Part 46 (1/2)
”To the one person who can serve us,” I answered. ”Veil your face, and it would be well that we shouldn't speak loud.”
”I have no desire to speak at all,” said Barbara.
I would not tell her whither she went. Had we been friends, to bring her there would have taxed my persuasion to the full; as our affairs stood, I knew she would lie the night in the street before she would go. But if I got her to the house, I could keep her. But would she reach the house?
She walked very wearily, faltering in her step and stumbling over every loose stone. I put out my arm to save her once, but she drew away from it, as though I had meant to strike her.
At last we came to the narrow alley; making a sign to Barbara, I turned down it. The house was in front of me; all was quiet, we had escaped detection. Why, who should seek for us? We were at Calais with King Louis, at Calais where we were to be married!
Looking at the house, I found the upper windows dark; there had been the quarters of Phineas Tate, and the King had found him others. But below there was a light.
”Will it please you to wait an instant, while I go forward and rouse my friend? I shall see then whether all is safe.”
”I will wait here,” answered Barbara, and she leant against the wall of the alley which fronted the house. In much trepidation I went on and knocked with my knuckles on the door. There was no other course; yet I did not know how either of them would take my action--the lady within or the lady without, she whom I asked for succour or she in whose cause I sought it.
My entry was easy; a man-servant and a maid were just within, and the house seemed astir. My request for their mistress caused no surprise; the girl opened the door of the room. I knew the room and gave my name.
A cry of pleasure greeted it, and a moment later Nell herself stood before me.
”From the Castle or Calais, from Deal or the devil?” she cried. In truth she had a knack of telling you all she knew in a sentence.
”Why, from half-way between Deal and the devil,” said I. ”For I have left Monmouth on one side and M. de Perrencourt on the other, and am come safe through.”
”A witty Simon! But why in Dover again?”
”For want of a friend, mistress. Am I come to one?”
”With all my heart, Simon. What would you?”
”Means to go to London.”
”Now Heaven is kind! I go there myself in a few hours. You stare. In truth, it's worth a stare. But the King commands. How did you get rid of Louis?”
I told her briefly. She seemed barely to listen, but looked at me with evident curiosity, and, I think, with some pleasure.
”A brave thing!” she cried. ”Come, I'll carry you to London. n.o.body shall touch you while you're hid under the hem of my petticoat. It will be like old times, Simon.”
”I have no money,” said I.
”But I have plenty. For the less the King comes, the more he sends. He's a gentleman in his apologies.” Her sigh breathed more contentment than repining.
”So you'll take me with you?”
”To the world's end, Simon, and if you don't ask that, at least to London.”
”But I'm not alone,” said I.
She looked at me for an instant. Then she began to laugh.
”Whom have you with you?” she asked.
”The lady,” said I.