Norton, Andre - Novel 08 (29 page)

 
          
 
"Happens we be lucky," he said,
"we'll come up t' th' Pig and Angel an' find Walt Torby there
. '
E takes th' Friday cart int'
Portsmouth
"

 
          
 
Fitz stopped short. "
Portsmouth
!" Jem laughed at the consternation in
his voice.

 
          
 
"Nay, we won't go a-paradin' in, lad. I
don't fancy
th
' press gang any more 'n ye do. But
we'll spare our feet a mite an' be some miles on t' a snug place as I 'ave
knowledge oWith
th
' gentlemen takin' t' cover, we 'ave
got t' use our wits." He trudged on at a swinging, steady trot which Fitz
found difficult to hold. A horseman dismounted or a sailor ashore does not take
kindly to the art of the pedestrian at any time. And his misgivings about those
miserable boots were proven true. If he could judge from past experience, there
would be sizable blisters on both heels by morning.

 
          
 
After a long space of misery, Jem took pity on
his silent traveling companion and signaled a halt. Fitz dropped puffing on a
hedge bank, while Jem, whistling a dragging little tune hardly above his
breath, looked about him for a familiar landmark.

 
          
 
" 'Bout a quarter-mile more," he
encouraged, "we'll 'ave t' leave th' track an' come down along th' hill—
t' show as how we are rightuns."

 
          
 
Leaving the track meant a struggle with briars
in which Fitz decidedly came off second best. He limped on, trying not to lag
too far behind Lovel as they circled a clump of trees, distorted by shadows and
the moon into a very ugly and menacing shape, and angled down a slope to a
low-lying building where a single pale light outlined an upper window.

 
          
 
Jem's whistle shrilled up into a flutelike
call. And then the little man puckered his lips to give the perfect cry of a
hunting owl, three times uttered. The light in the window brightened and faded
three times. Jem's breath went out in a sigh of relief, which told Fitz that he
had not been quite
so
confident of their welcome as he
had allowed the American to believe.

 
          
 
"Come on!"

 
          
 
Jem was already scuttling up to a doorway.

 
          
 
"Jem—Jem, dearie!"
A white arm came out of the dark and pulled Lovel through. A moment later Fitz
heard the sound of a hearty kiss delivered with
fervor,
and the voice arose in affectionate scolding.
"Dearie,
dearie, ye 'ave bin such a time away, Jem."

 
          
 
"Stow
th
' gab,
lass!" But Jem's rebuke was softly given. "Have a friend
wi
' me. Come,
cully "

 
          
 
They were in a kind of outhouse where covered
pans and crocks were set out in neat rows along open shelves. A candle had been
put down on the edge of the nearest shelf, and in its light, a stoutly built
but not uncomely girl stood with her thick hands still on Jem's shoulders, but
her eyes now for Fitz.

 
          
 
"Walt here?" demanded Jem.

 
          
 
"Aye," the girl responded
reluctantly. "Wot be ye a-wantin'
wi
' Walt? Ye'll
bide awhile, Jem?"

 
          
 
"No. We're on
wi
'
Walt. Th' Ridin Officers be out, lass. Here give we a bite an' sup an' then go
rouse out Walt."

 
          
 
She sniffed a little and flapped at her eyes
with the edge of her none-too-clean apron, favoring Fitz meanwhile with a stare
which held little good will. Apparently she blamed him for Jem's desire to move
on as speedily as possible. Slamming the wooden trenchers down on a ledge, she
set out a loaf, some crumbling cheese, and a cold ham which already had been
hacked at. Two tankards of rather muddy-looking ale completed the feast she
spread before stumping off.

 
          
 
Fitz fell to, his hunger turning the scraps
before him into the equal of a lord mayor's banquet. And Jem's rhythmical
munching was not more than a chew or two behind.

 
          
 
"Luck's turned," Jem said through a
mouthful. "Walt's here an' he's a-knowin' cull, Walt is. He'll see us safe
along—in comfort too, no more foot-sloggin'."

 
          
 
"Now that I wouldn't
say, Jem Lovel!"
A red-haired giant stood in the doorway, the girl
bobbing up and down behind trying to see over his shoulder.

 
          
 
Jem took a long pull of the bitter ale and
then pounded his can down on the ledge. "An' why not, Walt?" he
demanded with some heat.

 
          
 
"I heard as 'ow they 'ave patrols out,
Jem boy. An'
th
' Press Gang is a-workin' inland. I
ain't runnin' me neck int' that fer anyone!"

 
          
 
Jem wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No one askin' ye t'—not that I hear tell o'. We want a lift for a mite
when ye push off. No questions
asked "

 
          
 
Walt yawned widely enough to dislocate his
jaws. "Climb in th' back o' th' cart, culls. What I ain't seed,

 
          
 
I don't know
" He
pushed through the door and was gone. But the girl lingered.

 
          
 
"Jem," she whispered. "Jem, ye
can lie up 'ere— safe an' snug—none a-knowin' o' it! An' no Ridin' Officer is
a-goin' t' arsk 'is questions 'ere—it ain't 'ealthy—as well they all know!
Couple o' days, dearie," she stroked his arm with her red, work-scarred
hand.

 
          
 
Jem shook his head. "Word's gone out. It
ain't safe, Matty. I'll be back, lass—ain't I always
bin
?"

 
          
 
"When?" she
persisted.

 
          
 
Jem shrugged. "Now how would I be
a-knowin' that? When I kin come I will. Finished, lad?"

 
          
 
Fitz swallowed and nodded.

 
          
 
"Then we'll find Walt's cart an' git us a
mite o' shut-eye. Walt by
th
' stable as always,
lass?"

 
          
 
She was sullenly gathering the remnants of the
meal and refused to answer. Jem paid no more attention to her, going out the
door and sidling along the wall of an outhouse until they reached some covered
carts. Jem counted these and went over to the third, and hoisted himself over
the tail. With the ease of an old campaigner he found them a niche among the
boxes and bales inside. Pulling a blanket off the driver's seat over them, he
and Fitz huddled down together.

 
          
 
A steady creak-creak rang in Fitz's wakeful
ears. For a moment or two he looked straight up, expecting to see the lines of
a ship's timbers over his head. But a stretch of dingy white stuff roofed him
in. Then he remembered the fantastic journey of the night before. Fitz sat up
with the unpleasant feeling of one who has slept in his clothes and has no
means of remedying the situation.

 
          
 
Over the tail of the cart he could see a set
of deep-cut tracks winding away at a pace so deliberate that a walking man
might well overtake them without unduly exerting himself. He turned his head
and was faced by the broad backs of Walt and Jem seated together on the
driver's perch making the air rank with the smell of strong tobacco, which was
as much a part of Jem as the moleskin waistcoat fastened with pewter buttons
over his chest.

 
          
 
"Awake, lad?" Jem peered back at
him. "Good. Well have t' be a-takin' t' our feet again soon. What d'ye
think
, Walt—downstream?"

 
          
 
The wide shoulders moved in a hunching shrug.
' 'Bout
as good a way as any, Jem. They do say as 'ow
th
' Press is a-workin' inland. Take t' yer 'eels, cully, if
fen that be true!"

 
          
 
Jem spat over the wheel. "I ain't minded
t'
take 't
sea, Walt, have no fear o' that. An' pass
th
' word t' th' boys."

 
          
 
"That I will—right an'
'earty!"

 
          
 
The heavy-footed cart team plodded on their
way, and Fitz was half-lulled back into slumber again since Jem made no move to
quit their present form of transportation. All that had happened at
Starr Court
now seemed part of a wild dream and grew
more unreal with every passing minute. Had he really fought that duel in the
hall and seen the Viscount go down? Here he could doubt that he had. . . .

 
          
 
Somewhere a bird sang a clear, true scale of
notes which mounted up and up and up. Fitz's eyelids drooped shut as he
half-lay, half-sat, propped up by the goods that Walt was transporting. It was
very peaceful and very soothing.

 
          
 
A sudden startled exclamation from Walt put an
end to that. The big man was sawing back on the reins, pulling up the ponderous
horses. In the dust of the track, almost under their noses, a man was
scrambling to his feet. Fitz, jolted forward, gripped the driver's seat and
tried to learn what had happened.

 
          
 
" 'Ware
Press!" The fellow in the road choked out his warning and beat away—up the
embankment, thrusting through the hedge at the top almost before those in the
cart could understand him.

 
          
 
Walt spit out a black oath. But Jem had
already flung himself off the seat.

 
          
 
"Take t' th' woods!" he shouted.
"Take t' th' woods!"

 
          
 
Fitz clambered over the packages and dropped
from the tail. The lane in which the cart had halted was a narrow one, running
between two hedge-crowned banks. Trees showed above the line on the
left—probably marking the woods Jem had spoken of. Fitz started up the bank.

 
          
 
Behind him he could hear the steady rumble of
Walt's swearing. Seemingly the carter could not make up his mind whether to
abandon the cart or remain and try to talk his way out of the clutches of a
man-hungry press gang. But if they wanted men so badly that they had to strike
this far inland to find them, there probably would be little Walt could do to
escape them. Jem had utterly disappeared—unless a wildly waving bush at the top
of the rise marked the smuggler's passing.

 
          
 
Fitz squeezed through what he hoped was the
weakest point of the barrier, a choice which was not so clever after all, since
it almost stripped him and added a wealth of bleeding scratches to his tatters.
But the woods beyond were a disappointment—being no more than a small grove,
the underbrush of which had been well cleared. Fitz lost no time there but
dodged between the trees. And beyond those trees his luck completely failed
him.

 
          
 
The carting lane had made a tight loop and he
plunged abruptly back onto it, tramping into the first rut of the track before
he realized his danger. For he had burst out upon the very pop-eyed, uniformed
party he had been trying to avoid.

 
          
 
He twisted around, even as harsh commands rang
out, but, before he could regain such miserable cover as the wood afforded, a
stout shoulder struck him at hip level. So, straightly tackled he went down,
striking the stony ground with enough force to drive all the wind out of his
laboring lungs.