Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London
an end on't. Are you that?"
"Sir, you might have tried me, and found out," said the captain, considerably mollified at the other's unexpected politeness, and putting up his sword.
"Why, marry, another time I may have occasion to see your skill – nay, I mean not a challenge; I should enjoy to see you fight any man."
"But what of this gentlewoman, sir?" said the captain, interrogatively.
"Why, you will not dispute, it is my prize, by right of discovery. You a swordman, and not know the laws of war? Faith, we men of the sea are better learned."
"Nay, but is she of the breed to make a prize of? Methinks she looks it not."
"Pish, man, a pretty thing or so; a citizen's filly, mayhap, that hath early slipped the halter; she will not tell her name; but what we find loose in the streets after curfew, we know what it is, whatsoever it may look."
The girl now spoke for the first time since the captain had seen her. Her voice, though disturbed by her feelings, was not shrill like a child's, but had the fulness of blossoming womanhood, and went with the smoothness common to well-bred voices.
"I was never in the streets at night before," she said, sobbingly. "There was one I was to meet, who was waiting for me at the Standard in Cheapside."
"Eh!" quoth the captain, with a suddenly increased interest.
"Some gallant 'prentice, belike," said the gentleman in velvet, with his singular smile of gaiety and cruelty. "Some brave cavalier of the flat cap, whom we frighted off."
"'Twas not so!" cried the girl. "He was not frighted off. I was going to him, and was near the place, but I could not see him yet, 'twas so dark. And then the watch came, with their lanterns, and I stood still, so they might not observe me. But I saw them go to the Standard, and take my – my friend that waited for me. I knew not what to do, and so I stayed where I was, all dismayed. And then, but not till the watch had gone away with him, came you cruel gentlemen and found me. So he was not frighted by you. Alas, if he had but seen me, and come to meet me!"
"But he was soon free of the watch," said the captain, wondering what such a damsel should have to do in surreptitiously meeting such a worshipful old married gentleman. "Came he not back to the place? 'Tis a good while since."
"How know you about him?" queried the girl, with wonder.
"'Tis no matter," said the captain, forgetting for the nonce to brag of an exploit. "He ought to have come back to the place to seek you; he was no true man, else."
"Belike he did, then," said the girl, quickly, with hope suddenly revived.
"Nay, 'tis certain he waits not at the Standard; we came from there but now. Doubtless his taking up by the watch gave him his fill of waiting there. He seemed a man with no stomach for night risks."
"Then," said the girl, mournfully, "he must have come back after I had run from these gentlemen. Then he would think I could not meet him; 'twas past the time we had set. Oh, villains, that I should run from you, and miss my friend, and yet be caught at last! He would give all up, and go to his inn, and back to the country at daybreak. All's over with me! Oh, ye have much to answer for!"
"How prettily it cries!" quoth the handsome gentleman.
"Faith, sir," said the captain, good-humouredly, "let's see an 'twill laugh as prettily. How if we led this dainty weeper to her friend's inn, and roused him out? Perchance then we shall have smiles for these showers. Where does he lie, little mistress?"
"Alas, I know not. 'Twould be near the river, I think."
"Oho, that he might take boat quicker," said the gentleman. "And now will he fly without thee at daybreak, say'st thou? Never sorrow, sweetheart; I'll boat thee to Brentford myself to-morrow."
"There be scores of inns near the river," said the captain to the girl. "But we might make trial at some of them, an we knew by what name to call for your friend."
"Nay, that I'll never tell! I know not if he would give his true name at the inn. Alas, what shall I do?"
"Why, come to the tavern and make merry," said Velvet Suit, "as we have been inviting you this half-hour."
"I'll freeze in the streets sooner!"
"Is there need of that, then?" asked the captain. "Hast no place in London to go to? Came you not from some place to meet your friend?"
"From my father's house, of course."
"Then why not go back to it? What's to fear? 'Twas late when you came forth, was it not? I'll wager thy people were abed. Did they know you meant to play the runaway?"
"'Tis not like they know it yet," she replied, a little relieved from complete dismay, but still downhearted.
"And sure the way you came by must be open still," went on the captain.
"I locked the door behind me; but I left the key where I can find it, if you gentlemen will let me go. You will, sirs; I'll thank ye so much! I am undone every way, else."
"Of course we'll let you go," said the captain, decisively, with an oblique eye upon the velvet gallant. "We'll be thy body-guard, forsooth; we'll attend thee to thy door."
"Nay, let me go alone, I beg!"
"Why, would you risk more dangers?"
"I have not far to go. Pray, pray, follow me not! Pray, let me be unknown to ye, good sirs! Think, if my mishap this night were noised about, and my name known – think, if my father were to hear it!"
"Ay, true," said the captain. "Go alone, but on condition, if you see harm ahead, you turn back to us; you must cry for help, too. And so we give our words of honour not to – "
"Softly, softly, Master Meddler," broke in the handsome gentleman. "Be not so free with your betters' words of honour. I know not what hath allowed you to live so long after thrusting in upon this company – "
But again he was checked by the man at his elbow. This was a broad-breasted man of medium height, who seemed, as well as his plain dark cloak would show, to be of solid, heavy build; as for his face, its lower part was so covered by a thick, spade-shaped beard, and the upper part so concealed by the brim of a great Spanish hat, purposely pulled down over the eyes, that one could not have obtained a sufficient glimpse for future recognition. He spoke to his gay companion in a brief whisper, but his words had instant weight.
"Tush! 'tis not worth bloodshed," said the gay gentleman, having heard him. "Let the wench go; what is one fawn among so many? But on condition. I crave more of your acquaintance, Sir Swordman; we may come to a fight yet, with better reason; so my friends and I will let the girl go hang, an you and your party come drink with us."
"We are your men there," replied the captain, warming up within, at such a happy issue; "but the taverns are barricaded at this hour."
"I know where the proper knock will open doors to us. 'Tis agreed, then. Wench, go your ways; good night!"
He moved aside to let her pass, and the girl, stepping from the doorway, with a single look of thanks to the captain, ran swiftly toward Cheapside. She was out of the range of the torchlight in a moment. As soon as her figure was invisible in the night, the gentleman in velvet left his companion, and, taking the captain fraternally by the arm, started toward Knightrider Street.
Ravenshaw, yielding in spite of an inclination to stay and listen for any distant sign of alarm from the girl, strode mechanically along; he heard his own followers and the gentleman's friends coming close behind, and starting up conversations. Lighted by the two link-boys and the other torch-bearer, the party at length stopped before a tavern door in Thames Street.
The handsome gallant knocked a certain number of times, and, while he waited for answer, the party huddled into a close group before the door. Every face was now in the torchlight, and the captain cast a glance over the little company. Suddenly a strange look came into his face.
"What's this?" he said to the gentleman, quickly. "Where's your other friend – he with the hat pulled over his eyes?"
For answer, the gentleman gave a curious smile, showing white teeth; and his eyes sparkled