My lady's bargain

CHAPTER I H IS Highness looked up as I entered

“That you, Williams? Good. I sent for you in order to inform you that Lady Killigew agrees to the bargain, so there need be no delay in your marriage. The sooner the knot is tied the better, I think. My wedding gift to the lady shall be a pardon for her young brother and a passport for the same overseas; but I do not deliver these until the Lady Killigew has become Lady Rosamond Williams, and her estates safely in your honest keeping, General.”

I saluted with all due deference, and it seemed as if the interview was terminated, for Cromwell turned back to some papers he had been examining at my en¬ try; however, I knew my man, and waited patiently for his next step, whatever it might be. It came al¬ most immediately. Lifting his eyes swiftly from the papers before him, he swept my face with his search¬ ing gaze.

“I understand that Lady Killigew is a very beautiful woman, though I have never personally met her. I think you come from Surrey yourself, General Wil¬ liams; perhaps you are already intimately acquainted with the lady of your choice?”

I am naturally slow of speech, as possibly the major¬ ity of big men are, and this deliberation has stood me in good stead time and again.

On this occasion my habitual manner of pausing before answering a question gave me the opportunity I needed to consider what facts I had better disclose and what I could safely keep back in my reply.

Had I been dealing with a less subtle man I might have been tempted to try a lie direct, or possibly an admixture of truth and falsehood; and, had I done so, Oliver, in all probability, would not have thought any the worse of me, for his Highness was by no means particular as to truthfulness himself; but the trouble would come later, should he ever discover I had de¬ ceived him deliberately, for then he would not rest, I knew, until he had found out the full reason for my deception. In the intricacies of this man’s strange mind was an insatiable curiosity as to the minutest detail and an uncanny memory for the same.

I decided, therefore, upon entire truthfulness up to a certain point, with the hope that any suspicions that might be lying dormant in the great man’s mind might be so far allayed that he would not think it necessary to inquire further; for there were certain facts in my past which, should they come to his knowledge, would not benefit my position with him.

“Your Highness knows that I am a man of the people/’ I began gravely. “I am of quite lowly birth. My father was, until his death, blacksmith on the Sur¬ rey estate of the first Lord Lovet. I was born in a cottage at the park gates, and my mother acted as gate-keeper for many years, until age and infirmity prevented even this activity. She is now bed-ridden and lives in a small cottage upon the common, within three miles of our old home. It would break her heart to leave the district, and her great desire is that I should come to live near her.

“As a bare-legged urchin I often saw little Lady Rosamond riding past upon her pony, and, indeed, fre¬ quently held the gates open for her and for other mem¬ bers of the family, for Lord Lovet resided principally at Rookherst Place in those days.

“At the age of seventeen, however, I left home and never returned except on rare and fleeting visits. My history from the age of twenty-two I believe I can flatter myself is already known to your Highness.”

Oliver Cromwell nodded. The ingenuousness of my reply evidently satisfied him, and he now regarded me with friendly curiosity.

“I confess your choice appears to me to be unwise, Williams. You would have done better, in my hum¬ ble estimation, to have fixed upon the alternative I offered you. The young heiress of fifteen would be easily molded into shape, but a woman of twenty-five at least, and a widow to boot, is a much more com¬ plex problem. However, I can understand your wish to be near your only remaining parent; a mother’s love can only be partially repaid by a son’s utmost de¬ votion, as I myself know to the full. Still, I misdoubt the future for you, General. However, I have always suspected you had a bit of the gambler in your dis¬ position, for all your outward caution, and if you bring the same methods to bear upon your matrimonial dif¬ ficulties that you do upon military problems, and handle your future wife as you do your men, you will deserve to succeed. You will make your own arrangements as to the wedding, to suit your convenience; the lady, I fancy, will be indifferent as to details of date and hour and place,” he added with a slightly grim smile.

Then, with a friendly handshake, he dismissed me; but, as I passed over the threshold, with his habitual caution he drew a bow at a venture, and remarked casually:

“By the way, do not lose sight of the fact that Lady Killigew has been, up till now, hand in glove with the malcontents, and a most useful agent for our friends overseas. Once she is under your authority I shall expect to feel no further anxiety from that source.”

For the third time I saluted deferentially, and was this time suffered to depart.

If the soul of a gambler resembles mine at that moment, it must be a most unenviable one, for, far from feeling any jubilant anticipation or thrill of ex¬ citement, I must have been the most doubtful and de¬ pressed man in Whitehall that afternoon, as I made my solitary way along the great gallery.

For I, Peter Williams, a major-general in the army of the Commonwealth and son of a country black¬ smith, was about to undertake a most insane step. I was contemplating marriage with a woman of in¬ dependent wealth and of culture and birth far above my own, a widow, also, and not a widow of a manage de convenance either, but the widow of a love match, the idolized husband having only been removed by death in a revolutionary affray within the last three months. The position would appear hopeless enough at that, but, to add to the folly of it all, I, the son of the blacksmith, was in love with the lady, and had been in love with her for as long as I could remember.

It was this fact, for one, that I wished to keep from Cromwell’s knowledge, for, as like as not, had he sus¬ pected any such blind infatuation on the part of his apparently phlegmatic subordinate, he would have can¬ celed the contract on the spot, for it might lead to dangerous consequences to have a trusted officer madly in love with a recognized Royalist agent. As it ap¬ peared on the surface, the marriage was just one after his own heart, for Cromwell, with his usual hatred of using force or cruelty where milder methods would answer equally effectually, was fond of arranging such marriages as this one, where, with no open show of coercion, Royalist estates and family sympathies could be gently brought over to the side of the Common¬ wealth.

In this instance the coercion was perhaps more ap¬ parent than usual, for young Lady Killigew, heiress in her own right to the estate of Rookherst, in Surrey, would certainly never have consented to remarriage had it not been for the unfortunate fact that her only brother, younger than herself and most dearly beloved, was now a prisoner in the Tower under sentence of death for seditious plotting against the state. To se¬ cure his pardon and release, his sister had agreed to accept any husband the state (which meant the protec¬ tor) should think fit to choose for her, and to hand over the title-deeds of Rookherst to the said husband upon the wedding day.

It might be argued, the same object could have been attained by forcing the heiress to make over her estates as a whole without her person, but this more brutal form of confiscation did not meet with Oliver’s ap¬ proval; as he explained in his laborious, involved way to me, a better and more lasting value was gained by looking ahead, for, by a marriage like this one, the off¬ spring of such a union were in the natural line and yet were secured for the further support of the state as descendants of a loyal Republican father, thus avoid¬ ing ill-feeling and old family sores. The lord protec¬ tor had earlier in the proceedings commented upon the fortunate fact of there being no issue of the first mar¬ riage in the case of Lady Killigew.

“I hope you will soon have a son to carry on the good old principles,” he had said genially, and I re¬ called the words now with mixed feelings, as I made my gloomy way home to my quarters at St. James’s.

Once arrived in my own room, I sat down, and, filling my pipe, deliberately marshaled all the facts be¬ fore my mind’s judgment, and the verdict given with¬ out hesitation was that I, Peter Williams, was a fool and deserved all the misery which would inevitably come upon me.

The mischief had begun when, as a ragged boy of ten, I stopped to admire the golden-headed little girl of six, scolding her placid nurse, striking her with her baby fists, and stamping her little arched feet with imperious rage.

The stout nurse had only smiled and meekly yielded the point, whatever it was, for that detail has escaped my memory.

From that day onward the golden-haired child be¬ came my obsession. I used to watch for her from my mother’s cottage window, eager to run out and open the great iron gates for her, longing in vain for a look, or smile of thanks, satisfied for the moment if her blue eyes even rested casually upon me. It was folly, and a folly I recognized as such, and carefully kept hidden from the knowledge of my big, sensible father and my wise, loving mother.

IO

As the years passed and I grew up into young man¬ hood, my parents began to look round for a mate for me, and their choice fell upon my cousin Matilda, a sober, godly young woman, in every way fitted to make me just such a wife as would keep me in the straight paths of virtue and sobriety, and perhaps restrain a certain headstrong tendency to sow wild oats.

But, alas for their hopes and loving plans, no cousin Matilda would do for me. I was sincerely fond of my cousin, but ask her to marry me I would not.

Other suitable maids were suggested, but from all of them I turned with the same feeling of aversion, quite inexplicable to my parents, who became seriously annoyed with me.

It was just about this time that an accident occurred which altered the whole course of my life, and prob¬ ably had more to do with bringing me into my present situation than anything else.

It occurred in this wise.

I was then seventeen and the little Lady Rosamond must have been thirteen, and just recently affianced to my Lord Killigew, a penniless Irish nobleman, some years her senior, to whom she had furiously lost her heart. There had been opposition to the engagement on the part of Lord and Lady Lovet, who had planned great things for their beautiful daughter, but the spoiled darling inevitably carried her way, and the match was duly arranged.

The engaged couple came riding down the avenue ii one sunny afternoon when the chestnuts were in blos¬ som, and I happened to have strolled out, all grimy from my father’s forge, for I helped him at the anvil now.

At the sight of their smiling, contented faces a fit of mad jealousy took possession of me. Instead of hastening forward, as I should, to open the gates for my master’s daughter, I continued to lounge at the en¬ trance to the forge, as though I was unaware of their approach.

Even at a sharp reminder from the young man I did not hurry, but moved in so leisurely a fashion that the horses’ breasts were almost upon the gates before they could rein them in.

I admit it was reprehensible, but I was tired of per¬ petually cringing and begging, as it were, for the favor of a kind glance or even a word of common courtesy through all the past years.

I would win some notice by the reverse method, if by no other; and I certainly did so, for with a furious gesture the beautiful girl turned upon me, whip raised in hand.

“You unmannerly lout,” she exclaimed. “Let this teach you behavior,” and she brought the whip down with all her pretty strength.

I fancy she must have expected me to duck my head, or guard myself with my arm, but, as I did neither, the lash curled round my face and neck with a whistling sound, and I can almost feel the sting of it now,

No doubt perturbed by the sight of the lash-mark, which must have been doubly noticeable through the grime upon my cheeks, Lord Killigew ventured a mild remonstrance with his lady-love, but she evinced no sort of contrition, and on the contrary exclaimed de¬ cisively :

“The creature deserved all he got, and will receive even another such stroke if he does not profit by this lesson. Marry, you great loon, will you remember that, and speed your lumbering person the next time I require the gate opened?”

It was certainly magnificent, if entirely unladylike, and I ruefully acknowledged that she had in no whit lost her place in my youthful estimation by her chas¬ tisement of myself.

I was angry, all the same, and the smart on my face added to the heat in my heart, and no doubt gave to my expression a forbidding aspect, which was care¬ fully noted by the Irishman, as was proved before long.

This is what I learned later through my cousin Matilda, who was by this time employed as one of the still-room maids at the big house.

It seems Lord Killigew, on his return, went at once to Lord and Lady Lovet, and gave them an ornate ac¬ count of the incident, expressing some fears on his fiancee’s account lest the ill-looking ragamuffin who had figured so undignifiedly in the affair should attempt some form of revenge.

My Lady Lovet, from whom her daughter had in¬ herited her hot temper and imperious will, was all for having the aforesaid ruffian clapped in the stocks at once and soundly whipped later on at the cart’s tail, but her lord, being a singularly just man and wish¬ ful to avoid all scandal, decided it would be best to have the blacksmith’s son deported from the county as a ne’er-do-well, and, being a justice of the peace, this order was duly carried out, with the result that I left my home hurriedly one night, at the age of seventeen, to seek my fortunes elsewhere. Within the same year the Civil War broke out, and by force of circumstances more than from any clearly formed principles I joined the side of the Parliament and at once found my sphere.

It is a little difficult for me to judge now as to whether, had all things moved normally, and I had been in the employment of the Lovet family, I should still have taken up the opposing side in this great quarrel. Probably I should have begun by throwing in my lot vehemently on the side of my Lady Rosamond, but I believe that before long my slowly developing princi¬ ples and ingrained passion for emancipation and self-expression would have forced me, all unwillingly, to go over to the Roundheads, as we came to be called.

I was saved any such deliberate and painful wrench by the play of circumstance.

My career in the army was one continued upward progress; fortune played into my hands all along; I was a free agent, with no responsibilities and a natural aptitude for fighting; I had inherited my father’s phy¬ sique and something of my mother’s Scotch foresight and caution, all of which stood me in good stead. It was the day for rapid promotion; ancient landmarks and old lines of social cleavage were swept away, and the successful soldier, whatever his birth, carried all before him.

I came beneath the notice of Sir Thomas Fairfax. He was a quiet, reserved man, little known at that time and handicapped by a stammer, but he suddenly pushed through to the top of things, and I came up with him.

I now come to the second episode which I was anx¬ ious to keep outside the protector’s ken.

While serving under Sir Michael Livesey in Surrey, I was in command at Redhill during the Royalist ris¬ ing of June, 1648, and, as luck would have it, found myself harassed by a small but resolute body of the enemy who had made Rookherst Place their headquar¬ ters.

There was no alternative but by forced marches to bear down upon the stronghold and force its surren¬ der.

We mapped out our attack carefully, and I was warned by my superior to expect a bloody affray and much loss of life on both sides, but I thought otherwise, and trusting to my intimate acquaintance with the geography of the place laid my plans accordingly.

It turned out even better than I had dared hope. The surprise was complete, so much so that my men had cut off the force garrisoned in the outbuildings within the moat, and had actually taken possession of half the house itself before the servants and household were awakened by the disturbance.

We then had only the actual household retinue and the women-folk to deal with, and, what was more, I learned that my Lord Killigew was abed with his lady, fearing no ill and trusting in his stalwart sentries upon the moat, all of whom were at that moment, unarmed, cursing and swearing and kicking at the doors of a large cowshed.

The family sleeping apartments at Rookherst Place are entirely separate from the rest of the house, oc¬ cupying the extreme eastern wing; and by holding the main staircase, which descends into a great paneled hall, we had completely cut off this wing from the main part of the building and thus held my lord and lady and my lady’s personal waiting maids prisoners at our mercy.

Notwithstanding this, however, one daring man, well armed, could do much havoc as a sharpshooter, for there was a small window belonging to one of the bedrooms projecting into the great hall, and at this window protruded the barrel of a rifle.

The fight had been bloodless so far, and it appeared i6 to me a pity to lose even one of my brave fellows if it could be avoided, and so I raised my voice and stated my terms:

“Unless Lord Killigew comes down alone and un¬ armed within ten minutes, I will shoot offhand twenty of his men, loot the entire premises, and then set fire to the house. If his lordship surrenders himself, the rest of the household may go their way unmolested, and the house shall be put under careful guard and its treasures preserved.”

I was well aware that to secure the person of his lordship would be a feather in my cap and worth any concessions, for he was already famed for his reckless courage and daredevilry as a leader of cavalry, and had been marked down as a formidable foe, with a price upon his capture, alive or dead. True, by sur¬ rendering himself he would be giving himself up to imprisonment for life, if not to certain death; but that was his affair, not mine, and I was fully resolved to carry out my threat if need be. One cannot afford to be squeamish in war.

I gathered that there was a hurried consultation in the room behind the window ; the barrel of the rifle was still visible, but I could catch the sound of low voices from within the room in earnest colloquy.

Acting upon my orders, a score of the disarmed guard were formed up in the open doorway behind which we stood, in full view of the window, so as to add point to my words. This evidently had the desired effect, for a man’s voice presently called out from the upper room:

“Lord Killigew is prepared to submit to your de¬ mand, and will surrender himself on condition that you let all these men go free and evacuate the house and grounds.”

“Form these men up outside and prepare a squad to shoot,” I commanded curtly. “Also have fagots brought in to fire the place.”

There came an angry oath from the window, and the same voice spoke hurriedly:

“Have it your own way, and a curse on you. I will come down.”

And come down he did. It was the middle of the night, and the place was badly lit with a few candles and torches we had brought with us, and as the solitary figure, fully dressed in military cloak and helmet, de¬ scended the wide staircase, my captain nudged me and whispered:

“We had best have a care, sir, had we not, that there is no deception practised: this may not be Lord Killigew. How shall we tell?”

“I know Lord Killigew well by sight,” I replied shortly. “I cannot make any mistake.”

As soon as the man was within distance, after I had made sure he was unarmed, I took a step forward, and, snatching a torch from one of my men, flashed it i8 over his face. The scrutiny satisfied me, and I gave orders for the prisoner to be removed behind, under close guard, until I could deal with him.

Then I called out in a loud voice:

“Will Lady Killigew and her women please come down. I pledge my word she shall be permitted to go her way unmolested.”

Four figures, heavily cloaked and hooded, forthwith descended the stairs and crossed the great hall, a deso¬ late little group, walking reluctantly.

“Which is Lady Killigew?” I asked. One of the women took a short step forward and replied in a low but firm voice:

“I am Lady Killigew.”

I did not trouble to resort to the torch.

“Very well, madam. I will instruct my men to see that you and your attendants are suitably mounted. I am sorry I cannot permit you to speak with your husband. Captain Forbes, please see to my Lady Killigew’s requirements.”

Turning away, I motioned the guard to conduct their prisoner to a smaller room, evidently a dining-room, which opened out of the main passage leading from the outer entrance to the large hall.

“You can leave Lord Killigew here. I wish to have a word with him in private. See if you can find some wine and other viands, and bring in some more candles,” I ordered.

An old man herewith hurried forward from some dark doorway, and I recognized with amusement the family steward, Masterman, whom I had known by sight from my childhood.

“May I be permitted to wait upon my lord for the last time, sir?” he quavered. “I am an old, old man; you need have no fear of me, and I should esteem it a great favor. I have the key of the wine-cellar,” he added craftily.

I nearly laughed aloud, so well did he simulate ex¬ treme old age. He could not be much above fifty, I knew, but in the uncertain light and with his shoulders humped up and a rickety gait the illusion was com¬ plete. I could not but admire and respect his faithful courage.

“Very well, old man,” I replied; “go and get some wine for your master, and be as quick about it as your age permits.”

I waited for the door to close upon the two of us before I remarked carelessly:

“Well, my Lady, what have you to say for your¬ self?”

With a startled cry she lifted her head and let the candle-light flash beneath the heavy-brimmed helmet.

“You knew! How did you know, and when?”

“I knew from the moment I passed the torch over your face,” I replied equably. “You see, I happen to be acquainted with your husband’s features.”

“He said he had never met you before, to his knowl¬ edge,” she said, dismay in her voice. Obviously she had hoped to keep up the ruse until the escaping party had had time to put several miles between themselves and me. >She now dreaded their recapture, and her uneasiness was pitiful.

I regarded her in silence for a few seconds, dwell¬ ing upon the perfect features, and noting the familiar imperious little mouth. Then I said slowly:

“There is time to send several parties after your husband, and I have no doubt at all but that we should cut them off successfully.”

“Why do you not do it, then?” she cried, stamping her foot with nervous irritation. “Why are you play¬ ing with me?”

“I am not exactly playing with you,” I replied. “I am exacting a payment. Listen. Upon one condi¬ tion, and one only, will I let your husband escape. There is not much time; your steward will be back in a few minutes, and then it will be too late. If you will give me a kiss, I will give you your husband’s life.”

Her eyes blazed upon me like sapphire flame.

“Kiss you! How dare you! you hound!”

“Very well,” I replied composedly, rising to my feet.

“Nay—stop! I- Why do you ask this?

What payment do you mean?”

“That is my affair, madam. You are merely los¬ ing time.”

She looked at me with a sort of helpless rage which was almost ludicrous.

Then she took a step forward. Then another, and another, until she was close to me.

Here she paused and drew herself up with a haughty movement, and waited.

I waited also.

Obviously she expected me to take the opportunity graciously accorded by her to kiss her.

As I made no move, she drew her delicate brows together sharply, but there was also perplexity in her expression.

“I did not say that I should kiss you, madam; I said I required a kiss from you.”

Her anger broke out afresh.

“Your impertinence is insufferable. I would rather die than do it.”

“Quite likely,” replied I; “but, as it happens, it is your husband’s life, not yours, which will be sacrificed by your foolish self-will and vanity.”

The struggle in her soul showed itself pitiably in her beautiful face. Then love conquered; stooping toward me, she hesitated, and then whispered:

“Where do you wish me to kiss you?”

I thought of my swollen, bleeding lips from the whip-lash.

“Kiss me full on the mouth,” I said deliberately, and she obeyed,

The deed was scarcely done when steps sounded in the flagged passage, and the door was opened care¬ fully by the steward, bearing a tray of food and wine.

He shuffled forward with the uncertain footsteps of the aged, but as his gaze fell upon his young mistress all semblance of age left him.

Straightening himself up with a comical jerk, he ejaculated in a forceful voice:

^Good God have mercy upon us! What are you doing here, my Lady? Where is his lordship?”

“His lordship, I hope, is now in safety,” she replied gently, her face aglow with the new joy of self-sacri¬ fice. It had been a case of taming the shrew tempora¬ rily at any rate, and there remained no doubt in my mind that she loved her husband.

The faithful servant now turned to stare in a puz¬ zled way at me. There must have been some chord of memory touched by my appearance, possibly a resem¬ blance to my father, but he evidently could not for the moment explain it, for my name was as yet unknown to both my companions.

“You appear to have become rejuvenated in an extraordinary way, Mr. Steward,” I remarked with a grin. “Perhaps, after all, you are not too infirm to act as escort to her ladyship as I had feared. Could you undertake to see her into some place of safety ere morning, if I provide you with mounts?”

The man’s fine face lit up with surprise and grati¬ tude, but there was no hint of the latter sentiment in my lady’s. She was evidently satisfied with the ex¬ planation I had given for my queer action, and believed it was some self-indulgent whim and no quixotic mo¬ tive that had actuated me.

It was some time before the laugh in the barrackroom ceased over the way in which the colonel had been tricked by a woman. My captain was a thought¬ ful young man and may have made a shrewd guess at the mystery, but if so he allowed no hint to leak out.

I made the best explanation I could to Lord Fair¬ fax. Had I had General Cromwell to deal with I fancy I should not have come through so well, but Fairfax was a peculiarly generous man, and would have been likely to do just such an action himself. At the time also he was hard pressed for men and supplies, and too thankful to learn that I had captured the rebel headquarters with so little expenditure of either to complain much of the bungling through which the leader had been allowed to slip away.