John Stich, the blacksmith, however, knew every one of consequence for a great many miles around, and undoubtedly next to the Earls of Stretton the Challoners were the most important family in the sister counties. Therefore when Sir Humphrey's coach stopped at the cross-roads, and the Squire himself alighted therefrom and walked towards the smith's cottage, the latter came forward with all the deference due to a personage of such consequence, and asked respectfully what he might do for his Honour.
"Only repair this pistol for me, master smith," said Sir Humphrey; "you might also examine the lock of its fellow. One needs them in these parts."
He laughed a not unpleasant boisterous laugh as he handed a pair of silver-mounted pistols to John Stich.
"Will your Honour wait while I get them done?" asked John, with some hesitation. "They won't take long."
"Nay! I'll be down this way again to-morrow," replied his Honour. "I am putting up at Aldwark for the night."
John said nothing. Probably he mistrusted the language which rose to his lips at this announcement of Sir Humphrey's plans. In a moment he remembered Lady Patience's look of terror when the squire's coach first came into view on the crest of the distant hill, and his faithful, honest heart quivered with apprehension at the thought that a man whom she so obviously mistrusted was so close upon her track.
"I suppose there is a decent inn in that God-forsaken hole, eh?" asked the Squire, jovially. "I've arranged to meet my man of business there, that old scarecrow, Mittachip, but I'd wish to spend the night."
"There's only a small wayside inn, your Honour..." murmured John.
"Better than this abode of cut-throats, this Brassing Moor, anyway," laughed his Honour. "Begad! night overtook me some ten miles from Hartington, and I was attacked by a damned rascal who robbed me of fifty guineas. My men were a pair of cowards, and I was helpless inside my coach."
John tried to repress a smile. The story of Sir Humphrey Challoner's midnight adventure had culminated in fifty guineas being found in the poor box at Brassington court-house, and Mr Inch, the beadle, had brought the news of it even as far as the cross-roads.
"I must see Squire West about this business," muttered Sir Humphrey, whilst John stood silent, apparently intent on examining the pistols. "'Tis a scandal to the whole country, this constant highway robbery on Brassing Moor. The impudent rascal who attacked me was dressed like a prince, and rode a horse worth eighty guineas at the least. I suspect him to be the man they call Beau Brocade."
"Did your Honour see him plainly?" asked John, somewhat anxiously.
"See him?" laughed Sir Humphrey. "Does one ever see these rascals? Begad! he had stopped my coach, plundered me and had galloped off ere I could shout 'Damn you' thrice. Just for one moment, though, one of my lanterns flashed upon the impudent thief. He was masked, of course, but I tell thee, honest friend, he had on a coat the Prince of Wales might envy; as for his horse, 'twas a thorough-bred I'd have given eighty guineas to possess."
"And everyone knows your Honour is clever at a bargain," said John, with a suspicion of malice.
"Humph!" grunted the Squire. "By Gad!" he added, with his usual jovial laugh, "the rogue does not belie his name — 'Beau Brocade' forsooth! Faith! he dresses like a lord, and cuts your purse with an air of gallantry, an he were doing you a favour."
It was difficult to tell what went on in Sir Humphrey Challoner's mind behind that handsome, somewhat florid face of his. The task was in any case quite beyond the powers of honest John Stich, though he would have given quite a good deal of his worldly wealth to know for certain whether his Honour's journey across Brassing Moor and on to Aldwark had anything to do with that of Lady Patience along the same road.
Nothing the Squire said, however, helped John towards making a guess in that direction. Just as Sir Humphrey, having left the pistols in the smith's hands, turned to go back to his coach, he said quite casually, —
"Whose was the coach that passed here about half an hour before mine?"
"The coach, your Honour?"
"Aye! when we reached the crest of the hill my man told me he could see a coach standing at the cross-roads, whose was it?"
For one moment John hesitated. The situation was just a little too delicate for the worthy smith to handle. But he felt, as Sir Humphrey was going to Aldwark and therefore would surely meet Lady Patience, that lying would be worse than useless, and might even arouse unpleasant suspicions.
"'Twas Lady Patience Gascoyne's coach," he said at last.
"Ah!" said the Squire, with the same obvious indifference. "Whither did she go?"
"I was at work in my forge, your Honour, and her ladyship did not stop. I fancy she drove down Wirksworth way, but I did not see or hear for I was very busy."
"Hm!" commented his Honour, whilst a shrewd and somewhat sarcastic smile played round the corners of his full lips.
"I'll stay the night at Aldwark," he said, nodding to the smith. "Faith! no more travelling after dark for me on this unhallowed Moor; and for sure my horses could not reach Wirksworth now before nightfall. So have the pistols ready for me by seven o'clock to-morrow morning, eh, mine honest friend?"
Then he entered his carriage, and slowly, with many a creak and a groan, the cumbersome vehicle turned down the road to Aldwark, whilst John Stich, with a dubious, anxious sigh, went back into his forge.
CHAPTER VII
THE HALT AT THE MOORHEN
Patience herself would have been quite unable to explain why she mistrusted, almost feared, Sir Humphrey Challoner.
The fact that the Squire of Hartington had openly declared his admiration for her, surely gave her no cause for suspecting him of enmity towards her brother. She knew that Sir Humphrey hoped to win her hand in marriage — this he had intimated to her on more than one occasion, and had spoken of his love for her in no measured terms.
Lady Patience Gascoyne was one of the richest gentlewomen in the Midlands, having inherited vast wealth from her mother, who was sister and co-heiress of the rich Grantham of Grantham Priory. No doubt her rent-roll added considerably to her attractions in the eyes of Sir Humphrey; that she was more than beautiful only helped to enhance the ardour of his suit.
Women as a rule — women of all times and of every nation — keep a kindly feeling in their heart for the suitor whom they reject. A certain regard for his sense of discrimination, an admiration for his constancy — if he be constant — make up a sum of friendship for him tempered with a gentle pity.
But in most women too there is a subtle sense which for want of a more scientific term has been called an instinct: the sense of protection over those whom they love.
In Patience Gascoyne that sense was abnormally developed: Philip was so boyish, so young, she so much older in wisdom and prudence. It made her fear Sir Humphrey, not for herself but for her brother: her baby, as in her tender motherly heart she loved to call him.
She feared and suspected him, she scarce could tell of what. Not open enmity towards Philip, since her reason told her that the Squire of Hartington had nothing to gain by actively endangering her brother's life, let alone by doing him a grievous wrong.
Yet she could not understand Sir Humphrey Challoner's motive in counselling Philip to play so cowardly and foolish a part, as the boy had done in the late rebellion. Vaguely she trembled at the idea that he should know of her journey to London, or worse still, guess its purpose. Philip, she feared, might have confided in him unbeknown to her: Sir Humphrey, for aught she knew, might know of the existence of the letters which would go to prove the boy's innocence.
Well! and what then? Surely the Squire could have no object in wishing those letters to be