“I had some difficulties,” said Wilfred, “but everything is all right now.”
Wilfred lodged1 with Musgrave, but they would often both come round to the hostelry where Ian was. On one of these occasions a number of men were seated round the fire with tankards of ale, when a big burly fellow came in and asked mine host to draw him a tankard. Catching2 sight of Matthew, he went up to him and clapping him on the back, he asked how things were going.
“Well enough, thank you, Andrew, and how is all with you, now that you have settled down near the old place again?”
“Oh, not so badly; it is harder work than at Holwick, but it’s good being near one’s own folk.”
Ian started slightly at the name of Holwick, but no one noticed and he guessed that this must be Andrew Woolridge. He waited a moment and then cautiously entered the conversation. “Where is Holwick?” he questioned.
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“It’s not very far south from here,” said Andrew, “on the Tees a few miles from Middleton.”
“What were you doing there?” asked Ian.
“Oh, I was working at Holwick Hall, Master Richard Mowbray’s place.”
“What sort of a place was that?”
“A fine big place, but they had not the money that the family used to have.”
“What were they like?” inquired Ian.
“Yes, tell us something about them,” said Matthew; “you have never told us much.”
“Oh, they were all right. Master Mowbray was excellent and so were the young mistresses, but Mistress Mowbray herself was a tartar.”
“Was that why you left?” asked little Wilfred.
“Well, no, not exactly,” said Andrew. “I had a bit of a quarrel with them. These things will happen, you know”; and he laughed. “In fact, now that I think over it, I believe they were in the right. They were decent people, but queer in some ways, and so I thought I had better shift over here.”
“What was the quarrel about?” asked Matthew.
“Oh, that is too long a story; but I thought they should supply me with enough corn for the winter and they were not willing. Maybe I wanted too much; anyhow I came away, but I am sorry sometimes too.”
“Why?” said Ian.
“Well, if you must know I was sorry for the little mistress, Aline Gillespie, who lived with them. She and I did not get on very well; but Mistress Mowbray treated her like a dog. Mistress Aline, though, did me a good turn once, when I got into trouble, and somehow219 I would have liked to do her a good turn too, by way of paying back. I do not like being in any one’s debt. But there, I make mistakes like most of the rest of us. What do I owe you?” he said, turning to the innkeeper. “It’s time I was going.”
Andrew settled his score and was just leaving when another man entered.
“Hullo, Andrew,” said the newcomer, “whither away in such haste? Come back, man,” and then he added something in a low voice in which Ian distinctly caught the word “Holwick.”
This was a strange coincidence, Ian thought, to meet two people within a few minutes who both knew Holwick and he wondered who the newcomer might be. He had not long to wait.
The stranger turned to the innkeeper and said, “Timothy, man, I’m back again; you’ve got a place for my pack-horses for the night, I hope.”
“There’s always room for old friends,” said the innkeeper.
“Is there anything you’ll be buying yourself?” asked the stranger. “Faith, man, but I’ve some fine things, but you’re getting that set up in Carlisle that a man who only brings goods from Flanders and Italy and Persia and India, to say nothing of the latest novelties from London, is hardly likely to please you. But I’ve got some rugs now that would just stir your heart. You never saw the like. I have just refused 300 florins for one of them, but I’ll let an old friend have it for that price.”
“Oh, stop your gammon, Walter,” said the innkeeper. “You need not tell me your tales. If there’s220 anything good and cheap, I may take it, but I do not want any of your flowery word fancies.”
“Odds bodikins! mine host is very plain spoken,” rejoined Walter, “but come along, sirs, what do you want?” addressing the little group, and he unrolled a bundle as he spoke3.
Although Walter made the most of them, his wares4 really were thoroughly5 good stuff, and he had a happy taste in making his selections; consequently he always did good business wherever he went, and it was rumoured6 that he had a pretty pile laid by for a rainy day.
He sold a few things to those present and was rolling up the bundle, when Ian caught sight of a singularly beautiful silver buckle7 of admirable design and workmanship. It was of a superior class to most of the trinkets that the packman had with him. He said nothing at the time but waited for a more favourable8 opportunity, as the packman was staying for the night.
In the evening Ian and the packman were seated alone at the fire. Ian looked around carefully, the door was shut, so he decided9 that he might broach10 the subject of Holwick.
“I suppose you travel far,” he said.
“Yes, Master Mitchell, I cover the length of the country once every year, but I work mainly in the north between here and York.”
“Are you going to York now?”
“Well, I expect to do—after a time; but I am going to Hexham and Newcastle and Durham and shall then work my way up the Wear and down the Tees and probably up Wensley dale.”
“Do you know Upper Teesdale?”
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“Why, yes, but it’s an out of the way place. Yet, do you know,—many of these out of the way places are my best customers. When I was last there I sold a large quantity to Master Richard Mowbray of Holwick Hall.”
“You know them then?”
“In a business way, yes,” said Walter.
“There’s a little girl that is living there, that I know slightly,” said Ian.
“What, Mistress Aline Gillespie! the bonniest child I ever saw in my life. I shall never forget that child, although I have only seen her once. ’Sdeath, man, she has the face of an angel and the soul of one too, beshrew me if she has not.”
“Well, she comes from my country, although I cannot say that I have any extended acquaintance with her any more than you have.”
“I am sorry for that bairn,” said Walter, lowering his voice and looking round; “she has none too happy a time with the Mowbrays. But there, it may be gossip,” he continued, as the thought occurred to him that he was not sure of his listener. “One hears such funny tales as one goes about the country; one does not know what to believe.”
“You are going that way again then?” said Ian.
“Yes, yes, and perchance if you know the child, you would like me to tell her that I had seen you.”
“May be so; and I might send her one of your trinkets. I saw a little buckle that might take her fancy.”
Walter got up and fetched the bundle and produced the buckle. “Honestly, man,” he said, “that is a more expensive class of thing than most of my stuff; but I222 will let you have it cheap. Yes, really cheap; I know you think I always talk like that, but I swear I am speaking true.”
There was an earnestness in the man’s tone and manner that was quite unlike his usual jaunty11 way of talking and Ian felt he might venture to say more.
“I believe you,” he said. “Well, I will buy it and send a letter with it, but promise me that no one else shall see you give it to her.”
“You know the old cat too, then, do you?” said Margrove, a little off his guard.
“Mistress Mowbray, you mean,” said Ian. “Well, I know about her; and in these days least said is soonest mended.”
“Yes, we dwell in strange times,” the packman responded, “the land has passed through sad experiences,” and then, fearing he might have said too much, he added, “Maybe it is all right, but I have no fancy to see human flesh fry.”
“Nor I either,” said Ian. “I saw them burn George Wishart, and I shall not forget that on this side of my grave.”
“It’s my belief,” said Walter, “that the church does itself more harm than good by the burnings; it does not have the effect that they expect.”
“I believe your sympathy is with those who are burned,” said Ian, looking at him keenly.
“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t; but anyway I say that Mother Church does not always see where her own interests lie. But my business is chaffering and I do not meddle12 in these matters, see you there.”
“Tut, tut, man, you need not mind me, say what you223 like. I care for the burning no more than you do and no finger of mine would ever be stirred to get a man into trouble.”
“Well, neighbour,” said Margrove, “you speak fair, neither would I. If George Wishart had come to me I should not have told them where to find him.”
“Then keep my secret,” said Ian, “and give Mistress Aline the buckle without a soul knowing it. While I am about it,” he added, “I will take this chatelaine, and that will do for the other little mistress.”
“Then it was not only in Scotland that you knew Mistress Aline,” remarked Walter, looking at him shrewdly.
Ian was half sorry that he had said so much, he might have enclosed the chatelaine for Audry without telling Walter Margrove; but he said off-handedly;—“The Gillespies lived in Scotland, but were cousins of Richard Mowbray. I have never seen him, but I know he has a daughter.”
“Ay, he has a daughter, and she would be worth going some way to see too; only she is outshone by her cousin. But Mistress Audry is a bonnie lassockie and will make a fine woman. Yet it’s a pity the Mowbrays have no boy. It’s a sad thing for the family to die out.”
Both men were silent for a time and then Margrove spoke. He looked at Ian questioningly,—“I believe I have seen your face before,” he said; “your name’s not James Mitchell.” He gave the fire a stir, and as the flame shot up he said, “Were you ever at Northampton?”
“I was,” said Ian.
“Then you are the man to whom I owe everything.224 Why did I not recognise you before? I have heard they had seized you and I heard afterwards that you had escaped to France,—see this,” he went on, drawing a small copy of the New Testament13 from his doublet. “I have not the courage to go about as you do; but I too have done a little, and, if need be, I hope I shall have strength not to deny the faith.”
There was silence again, this time Ian spoke. “I wonder if you know where a Greek Testament could be obtained, you travel much and see many things.”
“It is strange that you should say that. I have two concealed14 in an inner pouch15 in my pack, that have come over from Amsterdam and I was taking them to Master Shipley near York, who had asked me to obtain one for him.”
“Then will you let me have the better one and take it along with the buckle?”
“Is that it, then?” said Margrove. “Poor child, poor child!”
“No,” said Ian, “you are wrong, they do not know at Holwick that the child has any thoughts that way; you must act with all the caution you can command.”
Walter brought the testaments16 and Ian chose the smaller one, which was most beautifully bound with little silver clasps. Walter wanted not to charge for it, but Ian pointed17 out that that would deprive him of the pleasure of being the donor18.
“Before we retire,” said Ian, “I should like to ask you how you came to meet Andrew Woolridge. Do you know his story? You can be quite open with me, as I know why he left Holwick.”
“Then for heaven’s sake don’t tell the people here,”225 said Walter. “The man is consumed by remorse19, though he tries to pass it off lightly. He is honestly trying to do everything that he can. You are not the only one who has sent a present to Mistress Aline. I can tell you that much, and if Andrew knew who you were, he would not mind. He is a changed man since he left Holwick. He told me that the vision of the child haunted him day and night.
“He does not like to talk about the child, but really, if I believed in spells, I should think the child had magic in her. I never saw a man so completely spell bound and I must confess that although I only saw her once, she holds me almost as though I were enchanted20.”
“It is the same here,” said Ian.
“It is a most marvellous thing,” Walter continued, “because she seems quite unconscious of it; not in all my experience have I ever met or heard of anything like it before. That’s three of us, in fact the only people that we know anything about, and it may be the same with every one she meets.”
They talked a little longer and Ian discussed his plans for taking up the packman’s life when he had gathered sufficient money, as a means of spreading his message through the land. Then as the hour was getting late they went to their rooms.
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1
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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2
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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3
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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7
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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8
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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9
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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10
broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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12
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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13
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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15
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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16
testaments
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| n.遗嘱( testament的名词复数 )；实际的证明 | |
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17
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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19
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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