The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini

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      “Highwaymen? No! Government agents belike. There were two of them, he says—for I have the tale from himself—and they met him at the Hare and Hounds at Taunton, where he stayed to sup last night. One of them gave him the password, and he conceived him to be a friend. But afterwards, growing suspicious, he refused to tell them too much. They followed him, it appears, and on the road they overtook and fell upon him; they knocked him from his horse, possessed themselves of the contents of his wallet, and left him for dead—with his head broken.”

      Mr. Wilding drew a sharp breath. His wits worked quickly. He was, he realized, in deadly peril. One thought he gave to Ruth. If the worst came to pass here was one who would rejoice in her freedom. The reflection cut through him like a sword. He would be loath to die until he had taught her to regret him. Then his mind returned to what Trenchard had told him.

      “You said a Government agent,” he mused slowly. “How would a Government agent know the password?”

      Trenchard’s mouth fell open. “I had not thought…” he began. Then ended with an oath. “’Tis a traitor from inside.”

      Wilding nodded. “It must be one of those who met at White Lackington three nights ago,” he answered.

      Idlers—the witnesses of the wedding—were watching them with interest from the path, and others from over the low wall of the churchyard, as well they might, for Mr. Wilding’s behaviour was, for a bridegroom, extraordinary. Trenchard did not relish the audience.

      “We had best away,” said he. “Indeed,” he added, “we had best out of England altogether before the hue and cry is raised. The bubble’s pricked.”

      Wilding’s hand fell on his arm, and its grasp was steady. Wilding’s eyes met his, and their gaze was calm.

      “Where have you bestowed this messenger?” quoth he.

      “He is here in Bridgwater, in bed, at the Bell Inn, whence he sent for you to Zoyland Chase. Suspecting trouble, I rode to him at once myself.”

      “Come, then,” said Wilding. “We’ll go talk with him. This matter needs probing ere we decide on flight. You do not seem to have sought to discover who were the thieves, nor other matters that it may be of use to know.”

      “Rat me!” swore Trenchard. “I was in haste to bring you news of it. Besides, there were other things to talk of. There is news that Albemarle has gone to Exeter, and that Sir Edward Phelips and Colonel Luttrell have been ordered to Taunton by the King.”

      Mr. Wilding stared at him with sudden dismay.

      “Odso!” he exclaimed. “Is King James taking fright at last?” Then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed; “Pshaw!” he cried. “They are starting at a shadow.”

      “Heaven send,” prayed Trenchard, “that the shadow does not prove to have a substance immediately behind it.”

      “Folly!” said Wilding. “When Monmouth comes, indeed, we shall not lack forewarning. Come,” he added briskly. “We’ll see this messenger and endeavour to discover who were these fellows that beset him.” And he drew Trenchard from among the tombstones to the open path, and thus from the churchyard and the eyes of the gaping onlookers.

      CHAPTER VIII

      BRIDE AND GROOM

      And so the bridegroom, in all his wedding finery, made his way with Trenchard to the Bell Inn, in the High Street, whilst his bride, escorted by Lord Gervase, was being driven to Zoyland Chase, of which she was now the mistress.

      But she was not destined just yet to cross its threshold. For scarcely were they over the river when a horseman barred their way, and called upon the driver to pull up. Lady Horton, in a panic, huddled herself in the great coach and spoke of tobymen, whilst Lord Gervase thrust his head from the window to discover that the rider who stayed their progress was Richard Westmacott. His lordship hailed the boy, who, thereupon, walked his horse to the carriage door.

      “Lord Gervase,” said he, “will you bid the coachman put about and drive to Lupton House?”

      Lord Gervase stared at him in hopeless bewilderment. “Drive to Lupton House?” he echoed. The more he saw of this odd wedding, the less he understood of it. It seemed to the placid old gentleman that he was fallen among a parcel of Bedlamites. “Surely, sir, it is for Mistress Wilding to say whither she will be driven,” and he drew in his head and turned to Ruth for her commands. But, bewildered herself, she had none to give him. It was her turn to lean from the carriage window to ask her brother what he meant.

      “I mean you are to drive home again,” said he. “There is something

      I must tell you. When you have heard me it shall be yours to decide

      whether you will proceed or not to Zoyland Chase.”

      Hers to decide? How was that possible? What could he mean? She pressed him with some such questions.

      “It means, in short,” he answered impatiently, “that I hold your salvation in my hands. For the rest, this is not the time or place to tell you more. Bid the fellow put about.”

      Ruth sat back and looked once more at her companions. But from none did she receive the least helpful suggestion. Lady Horton made great prattle to little purpose; Lord Gervase followed her example, whilst Diana, whose alert if trivial mind was the one that might have offered assistance, sat silent. Ruth pondered. She bethought her of Trenchard’s sudden arrival at Saint Mary’s, his dust-stained person and excited manner, and of how he had drawn Mr. Wilding aside with news that seemed of moment. And now her brother spoke of saving her; it was a little late for that, she thought. Outside the coach his voice still urged her, and it grew peevish and angry, as was usual when he was crossed. In the end she consented to do his will. If she were to fathom this mystery that was thickening about her there seemed to be no other course. She turned to Lord Gervase.

      “Will you do as Richard says?” she begged him.

      His lordship blew out his chubby cheeks in his astonishment; he hesitated a moment, thinking of his cousin Wilding; then, with a shrug, he leaned from the window and gave the order she desired. The carriage turned about, and with Richard following lumbered back across the bridge and through the town to Lupton House. At the door Lord Gervase took his leave of them. He had acted as Ruth had bidden him; but he had no wish to be further involved in this affair, whatever it might portend. Rather was it his duty at once to go acquaint Mr. Wilding—if he could find him—with what was taking place, and leave it to Mr. Wilding to take what measures might seem best to him. He told them so, and having told them, left them.

      Richard begged to be alone with his sister, and alone they passed together into the library. His manner was restless; he trembled with excitement, and his eyes glittered almost feverishly.

      “You may have thought, Ruth, that I was resigned to your marriage with this fellow Wilding,” he began; “or that for other reasons I thought it wiser not to interfere. If you thought that you wronged me. I—Blake and I—have been at work for you during these last days, and I rejoice to say our labours have not been idle.” His manner grew assertive, boastful, as he proceeded.

      “You know, of course,” said she, “that I am married.”

      He made a gesture of disdain. “No matter,” said he exultantly.

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