British Murder Mysteries: J. S. Fletcher Edition (40+ Titles in One Volume). J. S. Fletcher

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      Rhoda looked fearfully out. The mob, led by Sal Bennett, had reached the top of the hill, and was sweeping forward on Cherry-trees in irregular formation. Some of its members carried torches; their yellow light glared upon two rudely-fashioned effigies, one of a man, the other of a woman, which were tied together, back to back and carried upon a short ladder supported on the shoulders of bearers. Around these things, mere bundles of straw stuffed into old garments and provided with masks, and swaying foolishly to and fro, a crowd of men, women, and young folk, lads and lasses, danced, leaped, skipped and ran, some beating old pans, kettles, tea-trays, some blowing horns and whistles, one at least thumping a drum; all screeching, howling, yelling, singing at the highest pitch of their voices. And now and then the sputtering torches threw into clear vision faces such as those folk saw in plenty who made a short journey from prison to guillotine in the times of the Terror.

      "Lord, ha' mercy on us!" exclaimed Tibby Graddige for the second time. And she dragged Rhoda down the stair and out of the house and through the orchard. Hand-in-hand, sobbing from fright, the two women hurried into the fields in the direction of the Limepits.

Chapter XVII

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      That night Taffendale had been called into the stables to look at a sickly horse; coming away from the fold in company with his foreman, he heard the uproar which the stang-riders were creating around Cherry-trees. At his side the foreman uttered a sharp exclamation, and turned in the direction of the unholy sound.

      "What's that?" asked Taffendale, with a sudden premonition of approaching trouble.

      The foreman, an old Martinsthorpe man, made a noise in his throat, which was half a groan and half a laugh.

      "I'm afraid they're up to summat down yonder, sir," he answered. "I know what yon row means. They're ridin' t' stang! It's many a year sin' that were done hereabouts. But I know t' sound. It'll be that theer Sal Bennett and her lot."

      "But—where?" exclaimed Taffendale. "Where?"

      Without further word the foreman climbed the steps of the granary, beneath which he and his master were just then walking, and looked out in the gloom across the darkening surface of the uplands. Taffendale followed him. He knew what the answer to his question would be. Standing at the foreman's side, he, too, gazed at the glare of the rude torches which the stang-riders carried. The points of light whirled and eddied hither and thither, but as the two men watched they became concentrated upon one spot in the darkness.

      "They're at Cherry-trees," muttered the foreman. "Cherry-trees!"

      Taffendale swore under his breath. He gripped the rail which protected the head of the granary steps, and stared at the yellow patch of light with straining eyes. In the silence of the countryside the blare of the horns and the trumpet, the metallic clatter of the pans and kettles, the insistent thumpthump-thump of the drum, grew louder and louder; his nerves began to grow raw under the irritation.

      "If there's anybody at home, there," remarked the foreman, "it'll be a bad job for 'em."

      "There's Mrs. Perris there," answered Taffendale.

      The foreman drew in his breath with a hissing sound.

      "I didn't know, sir," he said quietly. "Well, happen they'll leave her alone, though yon lot o' Sal Bennett's is a wild lot. They'll stick at nowt when they're once stirred up, and—"

      "We'd better get the men together and go down," said Taffendale. "There's Mrs. Perris and Tibby Graddige in the house. We can't leave them unprotected. I'll get the men from the pits."

      But the foreman laid a hand on his master's arm, as Taffendale turned to hurry down the steps.

      "Don't, maister!" he said. "If yon lads from t' quarry meets wi' Martinsthorpers on a 'casion like this, there'll be murder done. Ye know what happens when they meet on ordinary 'casions. Don't, sir!"

      "But the women?" exclaimed Taffendale.

      The foreman looked out again across the level fields. "Best let yon lot get tired o' shoutin' and rampin' round there," he said. "Then they'll go away. Unless—"

      "Unless what?" asked Taffendale.

      "Unless," replied the foreman slowly and in a low voice, "unless they come on here, maister. Ye mun excuse me, but they've been talking and gossipin' down in t' village theer about you and Perris's wife, so I understand, and I'm a good deal mistaken if they don't come here."

      "I'll make them repent it if they do!" said Taffendale between his teeth. "If they set foot on my land I'll—"

      He paused as the foreman uttered a sharp cry, and seizing his master with one hand stretched the other out towards Cherry-trees.

      "God!" he shouted, "Fire! Yon's fire!"

      Out of the yellow glare which hung about Perris's holding, a shaft of bright flame suddenly shot up towards the stars. Another and another followed it; overhead the sky and the stars were rapidly blotted out by rolling clouds of flame and smoke.

      "It's on fire—all t' place is on fire!" cried the foreman.

      With a simultaneous impulse he and his master turned and hurried down the steps to the fold. The foreman began to shout loudly for the men and lads who hung about the stables, or lounged in and out of the farmstead kitchen.

      "Murder or no murder, we'll have the quarrymen now," said Taffendale. And as the farm men came running up he seized the foremost by his shoulder. "Run to the Limepits and tell them to come. Cherry-trees is on fire!" he shouted. "The rest of you come on with me—come on!"

      From the corner of Taffendale's garden a field-path ran straight across country to Cherry-trees; the path by which Taffendale had taken Rhoda Perris home on the occasion of her second visit to him. It crossed two or three widespread fields, and then came to a dip in the land wherein was a thickly-wooded hollow, through which ran a narrow stream. It was in that hollow that Taffendale and Rhoda had confessed their love, and it was there that he and Rhoda now met, as he hurried on at the head of his men. She and Tibby Graddige came panting down the path at one side of the hollow as the party from the Limepits ran down the other; on the little bridge which crossed the stream they encountered; the two women sank against the rails, fighting for breath. And Taffendale, regardless of what his men should see in such light as there was, put his arm round Mrs. Perris and supported her.

      "You're not hurt?" he demanded. "They didn't interfere with you?"

      Rhoda could only shake her head. Tibby Graddige found her tongue first.

      "I dragged her out and away, just i' time, mestur!" she panted. "A minute longer, and they'd ha' been on to us. Howsomiver, we 'scaped 'em. But oh, mestur, they've setten fire to t' place!"

      "I know—I know!" answered Taffendale. "You and Mrs. Perris must go on to my house. We'll hurry on to Cherry-trees."

      But the foreman made an inarticulate sound of disapproval, and Tibby Graddige spoke again.

      "Yell do no good, Mestur Taffendale," she said. "Ye can't save naught, sir. An'—they'll be comin' to your place. I heerd tell o' this, but I never thowt they'd carry it out. Ye'd best go home and see to yer own premises."

      "Aye—shoo's СКАЧАТЬ