Countess with her kerchief from the windows of her apartment.
While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered, “There goes fine policy – the servant before the master!” then as he disappeared, seized the moment to speak a word with Foster. “Thou look’st dark on me, Anthony,” he said, “as if I had deprived thee of a parting nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance for thy faithful service. See here! a purse of as good gold as ever chinked under a miser’s thumb and fore-finger. Ay, count them, lad,” said he, as Foster received the gold with a grim smile, “and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last night to Janet.”
“How’s this? how’s this?” said Anthony Foster hastily; “gave he gold to Janet?”
“Ay, man, wherefore not? – does not her service to his fair lady require guerdon?”
“She shall have none on’t,” said Foster; “she shall return it. I know his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. His affections are as fickle as the moon.”
“Why, Foster, thou art mad – thou dost not hope for such good fortune as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet? Who, in the fiend’s name, would listen to the thrush while the nightingale is singing?”
“Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master Varney, you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to wile wantons into his nets. I desire no such devil’s preferment for Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden to. Dost thou laugh? I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from Satan’s clutches, that thou mayest rely on. She shall restore the gold.”
“Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,” answered Varney; “but I have that to say which is more serious. Our lord is returning to court in an evil humour for us.”
“How meanest thou?” said Foster. “Is he tired already of his pretty toy – his plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a monarch’s ransom, and I warrant me he rues his bargain.”
“Not a whit, Tony,” answered the master of the horse; “he dotes on her, and will forsake the court for her. Then down go hopes, possessions, and safety – church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well if the holders be not called to account in Exchequer.”
“That were ruin,” said Foster, his brow darkening with apprehensions; “and all this for a woman! Had it been for his soul’s sake, it were something; and I sometimes wish I myself could fling away the world that cleaves to me, and be as one of the poorest of our church.”
“Thou art like enough to be so, Tony,” answered Varney; “but I think the devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled poverty, and so thou losest on all hands. But follow my counsel, and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold yet. Say nothing of this Tressilian’s visit – not a word until I give thee notice.”
“And wherefore, I pray you?” asked Foster, suspiciously.
“Dull beast!” replied Varney. “In my lord’s present humour it were the ready way to confirm him in his resolution of retirement, should he know that his lady was haunted with such a spectre in his absence. He would be for playing the dragon himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy occupation is ended. A word to the wise. Farewell! I must follow him.”
He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off under the archway in pursuit of his lord.
“Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, damned pander!” said Anthony Foster. “But I must follow his beck, for his interest and mine are the same, and he can wind the proud Earl to his will. Janet shall give me those pieces though; they shall be laid out in some way for God’s service, and I will keep them separate in my strong chest, till I can fall upon a fitting employment for them. No contagious vapour shall breathe on Janet – she shall remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to pray God for her father. I need her prayers, for I am at a hard pass. Strange reports are abroad concerning my way of life. The congregation look cold on me, and when Master Holdforth spoke of hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, which within was full of dead men’s bones, methought he looked full at me. The Romish was a comfortable faith; Lambourne spoke true in that. A man had but to follow his thrift by such ways as offered – tell his beads, hear a mass, confess, and be absolved. These Puritans tread a harder and a rougher path; but I will try – I will read my Bible for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest.”
Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting for him at the postern gate of the park.
“You waste time, Varney,” said the Earl, “and it presses. I must be at Woodstock before I can safely lay aside my disguise, and till then I journey in some peril.”
“It is but two hours’ brisk riding, my lord,” said Varney. “For me, I only stopped to enforce your commands of care and secrecy on yonder Foster, and to inquire about the abode of the gentleman whom I would promote to your lordship’s train, in the room of Trevors.”
“Is he fit for the meridian of the antechamber, think’st thou?” said the Earl.
“He promises well, my lord,” replied Varney; “but if your lordship were pleased to ride on, I could go back to Cumnor, and bring him to your lordship at Woodstock before you are out of bed.”
“Why, I am asleep there, thou knowest, at this moment,” said the Earl; “and I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that you may be with me at my levee.”
So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and proceeded on his journey, while Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public road, avoiding the park. The latter alighted at the door of the bonny Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master Michael Lambourne, That respectable character was not long of appearing before his new patron, but it was with downcast looks.
“Thou hast lost the scent,” said Varney, “of thy comrade Tressilian. I know it by thy hang-dog visage. Is this thy alacrity, thou impudent knave?”
“Cogswounds!” said Lambourne, “there was never a trail so finely hunted. I saw him to earth at mine uncle’s here – stuck to him like bees’-wax – saw him at supper – watched him to his chamber, and, presto! he is gone next morning, the very hostler knows not where.”
“This sounds like practice upon me, sir,” replied Varney; “and if it proves so, by my soul you shall repent it!”
“Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault,” answered Lambourne; “how should it serve me that this fellow should have thus evanished? You may ask mine host, Giles Gosling – ask the tapster and hostler – ask Cicely, and the whole household, how I kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot. On my soul, I could not be expected to watch him like a sick nurse, when I had seen him fairly a-bed in his chamber. That will be allowed me, surely.”
Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry among the household, which confirmed the truth of Lambourne’s statement. Tressilian, it was unanimously agreed, had departed suddenly and unexpectedly, betwixt night and morning.
“But I will wrong no one,” said mine host; “he left on the table in his lodging the full value of his reckoning, with some allowance to the servants of the house, which was the less necessary that he saddled his own gelding, as it seems, without the hostler’s assistance.”
Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne’s conduct, Varney began to talk to him upon his future prospects, and the mode in which he meant to bestow himself, intimating that he understood from Foster he was not disinclined to enter into the household of a nobleman.
“Have
