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Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

<h4>CHAPTER XXVI.</h4> Richard de Ashby mounted the stairs with a slow step, paused at the first landing-place and grasped his forehead with his extended hand, then turned upon his steps; and, descending to the kitchen, in which were seated an immense number of various classes, he beckoned to one of his servants, who was near the fire-place. The man started up, and came to him at the door, when his master said, in a low tone, "You must take your horse as soon as he is fed, and speed across the country as if for life and death, to bear a letter from me to the Lord Alured, in Cumberland.--Have every thing ready in an hour." "What! to-night, sir?" demanded the servant. "Ay, to-night, villain!" replied his master; "to-night, I say!--Do you grumble?" and without waiting for any further answer, he turned, and once more ascended the stairs. The inn was a rude old building, having a square court in the centre. It consisted of two stories above the ground-floor; and two ranges of open galleries ran round the whole yard, the chambers having no screen between them and the free air of heaven but the single door by which one entered or went out of each. It was to the highest of the galleries that Richard de Ashby now directed his steps, for arriving late, it had been with difficulty he had found lodging at all. He had no light with him; but finding his way by the dim glare of some lanterns in the court, he stopped at the last chamber on the right hand side: and, after another halt of more than a minute passed in stern meditation, he threw, open the door and went in. The room was a large one, forming the corner of the building, and having windows either way. There was a wide chimney, in which was a blazing log of wood, lighted to dispel the damp which the chamber might have contracted by disuse; and gazing at the changing aspect of the flame, sat fair, but unhappy, Kate Greenly, with her head resting on her hand, and her eyes full of deep and sorrowful thought. "Get thee to bed," cried Richard de Ashby, in a rude and angry tone, as soon as he saw her; "did I not bid thee get to bed before?" "I have had many things to think of," answered the girl. "I wish thou hadst left me behind thee, Richard. I love not going so near what was once my home." "It was my will," replied he; "that must be enough for thee. Get thee to bed, I say.--I have to write and think." Kate took a step away from him, but then looked round, and said, "Tell me first, Richard, art thou taking me back, wearied of her you used to love, to the once happy dwelling from which you brought me not six months ago?--If so, I will not go with you any farther." "Thou wilt do what I order," he answered, sternly; "I am in no mood either for squabbling or jesting to-night.--Thou wilt go no farther, ha! By heaven thou wouldst make me resolve to take thee back by force, or send thee with a billet like some packet of goods.--But no, I will not send thee," he added, "I will not take thee; and knowest thou why? Not that I love thee--not that I care for thee more than for the flower that was yesterday in my breast, and is now cast away into the dust. But they have asked me to send thee back--they have ordered me; and therefore I will not! There is no power on earth shall tear thee from me; but I will take care to make thee serviceable, too. Get thee to bed, I say, and importune me no more.--What! send thee back to please Hugh de Monthermer!" "He is a noble gentleman," answered Kate, "and in good sooth wished me well, though I knew it not." "Thou art a fool!" cried Richard, violently; and, at the same moment, he took a step forward and struck her a blow on the cheek with his extended hand, adding, "Get thee to bed, minion, and let me hear thy tongue no more." Kate's flashing eyes glared at him as if she could have stabbed him where he stood; but the instant after she darted towards the bed, cast herself upon her knees beside it, and, hiding her weeping face upon the coverings, she murmured forth some rapid and eager words, which her base seducer neither heard nor cared to hear. Seating himself by a table on which stood a lamp, he took forth the materials for writing from some large leathern bags which lay near; but ere he commenced the letter which he proposed to send, he passed a full half hour in deep meditation. Once during the time he looked round, apparently to see if the poor girl he had treated so basely was still up; but she had retired to bed; and, hearing her breathing deep and slow, he concluded that, like a child, she had wept herself to sleep. He then turned himself to meditate again, and we must look into his bosom, and give the turbulent words which were uttered in his inmost heart as if they had been spoken aloud. "Ay," he thought, "if Alured had been here this mischief would not have occurred. The old fool is in his dotage! I wonder how it happened, when many a brave, strong man fell at Evesham, ere the battle had raged half-an-hour, this feeble old wiseacre went through the whole day unwounded! Had he been killed it might have made a mighty difference to me, and no great harm to any one." At that point his thoughts seemed to pause for several minutes, ruminating on the advantages which might have accrued to himself had the Earl fallen at Evesham. "And yet," he continued, "this bull-headed cousin of mine, Alured, were nearly as great a stumbling-block in my way, even if the old man were removed. He would not be long, if left alone at the head of the house, ere he wedded some fair and fruitful lady, to exclude my claims for ever with a whole host of healthy white-headed children. I was in some hopes, if he sought out Monthermer in the battle, as he said, our enemy's lance might have proved friendly to me, and sent my noble cousin to another world. But it was not to be, and I suppose I must go on the poor dependent all my life. "No," he continued, after another pause, "no, it shall not be so.--Why should I fear for drivelling tales of other worlds told by the monks and priests, and invented by them also?--Were Alured once dead, 'twere an easy matter to remove that weak old man--and yet, perhaps, it were better to send him first to his account.--Ha! I see, I see.--If one could manage it so as to cast suspicion on Monthermer, Alured would speedily accuse him of the deed; wager of battle must follow, and I were a fool if I could not contrive it so that Alured's vain strength should go down before Monthermer's skill and courage." "In such fields as those," he added, speaking, though in a low, thoughtful tone, "such men separate not with life.--Methinks the matter were easily managed.--'Tis no light prize one plays for!--the earldom of Ashby, the broad lands, the parks, the woods, the fields--ay, and to crown the whole, the fair hand of Lucy herself; for, her brother and her father dead, she must needs become my ward, and if my ward, my wife. It is worth striving for, and by heaven and hell, it shall be so,--ay, let what will stand in the way,--Could I but breed a quarrel between this old dotard Earl and the ancient enemy of our house, whom he is so ready to take to his bosom, I would soon accomplish the rest. But it shall be done,--it shall be done!" And leaning his dark brow upon his hands, he revolved the means for carrying his plan into execution. For several minutes he hesitated as to whether he should write to his cousin as he had proposed or not; but then again he thought--"I will not do it!--his presence would but embarrass me. In some chance encounter with this Monthermer, with arms and weapons unprepared by me, he might prove the conqueror, and once having vanquished him, he would take him to his heart and give him half his fortune--the hand of Lucy--anything. I know my vain-glorious cousin well! No, no, we will deal with the father first.--But I must on to Nottingham, and seek the tools to work with. I will write to Ellerby too, he is ready for any desperate work, and in his store of knowledge has always information where to find persons as fearless and as shrewd as himself." Having thus made up his mind, Richard de Ashby rose, and once more sought out the kitchen of the inn, taking the lamp with him. Revelry and merriment were still going on in all quarters of the house, and it was no unpalatable news to the groom, who was waiting below, ready to depart, that his master had changed his purpose, and would not send him as he had proposed, though he had orders to be prepared to set out by cock-crow. After having given this intimation, the Earl's kinsman retired to his chamber again, and, sitting down at the table, wrote a few lines to the man whose unscrupulous assistance he required. It was not without long pauses of thought, however, that he did so, and in the end he put his hand to his head, saying, "I am tired." Well indeed he might be so; for though the body had been still, the mind had struggled and laboured during the last few hours, with that eager and painful energy, which communicates afterwards to the corporeal frame itself no slight portion of the lassitude which follows great exertions. He next sought to seal the letter he had written, but he could find neither wax nor silk, and laying it down upon the table again, he said, aloud, "It must wait till to-morrow; but I must take care that no one comes in and sees it before I wake, for that were ruin indeed!" Thus speaking, he turned to the door of the room and locked it; and then, after a few minutes more given to thought, he undressed himself, and, without prayer, lay down to rest.--Without prayer!--he never prayed: the blessed influence even of an imperfect communion with Heaven never fell like the summer rain upon his heart, softening and refreshing. The idea of his dependence upon Providence, or his responsibility to God, would have been far too painful and cumbersome to be daily renewed and encouraged by prayer. He was one of the idolaters; and the god of his heart was himself. His cunning was the wisdom of his Deity, his passions, his pleasures, his power, its other attributes; and to the Moloch of self he was ready at any time to sacrifice all else that the world contained. He rose without asking a blessing on works that he knew were to be evil, he lay down supplicating no pardon for the offences of the day. Ay! reader, and he slept, too, with sound, unbroken, heavy sleep. What between passions, and pleasures, and schemes, and exertions, his body and his mind were usually exhausted together; and throughout a long course of years he had slept each night, as he did now, with a slumber, deep, dreamless uninterrupted. The lamp remained unextinguished in the chamber; and for about an hour all was still, his heavy breathing being the only sound that made itself heard; except the occasional voices of revellers in other parts of the house, becoming more and more faint as the night advanced. At the end of that time, however, a female figure glided from between the curtains of the bed and approached the table. Richard de Ashby had left, lying across the letter which he had been writing, the dagger, with the pommel of which he had prepared to seal it, and Kate Greenly, with her teeth tight shut, and her brow knit, took up the weapon, drew it from the sheath, gazed upon the edge, and felt the sharp point. She then turned her head towards the bed, and strained her eyes upon it with a wild fierce look. The moment after, she thrust the blade back into its covering, and pressed her hand upon her brow, murmuring--"Not now!--No, no, no!--Not now!--The time may come, however--the time may come, Richard!--But I will have thee in my power--at all events, I will have thee in my power! The worm thou treadest on may sting thy heel, oppressor.--Thanks to the good priest who taught me to read and write!" she continued, taking up the letter and unfolding it. "Would I had attended to his other teaching as well;" and bending over the lamp, she read:-- "Come to me post haste, Ellerby,"--so ran the letter--"I have a stag of ten for you to strike. My mind is made up, and I am resolved to throw down the screen that keeps me from the sun. If we succeed--and success is certain--your reward shall be in proportion to the deed: ten thousand sterlings to begin with. But you must not come alone, you must bring some three or four men with you, able and willing to perform a bold act; so make no delay, but quit all vain pastimes and idle pleasures, and hasten to certain fortune and success. "Yours, as you shall use diligence, "R. A." Kate Greenly read the lines again and again, as if she wished to fix them indelibly on her mind; then folding up the letter again, she laid it down upon the table, placed the dagger across it, and remained musing for several minutes in deep thought. "No, no," she murmured, at length, "I will not believe it. No; he may wrong a poor girl like me; he may break his vows, oppress, and trample on the creature in his power; but murder--the murder of a kinsman?--No, no!--And yet," she added, "what can the words mean? They are strange--they are very strange! I will think of it no more--and yet I must think of it. I wish I had not seen that paper! But having seen it, I must see more.--I must watch--I must inquire. There shall be nothing kept from me now.--Murder? It is very horrible.--But I will go to sleep." Kate Greenly crept quietly back to bed again; but the reader need not be told that she found there no repose. Had her heart not been burdened even with her own sin, the dangerous knowledge she had acquired of the guilt of others would have been quite sufficient to banish sleep from her eyes. Hour after hour she lay and thought over the words which she had read. She strove to find some other meaning for them; but, alas! she had, more than once before, heard muttered hints and dark longings for the possessions of others, which directed her mind ever to the same course, and ever to the same conclusion. The thought was agonizing to her; for, notwithstanding all her wrongs--notwithstanding anger and indignation--notwithstanding her knowledge that he was a villain--notwithstanding her certainty that he would cast her off whensoever it pleased him--ay, doom her to poverty, contempt, and disgrace--love for Richard de Ashby yet lingered in the heart of poor Kate Greenly. At length, just as the morning was growing grey, her heavy eyelids fell for a moment; and she was still asleep when her seducer rose and began his preparations for departure. He discovered not that the letter had been examined; but making her get up in haste to find some wax and silk, he sealed the epistle; and, after dispatching it by a messenger, set out himself for Nottingham, carrying the unhappy girl with him, followed by only two attendants. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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