“What caused the attack?” sternly demanded Stelfax.
“I was the unlucky cause of it, an please you, worshipful captain,” sobbed Patty. “the soldier wanted to kiss me whether I would or not; so I cried out, and Ninian came to my assistance, and—and—that was all.”
“No, not quite all, my pretty damsel,” Stelfax said. “What place dost thou fill in the establishment?”
“That of handmaiden to Mistress Dulcia, an please you, worshipful captain,” Patty rejoined.
“Mistress Dulcia is well served, I warrant her,” Stelfax remarked, with a smile. “Take the varlet forth,” he added to the troopers, “and belabour him soundly with your scabbards for ten minutes.”
“Oh, spare him!—spare him!” Patty implored, throwing herself on her knees before the captain.
“Get up, Patty,” Ninian cried, “and don’t ask pity of him. I would sooner die than do so.”
“This fellow is thy sweetheart—as the phrase goes with you profane folk—is he not?” cried Stelfax.
“He is, an please you, captain. Spare him! spare him! I am in fault, not he!”
“Well, thou hast won him grace,” Stelfax replied, chucking her under the chin. “I marvel not that Helpless Henly was tempted by those cherry lips. Beshrew me, but thou art a pretty lass—almost as comely as thy mistress.”
“That is ever the way with the captain,” grumbled Eavestaff. “Like Samson the Nazarite, the son of Manoah, any wanton Delilah can prevail over him. Shall we unloose the varlet’s bonds?”
“Yea, verily,” Stelfax replied. “Yet stay!” he continued, looking hard at Ninian. “This must be the knave whom I encountered with the malignant colonel, at the foot of Kingston Hill. There must have been a strong motive for his expeditious return. I will soon find it out,” he muttered to himself. “Render an account of thyself, fellow. Why wert thou sent on by thy master?”
“To see all made ready for you, captain,” Ninian answered, promptly.
“I have no doubt of it,” Stelfax remarked, drily. “And thou hast done thy best to carry out the order. Wert thou to get thy deserts, thou shouldst have double the number of stripes I just now ordered thee; but thou art free. Thou owest thy liberation to this pretty damsel. Let him not out of your sight,” he added to the troopers, as they undid the thong.
With a covert glance at Ninian, which seemed to say “Forget not what I have just done for you!” Patty Whinchat hastily disappeared.
Filling a large silver flagon, holding well-nigh a quart, with Bordeaux, Stelfax emptied it without drawing breath; pronounced the wine good; and then, getting up, expressed his intention of forthwith searching the house. He ordered John Habergeon and Ninian to attend him, but made no objection to the company of Mr. Beard and Micklegift, who proffered to go with him. Sergeant Delves and the two troopers brought up the rear. Old Martin Geere joined the party in the hall, and on seeing him, Stelfax cried out,
“Go fetch thy keys quickly, thou Pharaoh’s butler. I will have every room and every closet—ay, and every secret place—opened unto me.”
“There are no secret places that I wot of, worshipful captain,” old Martin replied.
“Thou liest!” Stelfax exclaimed, fiercely; “and I will make thee show them to me, or thou shalt have the thumbscrew.”
While old Martin, in a state of great trepidation, hurried off to obey the terrible captain’s behest, the latter marched into the library, and glanced around it, making contemptuous observations on many of the objects that met his view. He had just finished his scrutiny when Martin came back with a large bunch of keys.
“I will begin with the ground floor,” Stelfax said. “Conduct me to the kitchen and cellars.”
The old serving-man bowed and led the way to the back part of the house, Stelfax and the others following him, with the exception of Mr. Beard and the Independent minister, who stayed in the entrance-hall. As Stelfax passed the buttery, he perceived half a dozen troopers seated at a table, with well-laden trenchers and large mugs before them. Amongst them was a great brawny-looking fellow, with his head tied up with a napkin, through which the blood had oozed. This was Helpless Henly. To judge from the expeditious manner in which Henly was clearing his trencher, he was not much worse for his broken pate. On seeing Ninian, the injured Ironside sprang to his feet, and drawing his tuck from its scabbard, would have spitted him as completely as the jack heron had recently transfixed the poor tartaret, but for the interference of his captain, who ordered the fellow to sit down again—a command which he obeyed with ill-concealed discontent, and muttered threatenings at Ninian.