“Exit the clerk, enter the preacher,” said Johnson.
The servant, bowing profoundly, ushered in a tall gentleman in a suit of dark-blue velvet, with a fine lace cravat falling over a waistcoat of satin and silver. The gentleman might have been fifty years of age by the lines round his mouth, but his cherubic countenance was infantine in contour, and coloured, by hunting or the bottle, to an even pink. He had clearly been dining well, for he plumped down heavily in the chair and his eye was as blue and vacant as a frosty sky. When he spoke it was with the careful enunciation of one who is not in a condition to take liberties with the English tongue.
“Makin’ so bold, your honour,” said the constable, “them ’ere’s the prisoners as is named in your honour’s worshipful warrant.”
His honour nodded. “What the devil do you want me to do, Perks?” he asked.
The mummer with the broken head, who had become mysteriously one of the party, answered.
“Lock ’em up for tonight, Squire Thicknesse, and tomorrow send ’em to Birmingham with a mounted escort. It’s political business, and no matter of poaching or petty thieving.”
“I require that the charge be read,” said Johnson.
Squire Thicknesse took up a paper, looked at it with aversion, and gazed round him helplessly. “Where the devil is my clerk?” he lamented. “Gone feasting to Flambury, I’ll warrant. I cannot read this damned crabbed hand.”
“Let me be your clerk, Nunkie dear.”
A girl had slipped through the door, and now stood by the chair looking over the Squire’s shoulder. She was clearly very young, for her lips had the pouting fullness and her figure the straight lines of a child’s, and her plain white gown and narrow petticoats had a nursery simplicity. The light was bad, and Alastair could not note the details, seeing only a glory of russet hair and below it a dimness of pearl and rose. On that much he was clear, and on the birdlike charm of her voice.
The effect of the vision on Johnson was to make him drive an elbow into Alastair’s ribs and to murmur in what was meant for a whisper: “That is my lady. That is the dear child.”
The sharp young eyes had penetrated the gloom below the platform.
“Why, Nunkie, there is a face I know. Heavens! It is our tutor from Chastlecote. Old Puffin we called him, for he puffs like my spaniel. A faithful soul, Nunkie, but at times oppressive. What can he want so far from home?”
The mummer, who seemed to have assumed the duties of prosecution, answered:
“The man Johnson is accused of being act and part with the other in conspiracy against His Majesty’s throne.”
The girl’s laughter trilled through the place. “Oh, what delectable folly! Mr. Samuel a conspirator! He is too large and noisy, Nunkie, and far, far too much of a sobersides. But give me the paper and I will be your clerk.”
With disquiet and amazement Alastair listened to the record. His full name was set down and his rank in King Louis’ service. His journey into Oxfordshire was retailed, and its purpose, but the name of Cornbury was omitted. Then followed his expedition into Wales, with special mention of Wynnstay, and last his urgent reasons for returning north. Whoever had compiled the indictment was most intimately informed of all his doings. His head swam, for the thing seemed starkly incredible, and the sense of having lived unwittingly close to a deadly foe affected him with something not far from fear.
“What do you say to that?” Squire Thicknesse asked.
“That it is some foolish blunder. You have laid hold on the wrong man, sir, and I admit no part of it except the name, which is mine, and, with deference, as ancient and unsmirched as your honour’s. No single fact can be adduced to substantiate these charges.”
“They will be abundantly proven.” The mummer’s voice croaked ominous as a raven’s.
The charge against Johnson proved to be much flimsier, and was derided by the girl. “I insist that you straightly discharge my Mr. Samuel,” she cried. “I will go bail for his good behaviour, and tomorrow a servant shall take him back to Chastlecote. He is too innocent to be left alone. The other—”
“He says he is an agent of the Duke of Queensberry,” said the relentless mummer. “I can prove him to be a liar.”
The girl was apparently not listening. Her eyes had caught Alastair’s and some intelligence seemed to pass from them to his. She spoke a word in the Squire’s ear and then looked beyond the prisoners to the mummer.
“My uncle, who is known for his loyalty to the present Majesty, will take charge of the younger prisoner and send him safe tomorrow to Birmingham. The other he will discharge. … That is your will, Nunkie?”
The Squire nodded. He was feeling very sleepy and at the same time very thirsty, and his mind hovered between bed and a fresh bottle.
“You may go home now, friends,” she said, “and sweet dreams to you. You, constable, bring the two men to the Great Hall.” Then she slipped an arm inside her uncle’s. “My Mr. Sam shall sup in the buttery and have a bed from Giles. Tomorrow we will find him a horse. You are a wise judge, Nunkie, and do not waste your wisdom on innocents. The other man looks dangerous and must be well guarded. Put him in the Tower garret, and give Giles the key. But first let the poor creature have bite and sup, if he wants it. He has the air of a gentleman.”
As Alastair walked before the staff of the constable, who wielded it like an ox-goad, his mind was furiously busy
