British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition). Emma Orczy

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British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition) - Emma Orczy

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back to the cottage now and risk meeting Richard Lambert face to face?

      And it was Richard whom Sir Marmaduke feared.

      He had, therefore, almost decided to try his luck at dressing in the dark, and was once more fumbling with the latch of the pavilion door, when through the absolute silence of the air, there came to his ear through the mist the sound of a young voice calling the name of "Sue!"

      The voice was that of Richard Lambert.

      The coast would be clear then. Richard had met Sue in the park: no doubt he would hold her a few moments in conversation. The schemer cared not what the two young people would or would not say to one another; all that interested him now was the fact that Richard was not at the cottage, and that, therefore, it would be safe to run back and fetch the tinder-box.

      All this was a part of Fate's mischievous prank. Sir Marmaduke was not afraid of meeting the old Quakeress, nor yet the surly smith; Richard being out of the way, he had no misgivings in his mind when he retraced his steps towards the cottage.

      It was close on eight o'clock then, in fact the tiny bell in Acol church struck the hour even as Sir Marmaduke lifted the latch of the little garden gate.

      The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual with her dusting-cloth. Without heeding her, Sir Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushing the crockery, which now littered it, aside, he searched for his tinder-box.

      It was not there. With an impatient oath, he turned to Mistress Martha, and roughly demanded if she had seen it.

      "Eh? . . . What?" she queried, shuffling a little nearer to him, "I am somewhat hard of hearing . . . as thou knowest. . . ."

      "Have you seen my tinder-box?" he repeated with ever-growing irritation.

      "Ah, yea, the fog!" she said blandly, "'tis damp too, of a truth, and . . ."

      "Hold your confounded tongue!" he shouted wrathfully, "and try and hear me. My tinder-box. . . ."

      "Thy what? I am a bit . . ."

      "Curse you for an old fool," swore Sir Marmaduke, who by now was in a towering passion.

      With a violent gesture he pushed the old woman aside and turning on her in an uncontrolled access of fury, with both arms upraised, he shouted:

      "If you don't hear me now, I'll break every bone in your ugly body. . . . Where is my . . ."

      It had all happened in a very few seconds: his entrance, his search for the missing box, the growing irritation in him which had caused him to lose control of his temper. And now, even before the threatening words were well out of his mouth, he suddenly felt a vigorous onslaught from the rear, and his own throat clutched by strong and sinewy fingers.

      "And I'll break every bone in thy accursed body!" shouted a hoarse voice close to his ear, "if thou darest so much as lay a finger on the old woman."

      The struggle was violent and brief. Sir Marmaduke already felt himself overmastered. Adam Lambert had taken him unawares. He was rough and very powerful. Sir Marmaduke was no weakling, yet encumbered by his fantastic clothes he was no match for the smith. Adam turned him about in his nervy hands like a puppet.

      Now he was in front and above him, glaring down at the man he hated with eyes which would have searched the very depths of his enemy's soul.

      "Thou damned foreigner!" he growled between clenched teeth, "thou vermin! . . . Thou toad! Thou . . . on thy knees! . . . on thy knees, I say . . . beg her pardon for thy foul language . . . now at once . . . dost hear? . . . ere I squeeze the breath out of thee. . . ."

      Sir Marmaduke felt his knees giving way under him, the smith's grasp on his throat had in no way relaxed. Mistress Martha vainly tried to interpose. She was all for peace, and knew that the Lord liked not a fiery temper. But the look in Adam's face frightened her, and she had always been in terror of the foreigner. Without thought, and imagining that 'twas her presence which irritated the lodger, she beat a hasty retreat to her room upstairs, even as Adam Lambert finally succeeded in forcing Sir Marmaduke down on his knees, not ceasing to repeat the while:

      "Her pardon . . . beg her pardon, my fine prince . . . lick the dust in an English cottage, thou foreign devil . . . or, by God, I will kill thee! . . ."

      "Let me go!" gasped Sir Marmaduke, whom the icy fear of imminent discovery gripped more effectually even than did the village blacksmith's muscular fingers, "let me go . . . damn you!"

      "Not before I have made thee lick the dust," said Adam grimly, bringing one huge palm down on the elaborate perruque, and forcing Sir Marmaduke's head down, down towards the ground, "lick it . . . lick it . . . Prince of Orléans. . . ."

      He burst out laughing in the midst of his fury, at sight of this disdainful gentleman, with the proud title, about to come in violent contact with a cottage floor. But Sir Marmaduke struggled violently still. He had been wiser no doubt, to take the humiliation quietly, to lick the dust and to pacify the smith: but what man is there who would submit to brute force without using his own to protect himself?

      Then Fate at last worked her wanton will.

      In the struggle the fantastic perruque and heavy mustache of Prince Amédé d'Orléans remained in the smith's hand whilst it was the round head and clean-shaven face of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse which came in contact with the floor.

      In an instant, stricken at first dumb with surprise and horror, but quickly recovering the power of speech, Adam Lambert murmured:

      "You? . . . You? . . . Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse! . . . Oh! my God! . . ."

      His grip on his enemy had, of course, relaxed. Sir Marmaduke was able to struggle to his feet. Fate had dealt him a blow as unexpected as it was violent. But he had not been the daring schemer that he was, if throughout the past six months, the possibility of such a moment as this had not lurked at the back of his mind.

      The blow, therefore, did not find him quite unprepared. It had been stunning but not absolutely crushing. Even whilst Adam Lambert was staring with almost senseless amazement alternately at him and at the bundle of false hair which he was still clutching, Sir Marmaduke had struggled to his feet.

      CHAPTER XXXI

       THE ASSIGNATION

       Table of Contents

      He had recovered his outward composure at any rate, and the next moment was busy re-adjusting his doublet and bands before the mirror over the hearth.

      "Yes! my violent friend!" he said coolly, speaking over his shoulder, "of a truth it is mine own self! Your landlord you see, to whom that worthy woman upstairs owes this nice cottage which she has had rent free for over ten years . . . not the foreign vermin, you see," he added with a pleasant laugh, "which maketh your actions of just now, somewhat unpleasant to explain. Is that not so?"

      "Nay! but by the Lord!" quoth Adam Lambert, still somewhat dazed, vaguely frightened himself now at the magnitude, the importance of what he had done, "meseems that 'tis thine actions, friend, which will be unpleasant to explain. Thou didst not put on these play-actor's robes for a good purpose, I'll warrant! . . . I cannot guess what is thy game, but methinks her young ladyship would wish to

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