The Brown Mask Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  THE NUN OF AYLINGFORD

  Before she had taken many steps Barbara regretted that she had notremained with her uncle. Lord Rosmore must have said something to SirJohn, and would guess that they had been talking about him; it wouldhave been better to have stayed and shown him by her manner howdistasteful the subject was to her. But she did not turn back. If shehad missed an opportunity, it was certain that many more would be givenher. She even began to wonder whether she really disliked Lord Rosmore;he had certainly given her no definite cause. In London he had notattempted to pay her any marked attention, and last night, when he hadbent low over her hand, was the first time there had been anythingnoticeable in his behaviour. She liked him better--far better--thanJudge Marriott; Sydney Fellowes hardly counted, and there was no otherman whose coming had pleased her or whose departure had caused her asingle regret. The man who had come to her help at Newgate was a shadow,a dream. Only curiosity could account for her remembering him. Indeed,it was doubtful if she did really remember him; were she to meet him shewould probably not know him again. No, she had no ground for dislikingLord Rosmore. She did not dislike him, but, since he had been chosen forher, there was ample reason why she could never love him. Any womanwould naturally hate the man she was commanded to love.

  She turned from the terrace and, passing through a low doorway fromwhich the door had gone long ago, entered a wide space enclosed byruinous and moss-grown walls. It was open to the sky and littered with_debris_. At one end the blocked-up entrance from the present housewas distinctly visible; at the other a small door, deeply sunk into themassive masonry, gave entrance to a small round tower or bastion, whichrose some feet above the walls and overhung the terrace. The tower hadescaped ruin, almost accidentally it would seem, for there were no signsof any particular care having been expended upon it. This open space hadevidently been chiefly occupied by a large hall, its floor a littlelower than the terrace level, but adjoining the tower end of it therehad been other rooms, for traces of stone steps could be seen in thewall. In one corner, too, there had been a room below the level of thefloor--indeed, some of the stone flags still projected over it. Itswalls, strong and dungeon-like, were built down some fifteen feet; twoor three narrow slits piercing the outer wall in a sharp upward anglehad evidently given this buried chamber a dim light, and the entrance toit could only have been from the top, probably by a trap door. Some_debris_ had fallen into it, but not very much, and creepers had sownthemselves and, climbing over part of the walls to the top, had spreadthemselves over a portion of the floor of the hall.

  Barbara picked her way across the fallen _debris_ and stood lookingdown into this hole for a few minutes. It seemed to possess a certainfascination for her, as though it were in some way connected with herhistory. Then she went to the small door in the tower. It was locked,and although she knocked several times, and stood back to look up at thenarrow windows above her, there was no sound, and no one answered hersummons. She sat down upon a fallen piece of stonework, and her thoughtstroubled her. Truly, she had come back to a new life. Even that lockeddoor seemed to have its significance. She did not remember ever to havefound it fastened before when she really wanted to enter.

  She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and then rose quicklyto her feet.

  "What a place to hide in!" exclaimed Lord Rosmore as he came towardsher. "I have never had the curiosity to penetrate into this rubbish heapbefore, and behold I am rewarded by finding a jewel."

  "I came here to be alone for a little while," she said.

  "I came for the same reason."

  "You did not follow me?" she asked, evident disbelief in her tone.

  "I wish I could say that I had, if it would please you; but, alas! truthwill out. I came to think and to get through a troubled hour where myfellows could not see me. In this, at least, we can sympathise with eachother it would seem."

  "We can talk plainly, perhaps; it will be best," she answered.

  "At least, I can explain," said Rosmore; "but won't you be seated again?That is better," he went on as she sat down, "it seems to makeconfession of my fault easier. A little while since I spoke to youruncle about you. It was unwise, I know that now, but I did not think sothen. Your position and your wealth seemed to make it the honourablething to do. Sir John was kind enough to wish me good fortune, and I wascontent to wait. It was not my intention that Sir John should sayanything to you, I did not imagine he would do so. Now, I learn that youhave been pestered with my sentiments by proxy, that I have been forcedto your notice. It is enough surely to make me seek solitude, where Imay curse the hard fate that ruins me."

  "I thought--"

  "I dare not try and understand all you thought," Rosmore interrupted. "Ican only suppose that Sir John meant to be kind, that in some sense hedid not consider me an altogether unworthy alliance; but that I shouldever have my wooing done for me--the idea is maddening! A man could nottake a surer road to a woman's contempt."

  "My uncle has made a mistake," said Barbara. "I understand, and you havemy thanks for the explanation."

  "And your forgiveness?"

  "I hardly think I had become angry."

  "You lift my trouble from me with generous hands," said Rosmore. "Truly,Sir John has made a mistake, his desire perhaps marring his judgment;but, as truly, I am your humble worshipper. No! please hear me out. InLondon I did not thrust myself upon you because I had wit enough tounderstand that professions with even a suspicion of lightness in themwere distasteful to you; now, after what has occurred, I am at adisadvantage, and I have no intention of putting my happiness to thetest at such an inopportune time. For the present look upon me as afriend who hopes presently to win a greater regard, and who is,meanwhile, always at your service."

  "I thank you," Barbara said, and the man's nerves tingled as she roseand swept him a graceful curtsy. She had never looked more beautiful,never so desirable as at that moment. He had conquered so often and socarelessly that he could not think of failure now.

  "So we are friends and our troubles gone," he said gaily. "They are lostin the _debris_ of this ruinous place. It is strange this part shouldhave been left in ruins, while the rest of the Abbey has been socarefully rebuilt and preserved."

  "It is because of the Nun of Aylingford."

  "A nun! In an Abbey for monks?"

  "Strange, but true. I thought everyone knew the story."

  "No. Won't you tell it to me?"

  "You must look into the Nun's Room first, Lord Rosmore," said Barbara,and she was so interested in the legend that she forgot to ask herselfwhether she liked or disliked her companion as she led the way to thesunken stone chamber. "Be careful you do not stumble and fall into it,for it is said that death comes to such a stumbler within the year."

  "A fable, of course?" he laughed.

  "I have only known one man who fell in. He was helped out unhurt, but hedied within the week. I should not like to fall."

  "Give me your hand," he said.

  "For your safety or for mine?" she returned. "I am used to this place,have loved it since I was a child; besides, it is said that the curseapplies only to men. You see, the Nun had pity on her own sex."

  Lord Rosmore's hand was still extended, but she did not take it.

  "For thirteen years a woman lived in this dungeon. Under the creeper onyonder wall you can see the stone slab which was her bed. The floor ofthe hall shut her up almost in darkness, and from the hour she steppeddown into this room she saw no human face, heard no human voice."

  "You stand too close to the opening, Mistress Lanison. I pray you comeback or take my hand."

  Barbara stepped back and stood by the wall, facing him.

  "Her story is a sad one, sad and cruel," she went on. "She had a lover,and an enemy who said he loved her. The lover--a knight of prowess--wentto the wars, and on his return was told that the woman he worshipped wasfalse. He sought for her from one end of the land to the other, stillbelieving in her, until by some artif
ice he was brought to believe inher unfaithfulness. Life had lost all zest for him, and he came here atlast, to Aylingford Abbey, to seek consolation in a life of religion. Itwas the enemy who had contrived to keep the lovers apart, telling thegirl also that the knight in whom she trusted was untrue. How shediscovered the lie I do not know, nor does it matter, but when she didshe sought for him as he had sought for her. She heard at last that hehad become a monk, and she presently came to seek him at Aylingford.Dressed in a monk's gown, she asked for him. They met, and werediscovered by the Abbot just at the moment when she had almost persuadedhim to forsake his vows for love of her. Religion had claimed himbecause a lie had deceived him, she argued; therefore no vow couldreally bind him. She argued in this way with the Abbot, too, who was ashrewd man and as cruel as death. The monk, he knew, was no longer amonk at heart; the woman had penetrated into the Abbey under a falseguise--as a man. No punishment was too severe for such a sin, he said,and he used religious arguments which could certainly never find an echoin a merciful heaven. The woman was condemned and lowered into thatroom--a nun by force--and there for thirteen years she existed. Once aday sufficient food to keep her alive was given her through the trap, insuch a manner that she should see no one, and never a word was spoken.The monk fought for her release in vain, and soon died, raving mad, itis said. When the nun died, she was carried to the woods beyond thestream and buried. Village legend has marked a tree, which they call'Nun's Oak,' as her burying-place, but probably this is fancy. Eversince that time there has been a curse on this part of the Abbey, andthat is why it has been allowed to go to ruin."

  "A sad tale most sweetly told," said Lord Rosmore; "a tale to appeal toa lover."

  "Or it may be to warn a woman how cruel men can be," Barbara answered.

  "Some men, not all," he said gently. "The monk in the story went mad forlove. Still, there is a warning, too, not to trust men over easily. Thegreatest villains have often good looks to recommend them and candeceive most easily."

  "I think I could tell," said Barbara.

  "I wonder," Rosmore answered slowly. "There is often a vein of romancein a woman which makes her blind. I have thought of this more than oncewhen thinking of you."

  "It would seem I have troubled you a great deal in one way or another,Lord Rosmore."

  "Some day, when you have forgotten that you were inclined to hate me, Imay tell you how much. Yet there is one thing I might tell you now, as afriend, in case there should be much of this vein of romance in you."

  "Yes, as a friend."

  "Newgate--the trial day of the highwayman, Galloping Hermit."

  He spoke abruptly, after a moment's pause, and had his intention been tostartle her he could hardly have employed a better method.

  "I see you remember it," he said. "Lady Bolsover should not have takenyou, it was no place for a woman--indeed, she and I almost quarrelledabout it afterwards. You may remember I was with Lady Bolsover whenthat--that gentleman brought you out of the crowd, the mysterious personwho did not want to be seen."

  "Yes, I remember," she said quietly.

  "A good-looking man, yet--"

  "You knew him, Lord Rosmore?"

  "Well enough to follow him; but I failed to find him."

  "Why should you follow him?"

  "You would hardly understand," he returned. "It is a matter concernedwith politics. This you know, however, that the King has enemies.Monmouth plots in Holland, the Duke of Argyll is being defeated inScotland. Well, Mistress Lanison, there are traitors and traitors--thosethat one may at least recognise as brave men, and others who arecowardly curs. Of the first is Argyll and, perhaps, Monmouth; of thesecond are those who promote rebellion from safe hiding-holes, and nevershow themselves to take a hand in the fighting. There is a rascal hidingfrom the officers of justice now--one Danvers--who is of this secondkind, a scurrilous fellow who is willing to barter the lives of bettermen, but dares nothing himself. He is one of a gang. The man who came toyour rescue at Newgate is a companion of his. I have wondered whetheryou have seen him since."

  "At least it was courteous of him to come to my rescue," Barbara said.

  "Never was there a man yet who had not a good instinct on occasion.Besides, the basest of men would not fail to grasp the opportunity ofdoing a service to a beautiful woman."

  "I was almost crying, and in that condition I am positively repulsive,"she answered, almost as if she were angry at being spoken of as abeautiful woman. "What is the name of this man?"

  "He calls himself Crosby--Gilbert Crosby. Probably he has no right tothe name. He is a dangerous and a clever man--dangerous because he plotsand schemes while other men act, clever because he skilfully manages toevade the law. Many people find it difficult to believe ill of him, forhe has all the appearance of a courageous gentleman."

  "I am among those people difficult to convince," said Barbara.

  "Exactly, hence my warning," said Rosmore. "You noted how quickly hedisappeared. He saw me, and had no desire to face a man who knows himfor what he is. Those grey eyes of his were sharper than mine or hewould not have escaped so easily."

  Barbara glanced at him quickly, wondering how much of their conversationher uncle had repeated, but Lord Rosmore did not appear to notice herlook.

  "And if you had found him?" she asked.

  "I should have forced a quarrel on some pretext or other, and socontrived that he could not have run away without giving mesatisfaction. By killing him I should have done a public service, and,for my own honour, I should have snapped the sword I had been compelledto stain with the blood of so contemptible a person. You smile, MistressLanison. Why?"

  "At your vindictiveness, and at a thought which came into my mind."

  "May I know it?"

  "I was wondering what this Mr.--did you say the name was Crosby?--wouldhave done with his sword had he proved equal to reversing the issue ofthe quarrel."

  "Ah! I wonder," and Lord Rosmore laughed, but not good-naturedly. "Ihave faith enough in my skill to believe that it can successfully defendyou whenever you may have need of it."

  She turned towards the doorway opening on to the terrace, but havingtaken two or three hasty steps, as if desirous of bringing the interviewto a speedy end, she stopped and faced him:

  "Lord Rosmore, this highwayman, this Galloping Hermit; he is not dead,you know that?"

  "Judge Marriott will not allow us to forget it," he laughed. "Give himthe slightest opportunity, and he will tell of his adventure on BurfordHeath half a dozen times in the day."

  "Who is this Galloping Hermit?" Barbara asked, almost as though sheexpected a definite answer to the question.

  "Could I satisfy that curiosity I should be quite a famous person," hesaid. "Scores of men envy him his reputation and half the women offashion are in love with him."

  "Is he this Gilbert Crosby, think you?"

  "Why should you suggest such a thing?" Rosmore asked sharply. "Were theygrey eyes which peeped through the brown mask that night?"

  "I could not see; and, besides, I do not belong to that half of thewomen of fashion."

  "Truly, if you did you would be in no bad company. I have a sneakingfondness for the fellow myself, and it has been my ill-fortune never tomeet him. By all accounts he is a gallant scoundrel, with a nerve ofiron, whereas Crosby--Oh, no, whoever Galloping Hermit may be, he isnot Gilbert Crosby."

  Lord Rosmore did not follow Barbara on to the terrace. He had made hispeace with her, and had succeeded in establishing a definiteunderstanding between them. She accepted his friendship--that countedfor a great deal with such a woman. It would be strange if he could notturn it into love. Yet he was conscious that this was to be no easytriumph, no opportunity must be neglected, and his busy brain was fullof schemes for bending circumstances to further his desires.

  A little later, as he slowly crossed one of the stone bridges towardsthe woods, he saw Barbara sitting on the terrace, and Sydney Fellowesstanding before her reading from sheets of paper in his hand.

&
nbsp; "I cannot write verses to please her, that is certain," he mused. "Shecannot care for Fellowes, his eyes are not grey. It is this fellowCrosby she thinks of, and of a highwayman, perhaps. A strange pair ofrivals, truly! Sydney Fellowes might be useful, besides--" Somebrilliant idea seemed to take sudden possession of him, for there wasexcitement in his step as he crossed the bridge quickly and disappearedinto the woods beyond.

  Neither Barbara nor Fellowes noticed Lord Rosmore, nor were either ofthem thinking of him. Fellowes was absorbed in reading his verses to thebest advantage. Barbara, while apparently listening intently to hercompanion, was wondering if the man who had come more often into herthoughts than perhaps she had realised could possibly be a scoundrel anda coward.