The Talisman Ring (19 page)

‘Well, if you want a word with her, you’d best get on the Brighton stage. She ain’t here any longer.’

Mr Stubbs gave him a penetrating look, and said deeply: ‘You’re quite sure of that, are you, Mr Nye?’

‘Of course I’m sure! I told you yesterday how it would be. Miss turned her off. What do you want with her? She was a rare silly wench, and not so well-favoured neither.’

‘You know what I want with her,’ said Mr Stubbs. ‘You’re harbouring a dangerous criminal, Mr Nye, and that wench was him!’

This pronouncement, so far from striking terror into the landlord, seemed to afford him the maximum amount of amusement. After staring at the Runners in a bemused way for several minutes, he allowed a smile to spread slowly over his face. The smile led to a chuckle, the chuckle to a veritable paroxysm of laughter. The landlord, wiping his eyes with the corner of his apron, bade Clem share the joke, and as soon as it had been explained to him, Clem did share it. In fact, he continued to snigger behind his hand for much longer than the Runners thought necessary.

When Nye was able to stop laughing he begged Mr Stubbs to tell him what had put such a notion into his head, and when Mr Stubbs, hoping that this card at least might prove to be a trump, said that he had received information, he at first looked at him very hard, and then said: ‘Information, eh? Then I’ll be bound I know who gave you that same information! It was a scrawny fellow with a white face and the nastiest pair of daylights you ever saw! A fellow of the name of Gregg: that’s who it was!’

Mr Stubbs was a trifle disconcerted, and said guardedly: ‘I don’t say it was, and I don’t say it wasn’t.’

‘Lord love you, you needn’t tell me!’ said Nye, satisfied that his shot had gone home. ‘He’s had a spite against me since I don’t know when, while as for his master, if a stranger was to stop for half a day in this place, he’d go mad thinking it was Mr Ludovic come home to stop him taking what don’t belong to him. You’ve been properly roasted, that’s what you’ve been.’

‘I don’t know that,’ replied Mr Stubbs. ‘All I know is it’s very highly suspicious that that abigail ain’t here no more, and what I want to see, Mr Nye, is those cellars of yourn.’

‘Well, I’ve got something better to do than to take you down to my cellars,’ said Nye. ‘If you want to see ’em, you go and see ’em. I don’t mind.’

An hour later, when Sir Hugh came down to breakfast, a pleasing idea dawned in Nye’s brain, and as he set a dish of ham and eggs before his patron, he told him that the Runners were in the house again. Sir Hugh, more interested in his breakfast than in the process of the Law, merely replied that as long as they kept from poking their noses into his room, he had no objection to their presence.

‘Oh, they won’t do that, sir!’ said Nye, pouring him out a cup of coffee. ‘They’re down in the cellar.’

Sir Hugh was inspecting a red sirloin, and said in a preoccupied voice: ‘In the cellar, are they?’ Suddenly he let his eyeglass fall, and swung round in his chair to look at the landlord. ‘What’s that you say? In the cellar?’

‘Yes, sir. They’ve been there the best part of an hour now – off and on.’

Sir Hugh was a man not easily moved, but this piece of intelligence roused him most effectively from his habitual placidity. ‘Are you telling me you’ve let that red-nosed scoundrel loose in the cellars!’ he demanded.

‘Well, sir, seeing as he’s an officer of the Law, and with a warrant, I didn’t hardly like to gainsay him,’ said Nye apologetically.

‘Warrant be damned!’ said Sir Hugh. ‘There’s a pipe of Chambertin down there which I bought from you! What the devil are you about, man?’

‘I thought you wouldn’t be pleased, sir, but there! what can I do? They’ve got it into their heads there’s a secret cellar. They’re hunting for it. Clem tells me it’s something shocking the way they’re pulling the kegs about.’

‘Pulling the –’ Words failed Sir Hugh. He rose, flinging down his napkin, and strolled from the parlour towards the tap-room and the cellar stairs.

Fifteen minutes later Miss Thane, entering the room, was mildly surprised to find her brother’s chair empty, and inquired of Nye what had become of him.

‘It was on account of them Runners, ma’am,’ said Nye.

‘What! are they here again?’ exclaimed Miss Thane.

‘Ay, they’re here, ma’am, a-hunting for the way into my hidden cellar. Oh, Mr Ludovic’s safe enough! But on account of my mentioning to Sir Hugh how them Runners was disturbing the wine downstairs, he got up, leaving his breakfast like you see, and went off in a rare taking to see what was happening.’

Miss Thane cast one glance at Nye’s wooden countenance, and said: ‘You were certainly born to be hanged, Nye. What
was
happening?’

‘Well, ma’am, by what I heard in the tap-room they had pulled my kegs about a thought roughly, and what with that and Sir Hugh getting it into his head they was wishful to tap the Nantes brandy, there was a trifle of a to-do. Clem tells me it was rare to hear Sir Hugh handle them. By what I understand, he’s laid it on them not to move any kegs by so much as an inch, and what he told them about wilful damage frightened them fair silly – that and the high tone he took with them.’

‘They didn’t ask him what he knew of Lord Lavenham, did they?’ said Miss Thane anxiously.

‘They didn’t have no chance to ask him, ma’am. He told them they might look for all the criminals they chose, so long as they didn’t tamper with the liquor, nor go nosing round his bedchamber.’

‘But, Nye, what if they find your hidden cellar?’ said Miss Thane.

He smiled dourly. ‘They won’t do that – not while they keep to the open cellars. In fact, while Sir Hugh was telling them what their duty was, and what it wasn’t, I was able to take Mr Ludovic his breakfast.’

‘Where is your secret cellar, Nye?’

He looked at her for a moment, and then replied: ‘You’ll be the ruin of me yet, ma’am. It’s under the floor of my store-room.’

Sir Hugh came back into the room presently. He gave it as his opinion that the Runners were either drunk or half-witted and said that he fancied they would have no more trouble with them. Upon his sister’s inquiring hopefully whether he had contrived to get rid of them, he replied somewhat severely that he had made no such attempt. He had merely defined their duties to them and warned them of the consequences of overstepping the limits of the law.

Both Nye and Miss Thane were dissatisfied, but there was no doubt that the irruption of Sir Hugh into the cellars had done much to damp the Runners’ ardour. His air of unquestionable authority, his knowledge of the law, and the fact of his being acquainted, apparently, with the magistrate in charge at Bow Street made them conscious of a great disinclination to fall foul of him again. Nor could they feel, when they had discussed the point between themselves, that a house which held so rigid a legal precisian was the place in which to look for a hardened criminal. They had failed on two occasions to find the least trace of Ludovic Lavenham; the landlord, who should be most nearly concerned, seemed to look upon their search with indifference; and had it not been for the suspicious circumstance of the abigail’s disappearance, they would have been much inclined to have returned to London. The valet’s words, however, had been explicit. They decided to prosecute a further search for a hidden cellar, and to keep the inn under observation in the hope of surprising Ludovic in an attempt to escape.

While this search, which entailed a patient tapping of the walls and the floor of the other cellars, was in progress, Nye seized the opportunity to visit Ludovic. He returned presently and reported that his lordship wouldn’t stay patient for long; in fact, was already threatening to come out of hiding and deal with the Runners in his own fashion.

‘Really, one cannot blame him,’ said Miss Thane judicially. ‘It is most tiresome of these people to continue to haunt us. It quite puts an end to our adventures.’

‘Yes, it does,’ agreed Eustacie. ‘Besides, I am afraid that Ludovic will catch cold in the cellar.’

‘Very true,’ said Miss Thane. ‘There is nothing for it: since Hugh has been so useless in the matter, we must get rid of the Runners ourselves.’

‘
You
have not seen them,’ said Eustacie bitterly. ‘They are the kind of men who stay, and stay, and stay.’

‘Yes, they seem to be a dogged couple, I must say. I am afraid it is your abigail who is at the root of their obstinacy.’ She broke off, and suddenly stood up. ‘My love, I believe I have hit upon a notion! Would you – now, would you say I was a strapping wench?’

‘Of certainty I should not say anything of the kind!’ replied Eustacie, indignant at the implication that she could be capable of such discourtesy. ‘You are very tall,
bien entendu
, but –’

‘Say no more!’ commanded Miss Thane. ‘I have a Plan!’

In pursuance of her plan, Miss Thane took care to remain out of sight of the two Runners for the rest of the day. She repaired to her own room, and sat there with an agreeable and blood-curdling romance, and from time to time Eustacie came up to report on the proceedings below-stairs.

Mr Stubbs took an early opportunity of subjecting Eustacie to a searching cross-examination, but from this she emerged triumphant. Having established a reputation for excitability, it was easy for her when in difficulties to become incoherent, and consequently (since she at once took refuge in the French tongue) unintelligible. At the end of half an hour’s questioning, Mr Stubbs, and not his victim, felt quite battered.

He and his companion spent a wearing and an unsatisfactory day. The cellar, besides being extremely cold, revealed no secrets, and a locked cupboard which Mr Peabody discovered in a dark corner of the passage leading to the kitchen was responsible for an unpleasant interlude with the landlord. As soon as Mr Peabody discovered the cupboard, which was partly hidden behind a pile of empty cases and baskets, he demanded the key of Nye. When the landlord, after a prolonged search in which Clem joined, announced that he had lost it, the hopes of both Runners rose high, and Mr Stubbs warned Nye that if he did not immediately produce the key, they would break in the door. Nye retorted that if damage were done to his property, he would lodge a complaint in Bow Street. He said so many times, and with such unwonted emphasis, that there was nothing in the cupboard but some spare crockery that both Runners became agog with suspicion, and resembled nothing so much as a couple of terriers at a rat-hole. They pulled all the empty cases away from the cupboard door, so that Miss Nye, coming out of the kitchen with a loaded tray, fell over them, smashing three plates and scattering a dish of cheese-cakes all down the narrow passage. Miss Nye, too deaf to hear Mr Peabody’s profuse apologies, spoke bitterly and at length on the subject of Men in general, and Bow Street Runners in particular, and when Mr Peabody, with an unlucky idea of repairing the damage, collected all the dusty cheese-cakes together on the larger portion of the broken dish and handed them to her, she so far forgot herself as to box his ears.

The next thing to do, Miss Nye having retired, seething, to the kitchen, was to break down the door of the cupboard. Mr Stubbs thought that Mr Peabody should perform this office, and Mr Peabody considered Mr. Stubbs, who was of bulkier build, the man for the task. It was not until the argument had been settled that they discovered that the door opened outwards. When Mr Stubbs demanded of Nye why he had not divulged this fact at the outset, Nye replied that he did not wish them to break into that cupboard. He added that they would regret it if they did, a hint that made Mr Stubbs draw an unwieldy pistol from his pocket, and warn the supposed occupant of the cupboard that if he did not instantly give himself up, the lock would be blown out of the door. No answer being forthcoming, Mr Stubbs told his assistant to stand ready to Pounce, and, setting the muzzle of his pistol to the lock, pulled the trigger.

The noise made by the shot was quite deafening, and an ominous sound of breaking glass was heard faintly through its reverberations. Commanding Mr Peabody to cover the cupboard with his own pistol, Mr Stubbs seized the handle of the door and pulled it open, carefully keeping in the lee of it as he did so.

Mr Peabody lowered his gun. The cupboard was quite a shallow one, and contained nothing but shelves bearing glass and crockery. Such specimens as had come within the range of the shot had fared badly, a circumstance which roused Nye to immediate and loud-voiced wrath.

The explosion had been heard in other parts of the house, and even a dim echo of it by Miss Nye. She erupted once more from the kitchen, this time armed with the rolling-pin, at precisely the same moment as Sir Hugh Thane, eyeglass raised, loomed up at the other end of the passage.

‘What the devil’s toward?’ demanded Sir Hugh, with all the irritability of a man rudely awakened from his afternoon sleep.

Mr Stubbs tried to say that it was only a matter of his duty, but as Miss Nye, who had the peculiarly resonant voice of most deaf persons, chose at the same moment to announce that if she were given her choice, she would sooner have a pair of wild bulls in the house than two Runners, his explanation was not heard. Before he could repeat it, Nye had given Sir Hugh a brief and faithful account of the affair, particularly stressing his own part in it. ‘Over and over again I told them there was only some spare crockery in the cupboard, sir, but they wouldn’t listen to me. I hope I’m a patient man, but when it comes to them smashing four of my best glasses, not to mention spoiling a whole dish of cheese-cakes that was meant for your honour’s dinner, it’s more than what I can stand!’

‘It’s my belief,’ said Sir Hugh, looking fixedly at the unfortunate Runners, ‘that they’re drunk. Both of them.’

Mr Stubbs, who had not been offered any liquid refreshment at all, protested almost tearfully.

‘If you’re not drunk,’ said Sir Hugh, with finality, ‘you’re mad. I had my suspicions of it from the start.’

After this painful affair the Runners withdrew to watch the inn from the outside. While one kept an eye on the back door from the post-boy’s room, the other walked up and down in front of the inn. From time to time they met and exchanged places. They were occasionally rewarded by the sight either of Nye or of Clem peeping out of one or other of the doors as though to see whether the coast were clear. These signs of activity were sufficiently heartening to keep them at their posts. But it was miserable work for a raw February day, and had the house under observation been other than an inn, it was unlikely that a sense of duty would have triumphed. However, although Nye, according no more nice treatment to the Runners, might withhold all offers of brandy, he could not refuse to serve them as customers. The only pleasant moments they spent during the remainder of the afternoon were in the cosy tap-room, and even these were somewhat marred by the black looks cast at them by the landlord and the caustic comments he made on the drinking proclivities of law officers.

But when dusk fell they had their reward. It was Mr Stubbs’s turn to sit at the window of the stable-room, and it was consequently he who saw the back door open very gradually, and Eustacie look cautiously out into the yard. He knew it was she, because the candles had been lit inside the house, and she stood full in a beam of light.

Mr Stubbs drew back from the window and watched from behind the curtain. Behind him one post-boy sprawled in a chair by the fire, snoring rhythmically, and two others sat at the table playing cards.

Eustacie, having peered all round through the twilight, turned and beckoned to someone inside the house. Mr Stubbs, breathing heavily, reached for his stout ash-plant, and grasped it in his right hand. With his eyes starting almost out of his head, he saw a tall female figure, muffled from head to foot in a dark cloak, slip out of the house and glide round it towards the front, keeping well in the shadow of the wall. Eustacie softly closed the door; but Mr Stubbs did not wait to see this. In two bounds he had reached the yard, and was creeping after his quarry, taking care, however, to stay well behind until he could summon Mr Peabody to his assistance.

The cloaked figure was moving swiftly, yet in a cautious fashion, pausing at the corner of the house to look up and down the road before venturing further. Mr Stubbs stopped too, effacing himself in the shadows, and realized, when the quarry made a dart across the road, that Mr Peabody must be enjoying a session in the tap-room, saw dimly that the unknown female (or male) was hurrying down the road under cover of the hedge, and bounced into the inn, loudly calling on Mr Peabody for support.

Mr Peabody, ever-zealous, hastened to his side, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. When he heard the glorious news, he stayed only to pick up his cudgel, and ran out with Mr Stubbs in pursuit of the fugitive.

‘It were that self-same abigail, William,’ panted Mr Stubbs. ‘All along I thought – too big for a female! There he goes!’

Hearing the sounds of heavy-footed pursuit, the figure ahead looked once over its shoulder, and then broke into a run. Mr Stubbs had no more breath to spare for speech, but Mr Peabody, a leaner man, managed to shout: ‘Halt!’

The figure ahead showed signs of flagging; the Runners, getting their second wind, began to gain upon it, and in a few moments had reached it, and grabbed at the enveloping cloak, gasping: ‘In the name of the Law!’

The figure spun round, and landed Mr Stubbs a facer that made his nose bleed.

‘Mind his pops, Jerry!’ cried Mr Peabody grappling with the foe. ‘Lordy, what a wild cat! Ah, would you, then!’

Mr Stubbs caught the figure’s left arm in a crushing grip, and panted: ‘I arrest you in the name of the Law!’

The captive said a low, breathless voice: ‘Let me go! Let me go at once!’

‘You’re coming along of us, that’s what you’re going to do,’ replied Mr Stubbs.

The sound of a horse trotting towards them made the Runners drag their captive to the side of the road. The horse and rider came into sight, and the prisoner, recognizing the rider, cried: ‘Sir Tristram, help! Help!’

The horse seemed to bound forward as under a sudden spur. The prisoner, struggling madly, shrieked again for help, and the next instant Sir Tristram was abreast of the group, and had swung himself out of the saddle. Before the Runners could explain matters, he had taken the management of the affair into his own swift and capable hands. Mr Stubbs, starting to proclaim his calling, encountered a smashing right and left which dropped him like a log, and Mr Peabody, releasing his captive and aiming a blow at Sir Tristram with his cudgel, quite failed to find his mark, and the next moment was sprawling on the road, having been neatly thrown on Sir Tristram’s hip.

Sir Tristram paid no further heed to either of them, but took a quick stride towards the cloaked figure, saying sharply: ‘Are you hurt? What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this, Miss Thane?’

‘Oh, I am bruised from head to foot!’ shuddered Miss Thane. ‘These dreadful creatures set upon me with cudgels! I shall die of the shock!’

This dramatic announcement, instead of arousing Sir Tristram’s chivalrous instincts anew, made him look penetratingly at her for one moment, and say in a voice torn between amusement and exasperation: ‘You must be out of your mind! How dared you do such a crazy thing?’

The Runners had by this time begun to pick themselves up. Mr Stubbs, cherishing his nose, seemed a little dazed, but Mr Peabody advanced heroically, and said: ‘I arrest you, Ludovic Lavenham, in the name of the Law, and it will go hard with them as seeks to interfere!’

Sir Tristram released Miss Thane’s hands, which he had been holding in a sustaining manner, and replied: ‘You fool, this is not Ludovic Lavenham! This is a lady!’

Mr Stubbs said thickly: ‘It’s the abigail. It ain’t no female.’

‘Oh, don’t let them touch me!’ implored Miss Thane, shrieking artistically towards Sir Tristram.

‘I’ve no intention of letting them touch you, but don’t get in my way,’ said Sir Tristram unromantically. ‘Now then, my man, perhaps you will tell me what the devil you mean by arresting this lady?’

‘It ain’t a lady!’ said Mr Peabody urgently. ‘He’s a desperate criminal dressed up for an abigail! No lady couldn’t fight like him!’

‘I tell you she is Sir Hugh Thane’s sister!’ said Sir Tristram. ‘Look, is this a man’s face?’ He turned as he spoke, and put back the hood from Miss Thane’s head.

The Runners peered at her doubtfully. ‘When my brother hears of this, you will be sorry!’ said Miss Thane in a tearful voice.

A look of deep foreboding stole into Mr Stubbs’s watering eyes. ‘If we’ve made a mistake –’ he began uncertainly.

‘It’s my belief it’s a plot, and they’re both in it!’ declared Mr Peabody.

‘Take me to my brother!’ begged Miss Thane, clinging to Sir Tristram’s arm. ‘I fear I may be going to swoon!’

Mr Stubbs looked at her over the handkerchief which he was holding to his nose. Also he looked at Sir Tristram, and rather unwisely accused him of having assaulted an officer of the Law.

‘Oh, you’re law officers, are you?’ said Sir Tristram grimly. ‘Then you may come and explain yourselves to Sir Hugh Thane. Can you walk, ma’am, or shall I carry you?’

Miss Thane declined this offer, though in a failing voice, and accepted instead the support of his arm. The whole party began to walk slowly towards the Red Lion, Sir Tristram solicitously guiding Miss Thane’s tottering steps, and Mr Peabody leading Sir Tristram’s horse.

They entered the inn by the door into the coffee-room, and here they were met by Eustacie, who, upon sight of Miss Thane, gave a dramatic start, and cried, ‘
Bon Dieu!
What has happened? Sarah, are you ill!’

Miss Thane said faintly: ‘I scarce know…Two men attacked me…’

‘Ah, she is swooning!’ exclaimed Eustacie. ‘What an outrage! What villainy!’

Miss Thane, having assured herself that Sir Tristram was close enough to catch her, closed her eyes, and sank gracefully back into his arms.

‘Hartshorn! vinegar!’ shrieked Eustacie. ‘Lay her on the settle,
mon cousin
!’

Nye, who had come in from the tap-room, said: ‘What! Miss Thane in a swoon? I’ll call Sir Hugh this instant!’ and strode away to the parlour.

Sir Tristram carried his fair burden to the settle, and laid her down upon it. A glance at her charming complexion was sufficient to allay any alarm he might otherwise have felt, and with his fingers over her steady pulse, he said: ‘I think we should throw water over her, my dear cousin. Cold water.’

Miss Thane’s lips parted a little. A very soft whisper reached Sir Tristram’s ears. ‘You dare!’ breathed Miss Thane.

‘Wait! I will instantly fetch the hartshorn!’ said Eustacie, and turning sharp on her heel, collided with Mr Peabody, who was anxiously peeping over her shoulder at Miss Thane’s inanimate form. ‘Brute!
Imbécile!
’ she stormed.

Mr Peabody stepped aside in a hurry. Having seen Miss Thane’s shapely figure in the candlelight, he was now quite sure that a mistake had been made, and the look he cast at Mr Stubbs, standing glumly in the door, was one of deep reproach.