcel from the floor. "What clothes I leave in it you mayhave. I shall not want them any more."

  With the dawn a man came out of the inn. He looked at the sky, and upthe road, and down it. Under his arm he carried a fiddle and a bow.There fell from his lips a little cadence of notes, soft, low, not alaugh, nor yet a sigh, yet with something of content in it.

  "For the love of a woman," he murmured, and then he went along the roadnorthwards, his figure slowly lessening in the distance until itvanished over the brow of the hill which the morning sunlight had justtouched.

  THE END