The White Gauntlet

The séance with his own thoughts had been protracted for more than an hour; and the cloud that still sate upon his brooding brow betokened that it had been unsuccessful. The wine, quaffed spasmodically, had been quaffed in vain. His vengeance, even so stimulated, had failed to suggest a scheme for its satisfaction.

At length an idea seemed to occur to him, that called for the presence of some second personage. He rose to his feet; and, striding to the door, passed rapidly out of the room.

In a few seconds he re-entered, followed by one of his troopers – a young fellow, whose countenance might have appeared pleasing enough, but for an expression of softness, almost silliness, that marked it.

“Well, Withers?” inquired the officer, as soon as the two had got fairly within the room, “have you seen the two woodmen?”

“Only one, captain. The old one, Dancey, han’t come home yet; but his daughter said she was expectin’ him the night.”

“And the other?”

“Wull Walford. Yes, captain, I seen him; and delivered your message.”

“Well; he’s coming to see me, is he not?”

“I’m afeard not, captain.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a queery sort, is Wull Walford. I knew him ’fore I left the county to list in the troops. He’s a ill-tempered cur; that’s what he is.”

“But why should he show temper with me? He don’t know, but that I may intend kindness to him?”

“After what’s happened he’s afeard to see you, captain. That’s why I think he won’t come.”

“After what’s happened! And what has happened? You mystify me, my man!”

“I mean, captain, the little affair as occurred between you and him – in the old camp over there.”

“Between me, and him? Who are you talking of, Withers? Not the ‘black horseman,’ as the rustics call this – ”

“No, captain; Wull Walford, I mean.”

“And pray what has occurred between Master Wull Walford and myself? I remember no individual of the name.”

“You remember Robin Hood, captain – he as had the audacity to strike at your honour with his bow?”

“O-o-h! that’s the difficulty, is it. So-so – ” continued Scarthe, in a half-soliloquy. “Wull Walford of Wapsey’s Wood, and the bold outlaw of Sherwood Forest, are identical individuals, are they? No wonder the fellow has some scruples about seeing me again. Ha! ha! I dare say I shall be able to overcome them. A crown or two will no doubt suffice to satisfy Master Walford, for what he may have considered a slight to his sweetheart; and, as to the blow over my own crown, I can the more easily pardon that, since I believe he broke the stock of his weapon in dealing it. So, Robin Hood it is. Well! if I’m not mistaken, he and I may be fast friends yet. At all events, from what I observed on that occasion, he is not likely to be on the friendliest terms with my enemy. Withers!”

“Captain!” said the trooper, making a fresh salute to his officer, as if in the expectation of receiving some order.

“I shall want you to guide me to the domicile of this Walford. I suppose he has a house somewhere; or does he, like his prototype, roam anywhere and everywhere, and sleep under the shadow of the greenwood tree?”

“He lives in a poor sort o’ cottage, captain – not very far from that of Dick Dancey.”

“Then we may visit both at once; and, as the older woodman is expected to return home to-night, I shall not go until to-morrow. How far is it to this Wapsey’s Wood?”

“Scant two miles, captain. It’s up the road in the direction of Beaconsfield.”

“Enough. I shall go on horseback. After morning parade, see that you have the grey horse saddled, and your own as well. Now, be off to your quarters, and say nothing to any of your comrades what duty you are going on – nor to any of your country acquaintances neither – else you may get yourself in trouble. Go!”

The trooper, making a salute, expressive of assent to the caution thus delivered, betook himself from the presence of his commanding officer.

“He’s but a silly fellow, this Withers,” muttered the latter, as the soldier had gone out of hearing. “Not the man for my purpose. His knowledge of the neighbourhood – the only one of my vagabonds who has ever been in it before – makes it a necessity to employ him in this matter. Perhaps in Wull Walford I may find a more intelligent aide-de-camp. Nous verrons!”

And with this conjectural reflection, Scarthe threw himself back in his chair; and once more gave way to the gloomy surmises that had already tormented his unhappy mind.

Again did they torment him as before; and it was a relief to him when the door once more turned upon its hinges, and his subaltern stepped into the room.

Not that Stubbs had any cheering news to communicate; nor was there just then anything encouraging in his countenance. On the contrary, the cornet looked but little less lugubrious than his captain; and he had been in that mood ever since morning.

Lora Lovelace would scarce condescend to exchange a word with him; and when by chance he had twice or thrice been thrown into her company, it was only to find himself the subject of a slight or a satire, and the next moment to receive the cold shoulder. All this, too, so delicately done, that Stubbs could find no opportunity for retaliation; unless by allowing licence to his vulgar spite, which Scarthe had cautioned him against. In fact, the cornet felt that the young lady, on more than one occasion, had made a butt of him – he did, by Ged!

He had, at an earlier hour, communicated to his captain the ill success of his wooing; but the latter was too much absorbed in his own schemes, to offer him either advice or assistance.

The entrance of his subaltern turned the thoughts of Scarthe into a new channel – as testified by his speech.

“So, then, there’s no one arrived from London yet?” he said, interrogatively, as he saw the cornet proceeding to seat himself.

A simple negative was the reply.

“’Tis very odd that the message – whatever it was – has not been delivered in duplicate before this time?”

“Very odd! – ’tis, by Ged!”

“I shouldn’t wonder if the fellow, frightened as he was by those precious footpads, has taken leave of his senses altogether; and, instead of carrying back my letter, has climbed into a tree, and hanged himself thereon!”

“Like enough, by Ged!”

“Had I only slipped in a postscript, giving the king a hint about the character of the rascals to whom his courier so tamely surrendered, perhaps the best thing he could have done would have been to string himself up. I haven’t the slightest doubt about its being the band of scarecrows that stopped the son of Sir Marmaduke. Of course, it must have been: since it was on the same night, and in the same spot. Ha! ha! ha! In all my campaigns I never heard of a more clever bit of strategy! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Nor I,” said Stubbs, joining in the laugh.

“I’d give a month’s pay to get hold of the comical villain that planned it. If he felt inclined to join our cuirassiers, I’d make a corporal of him, without asking a question.”

“He’d make a first-rater. He would, by Ged!”

“I should like, also, to get hold of him for another reason,” continued Scarthe, changing to a more serious tone. “We might recover the lost despatches – which, no doubt, are still in the doublet he stripped from the chicken-hearted courier. Ha! ha! ha! What a pickle we found him in! A pigeon completely plucked and trussed! Oh! how the queen will laugh when she reads my report to her. I hope she won’t tell it to the king. If she do blab, it’ll be no laughing matter for the poor devil of a messenger!”

“It won’t, by Ged!”

“Particularly if the despatches contained anything of importance. I wonder what they were about – sent so soon after us! Hope it wasn’t a countermand.”

“By Ged! I hope not.”

“I’m not tired of our country quarters just yet: and won’t be, till I’ve tried them a little longer. Rather icy these girls are, Stubbs? Don’t repine, lad. Perhaps they’ll thaw, by and by.”

“I hope so,” said Stubbs, his stolid face brightening up at the idea. “If it wasn’t for that young sop of a cousin ’twould be all right. I believe it would, by Ged!”