CHAPTER XIV.
THE RED LION AT GUILDFORD.
As I rode on, anger, pride, a keen sense of the foul injustice with which my family had treated me, and of the false position in which they had placed me with the world, prompted me with a desire to cast Aurora's handkerchief to the wind; but the knowledge that she was an unwitting participator in the act by which my grandfather had transferred my heritage to her late brother, Tony; the memory of her kind manner, the gentle expression of her eye; together with certain high-flown ideas I had gathered from novels, tales of chivalry, and other romantic lore, prompted me to retain it. Edged with lace, it was of the finest cambric, and "Aurora," marked by her own hand, no doubt, appeared on one of its corners.
It was strange, but certainly not unpleasing, that she should think of and ask for me, whom she had never seen; and the tones of her winning voice yet lingered in my ear. My mind soared into airy regions, and became filled with tumultuous and undefined thoughts, for I was a famous architect of castles in the air.
"Ah, that I had the lamp of Aladdin, or even his ring, for ten minutes!" I exclaimed.
Aurora—who was well named so, with her pure complexion and golden hair—was the only living relative who had ever bestowed a thought upon me, so I placed the relic of her in my breast, and rode on, little foreseeing that on a future day that handkerchief would prove the means of saving my life.
On reaching Guildford, I repaired at once to the inn, where, on entering the stable, I remember well how my noble grey welcomed me by neighing, by licking my hand, and rubbing his forehead against me, when I greeted him as an old friend.
In the next stall there was a bald-faced nag with eyes askance, surveying us over the trevice boards, and his aspect seemed familiar to me.
The Red Lion at Guildford was one of those huge, misshapen, queer old galleried houses which still survive the Tudor days in many parts of England. It had acute wooden gables, with stacks of clustered chimneys that started up in picturesque confusion. The walls were plastered and whitewashed, and had varnished beams of ancient oak, in some instances richly and grotesquely carved, placed in them horizontally, perpendicularly, and diagonally. On the side which faced the stable-yard there opened a triple row of bedroom galleries, having twisted balustrades; and all this quaint superstructure rose from an arcade composed of octagonal stone pillars and ponderous beams of good old English oak elaborately carved. Gigs, chaises, covered carts, and red four-wheeled waggons, occupied the sheds around the yard; and the sound of hoofs and the rattle of stall collars evinced that the stables were well filled.
When I arrived night was closing in, and a bright red light streamed cheerily through the windows of the bar into the outer darkness as I entered by the porch, which had a flight of steps down, instead of up to the door, for so old was the edifice that the soil had gradually accumulated far above its original basement.
I am thus particular in describing the house, in consequence of a startling incident which occurred during the few hours I sojourned there.
I inquired of the ostler to whom the bald-faced nag belonged, and he replied to a gentleman who had retired to bed, weary with a long journey.
The host of the Red Lion was so patriotic that he insisted upon having me to sup with him, and he would make no charge for my own or horse's entertainment. He drank deeply, and anon was soon borne away to bed by the ostler and waiter, while shouting vociferously, "Britons, strike home!" and "Down with the Johnny Crapauds!"
After this, I retired immediately, being anxious to reflect a little over the passages of the day, to sleep, and if possible to depart by daybreak.
As the waiter, candle in hand, was conducting me along one of the bedroom galleries, which I have described as overlooking the stable-yard, a dark figure appeared to hover at the further end; and there from amid the shadow a human face seemed to peer out as if observing us.
The hour was late, and the place in all its features strange to me. I stepped towards this eavesdropper, but he or she immediately disappeared.
If ghosts there were in Guildford, the upper regions of the quaint old tumble-down Red Lion seemed to be the very place in which one might take up its quarters, but other thoughts than of ghosts were in my head, so I inquired where the rider, or proprietor of the bald-faced nag was located.
"In number six," replied the waiter.
"On this gallery?"
"Yes, sir."
"And mine?"
"Is number twelve—the oak room. His is at yonder end."
"'Twas there the figure disappeared."
"Figure? Well, there ain't no ghosts or ghostesses either in the Red Lion that ever I heard of, and I have been here both man and boy these many years."
"How is this traveller dressed?" I continued.
"In brown broadcloth, I think, master."
"With a rusty old cocked hat?"
"Yes, bound with black galloon."
"Is his left hand wounded?"
"Don't know," replied the waiter, yawning, "for he keeps it always in his weskit pocket."
My suspicions now amounted to certainty. He was my acquaintance of Wandsworth Common—the highwayman, beyond a doubt. We were certainly in too close proximity, but the landlord of the inn was too tipsy to be referred to, and I had no desire to be detained upon the morrow, charged as I was with important papers for the commodore at Portsmouth, thus I made no more remarks, but took the candle, entered my room, and shut the door.
The apartment was entirely pannelled with dark wainscot, hence its aspect was quaint and gloomy; the furniture was uncomfortably antique, for this being one of the upper and cheaper lodgings of the Red Lion, the whole appurtenances were the oldest in the house, having gradually retired from story to story, till their last service was to be spent in the attics.
The fireplace was wide, lined with blue Dutch tiles, and had a little old-fashioned basket grate, set upon square blocks of stone.
From the latticed window I could see the Wye winding under the bridge, the dark arches of which were clearly reflected in its starlit current beneath.
Two strong bolts secured my door, so there was no danger of being surprised by my friend in the snuff-coloured suit through that avenue. I threw off my belts and uniform, and slipped into a bed that felt cold, damp, and old, for the moths flew out of the russet-coloured canopy and hangings, to flutter about the candle end, the light of which expired just at the moment when I had no further use for it.
I felt feverish, wakeful, and full of many thoughts. Then there were strange sounds in this old house rather calculated to banish sleep; the night wind moaned in the wide chimneys: rats scampered about behind the decaying wainscot, scattering fragments of lime in their career. It might be fancy, but twice some one seemed to lift the latch of my door softly as if attempting to open it.
Ere sleep began to weigh my eyelids down, I had mentally rehearsed over and over again the two unexpected interviews with my cousin Aurora; and again I repented having condescended to take her handkerchief even in a spirit of gallantry.
It was very cavalier-like no doubt—very romantic and all that; but in my heart I linked her and her mother with those who had outraged and wronged me, and pride dictated that I should have left them in ignorance of who I was, and then have ridden off on my lonely way. However, now the deed was done, and regret was unavailing.
Would they—Aurora and her stately mother—triumph over the temporary, alas! it might be permanent, obscurity and humility of my position? There are human hearts wicked enough to feel such triumph, for many persons hate those whom they wrong; but Aurora's gentle voice and tone of sympathy when addressing me removed the supposition that she could be guilty of this.
I had met with so little kindness in the world that the circumstance of her remembering even my existence impressed me deeply.
These two interviews dwelt long in my memory. I was now excluded from the society of polished and educated women: indeed, from the force of that evil destiny to which I had been abandoned, I had hitherto seen little of either; thus the charm of my cousin's manner and the beauty of her person filled my heart with new aspirations, and a keener desire to assume my place in society; but at present the die was cast, and to France must I go as a private dragoon.
My half-drowsy ruminations had been frequently disturbed by sounds too strange to escape my observation. At last they impelled me to sit up in bed, to listen and to look around me.
The room was dark as a tomb, save where through the fantastic iron tracery of the antique window I could see the clouds, like masses of black crape, float past the twinkling stars.
On the wind, which came down the old chimney, there were borne sounds like sobs and sighs—like fierce mutterings and groans that became deep, hollow, and agonizing; and they seemed to be emitted from the wall immediately above the fireplace.
My ears tingled and drops of perspiration started to my forehead, for I must confess that, at the moment, I was weak enough to fear the supernatural, until there came the decidedly earthly sound of a huge piece of plaster falling heavily into the empty grate.
After a time the noises entirely ceased and I was about to drop asleep, when a hoarse and despairing cry, as of some one being strangled close to my bed, rang through the panelled chamber, and brought me again to a sitting position, with all my pulses quickened to the utmost by apprehension and the vague sense of sudden alarm.
"This can no longer be borne!" I exclaimed.
Starting from bed I drew my sword, and unbolting my door issued forth into the gallery which overlooked the stable-yard.
The night, or rather the morning-air, was mild and balmy; the wind had died away, and all was calm and still. I heard the clock of the Guildhall strike the hour of two. No other sound stirred the air; and as noises at that still hour are so deceptive—though there was something in that hoarse cry which impressed me with horror—a dread of ridicule, or of being the victim of some piece of waggery, prevented me from summoning the domestics of the inn; so once more I bolted the door, put my sword at the head of the bed, and therein ensconcing myself, soon fell sound asleep.
The next day was rather far advanced when I woke up and started from bed, on instantly remembering that I must be gone without delay.
During a hasty breakfast I could not refrain from speaking to the landlord of the noises which had disturbed me so much in my chamber.
"Was the wind high or stormy last night?" I began.
"No; the weather was rather calm," said he, with his mouth full, for he was making a hearty, old-fashioned breakfast of sliced beef, and nut-brown, home-brewed ale.
"Were any persons quarrelling or fighting hereabout?"
"When?"
"Why, all night; till two in the morning at least."
"I heard not a sound—the house was perfectly quiet." This statement the waiter, ostler, and landlady hastened to corroborate.
"Then," said I, "by Jove your inn is haunted."
"Take care what you say, my good fellow," replied the landlord, becoming angry; "for lookee, my house has as good a reputation as any in the county of Surrey, so none of your tricks, soldier."
"Then the devil was in my chimney all last night, say what you will," I responded with equal, if not greater, irritation.
On hearing this the landlord's colour changed visibly. He went immediately to my room, accompanied by a servant, who soon returned making a great outcry, and stating that a man had been found wedged in the chimney, that by looking up with a lighted candle, his heels could be seen dangling some five feet or more above the mantelpiece.
On hearing these tidings, the whole household became excited, and crowded to the apartment I had so lately quitted.
On looking up I could see, amid the obscurity of the chimney, the feet of a man, but they were beyond our reach. Workmen were soon procured; the panelling was removed; then the bricks were taken out, a breach made, and in something less than an hour, the dead body of a man was exhumed, all begrimed and covered with soot and lime.
He had evidently died of suffocation, having reached a portion of the chimney where he could neither descend further nor work his way up again, and had there miserably perished; being literally choked by the soot and lime, of which he had inhaled such quantities in his fruitless struggles and painful gaspings, that his foam-covered mouth and bloodshot eyes were quite filled with them.
His left hand was found to have been recently mutilated; his right still grasped a sharp clasp knife, which was doubtless intended for my behoof, as an examination proved the body to be that of the traveller who had occupied No. 6, in the upper gallery—the figure I had detected, watching in the gloom, when retiring to rest.
As some housebreaking implements were found in his pocket, the landlord averred that he had been in search of the strong-box and plate-room; but I had my own idea of his too probable errand, and thus the terrible sounds which had so long disturbed me, and that last hoarse cry of despair and death, were completely accounted for.
Fearing that I might be detained until a coroner's inquest had been held, concerning the death of this highwayman and would-be assassin, while all the inn people, guests, and servants, were fall of dismay by the discovery, I saddled my grey, and set forth for my destination at a spanking pace which soon left Guildford far behind.
Before the evening gun had boomed from Southsea Castle I had reached Portsmouth, delivered my despatches and reported myself at head-quarters.
I was heartily welcomed by Charters and Kirkton, who had been sent by Colonel Preston to join Lindsay's light troop. I rejoiced at this, having sorely missed their society and companionship.
My few hours of freedom and romance—for there was something of romance in Aurora possessing my fortune, and I only her handkerchief—were now at an end, and again I was simply Basil Gauntlet the private dragoon.