Chapter 17 - No Quarter! by Mayne Reid
New Faces and Old Foes
While Colonel Lunsford and Captain Trevor were waiting for the haw-haw gate to be opened, they had seen the figures of two ladies outlined in the withdrawing-room windows—one in each. As yet the two gentlemen were not visible to them; these being behind and half-hidden by the arras curtains. As the officers came closer, with eyes still upon the windows, those of Lunsford, after a hasty glance at Vaga, remained fixed upon Sabrina in steadfast, earnest gaze, as on one for the first time seen, but eliciting instant admiration.
Trevor had eyes only for the younger of the sisters, his thoughts going back to the last time he had been there. He remembered it with bitterness, for he had fancied himself slighted; and, if so, the time had come for retaliation.
“What a beautiful woman! By the Cestus of Venus, a Venus herself!”
It was the ex-Lieutenant of the Tower who thus exclaimed.
“Which?” queried Reginald Trevor, with more than common interest. Well knew he the flagitious character of the man who was once more his commanding officer.
“Which? What a superfluous question! The tall—the dark one—of course. Yellow hair isn’t to be compared with her for a moment.”
“Perhaps not,” rejoined Trevor, pretending assent, glad to think his military superior was not likely to be his rival in love.
“Certes, both seem beauties in their different styles,” ran on the reprobate. “Who’d ever have expected such a pair in this out-of-the-way corner of creation? I wish Sir John had given us orders to take up quarters in Hollymead House for a week or two. That may come yet when the devil!”
His final ejaculation had nought to do with what preceded. The mention of his Satanic majesty was due to his having caught sight of a face behind that he was in the act of admiring, but the face of a man. A man well-known to him—one he hated, yet feared, as could be told by the scowl instantly overspreading his countenance, along with a whitening of the lips.
Nothing of this observed Reginald Trevor, whose features changed expression at the same time, his thoughts all absorbed in what he saw for himself—the face of another man at the other window in close proximity to that of Vaga Powell.
“Eustace still here! What the deuce can that mean?”
Both exclamation and question were unspoken, though accompanied by a sharp pang of jealousy. Some presentiment of this he had felt before, on the evening when he met his handsome cousin at the gate of Hollymead Park, going on to the house. And here was Eustace yet, when by all the rules he should have been gone days ago, standing by the girl’s side, apparently on terms of the most friendly familiarity!
He was not permitted to see them side by side much longer; nor Lunsford the other pair. For Sabrina, becoming indignant at the bold glances the latter was directing upon her, moved away from the window, Vaga doing the same; the two finally retiring from the room.
Another change of tableaux took place by Sir Richard appearing at the window occupied by the ex-gentleman-usher—which was that nearest the door—as he did, saying,—
“Master Trevor; I want you to be witness—see and hear for yourself how your Cavaliers and King’s officers comport themselves. If I mistake not, you’ll have an opportunity now.”
In the words, as well as tone, was conveyed an insinuation which, ten days before, Eustace Trevor would have resented by drawing sword; all the more that his own kinsman came in for a share of it. He had no thoughts of doing so now. Since then his sentiments, social as political, had undergone a remarkable change; and he but answered the observation by pressing in to the window, till his face almost touched the glass.
By this Lunsford had halted, and formed his troop from flank to line, fronting the house. The movement brought the cousins face to face at close distance, Eustace bowing in a frank, familiar manner. The cold, distant nod vouchsafed in return would have surprised and perplexed him but for a suspicion of the cause. His own conscience had whispered it.
All this while was Ambrose Powell standing in the porch, just as when he gave reception to Reginald Trevor delivering that letter of Privy Seal so contemptuously torn up. Nor looked he now repentant for having torn it; instead, defiant as ever. For he had cast his eyes over and beyond the men in uniform, taken stock of those out of it, compared numbers, and made mental estimate of the chances for a successful resistance. A word, too, had reached him from inside; spoken from the door of the withdrawing-room by Sir Richard Walwyn. So that when Colonel Lunsford approached, in the swaggering way he had been accustomed to in the Low Country, he was met with a firm front and look of calm defiance. It all the more irritated the King’s officer, thinking of him he had observed inside; and with the soldiers at his back, supposing himself master of the situation, all the more determined him to show his teeth.
“You are Ambrose Powell, I take it?” were his first words, spoken without even the ceremony of a salute, as he brought his horse’s head between the supporting columns of the porch.
“Ambrose Powell I am, sir,” responded the Master of Hollymead. “If you doubt my identity,” he added, in his old satirical tone, “I refer you to the gentleman by your side. He knows me, if I mistake not.”
This was a shaft shot at Reginald Trevor, further stinging him, too. But it was not his place to reply; and he bore it in sullen silence.
“Oh!” lightly ejaculated Lunsford, “it don’t need the formality of Captain Trevor’s endorsement. I’ll take it for granted you’re the man I want.”
He spoke as might a policeman of modern days about to “run in” some unfortunate infringer of the laws.
“The man you want! And pray what for?”
“Only to pay your debts.”
“Debts, sirrah! I have no debts.”
“Oh, yes, you have. And right well you know it, Master Powell. Maybe you’d prefer my calling it your dues. Be it so.”
“Nor dues, neither; I owe no one anything.”
“There I beg leave to contradict you. You owe the King three thousand pounds; just dues for maintenance of the State; your share of Supply for its necessary expenses. As I understand, you’ve been asked for payment already, and refused. But now—”
“Now I do the same. The King will get no three thousand pounds from me?”
“He will.”
“No—never!”
“Yes, now! This day; this very hour. If you don’t give it willingly, why I must take it from you; must and shall. Possibly you haven’t so much money in the house. No matter for that. We can levy on your plate, of which, I’m told, you’ve got good store—glad to know it. I’m in earnest, Master Ambrose Powell, and mean what I say. When Tom Lunsford has a duty to do, he does it. So make no mistake; I’m not the man to go back empty-handed.”
“If you be Tom Lunsford,” sneeringly retorted the Master of Hollymead, “not likely. I’ve heard of you, sir. Robbers as you rarely leave any place empty-handed.”
“Robbers!” cried the colonel, now furious. “How dare you apply such epithet to me—an officer of the King?”
“I dare to the King’s self—if he stood there beside you.”
“A curse upon you, caitiff! You shall rue your rash words. Know, sir, that I have the power to punish sedition as recusancy. But I won’t palter speech with you any longer. Do you still refuse to lend the money—pay it, I should rather say?”
“Oh! you needn’t have taken the trouble to correct yourself. It’s a demand all the same. The ‘stand and deliver’ of a highwayman. But you shall have an answer. I still refuse it.”
“Then it shall be taken from you, sirrah?”
“If so, sirrah, ’twill be under protest.”
“Under protest be it. As you like about that; devil care I. Ha-ha-ha!” and Lunsford laughed again. Then turning to the troop, he called out to his first sergeant,—
“Dismount, Robins, and follow me with a couple of files?”
Saying which, he flung himself out of the saddle, and made to ascend the steps of the porch.
“You don’t enter my house by an open door,” cried the Master of Hollymead, stepping backward. “You’ll have to break it in first,” he added, gliding into the hallway, dashing the door to behind him, and double-bolting it inside.
Almost immediately after strong oaken shutters, moved by invisible hands, were seen to close upon all the windows of the lower story, till Hollymead House looked as though its inmates had suddenly and mysteriously abandoned it.