Percy F. Westerman – The Complete Collection

Chapter 3

"Well, sirrah?"

But the man could only stammer out: "Oh, Sir George!"

This was more than the choleric old knight could stand. "Don't stand there babbling like a drunken mummer at Martinmas fair!" he shouted, with a round oath. "Deliver thy message, dolt!"

"Oh, Sir George! The murderer Joyce hath escaped!"

With another furious outburst the knight rushed out of the room, mounted his horse, and, followed by his two servants and the messenger of ill-tidings, rode furiously down the road to Midhurst, the noise of the horses' hoofs clattering on the frosty road testifying to the speed at which they were urged.

News travels apace, and in less than an hour it was all over our village that Joyce had by some means obtained a file, cut through his fetters, and, after a murderous attack on his jailer, had broken out of Midhurst Jail, and was last seen making his way towards the bleak Sussex Downs.

My father had already been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyard of Trotton, and on making an examination of the little house where we dwelt, his will was discovered. The reading of this will, though of little interest to me (on account, I now suppose, of my youth), was the occasion of an assembly of many of the friends of my father, the number surprising me; for, though highly respected, he was not one who was fond of associating with our neighbours.

There were present, besides Sir George Lee, who appeared to take a great interest in me, Lawyer Whitehead, Howard Hobbs and Jack Alexander of Iping, both of whom had seen service under Prince Rupert; Arthur Conolly, an Irish veteran who had served in the Low Countries, and who had come over from Chichester for the occasion; Arthur Lewis, a gentleman of Bramshott; Percy Young, an officer of the navy, who in his earlier days had lost a leg in the action of La Rochelle; Herbert Collings, a master mariner of Gosport, who used to be a frequent visitor at our house, and who greatly interested me with the account of his adventures off the coast of Barbary; and Giles Perrin, the landlord of the "Flying Bull", who modestly seated himself on a stool in a remote corner of the room. There were also several others whose names I forget.

Lawyer Whitehead, whose name did not belie his appearance, adjusted his horn spectacles, and, unfolding a parchment, read the will, which is as follows:--

"In the Name of God, Amen, I, Owen Wentworth, late of Holwick in the countie of Yorks" [here followed some word that had been erased and "yeoman" written above] "being whole of bodie and perfect of mynde, do ordaine and make this my last will and testament in manner and forme followinge: First, I commend my soule into the handes of Almightie God my Creator, and my bodie to be buried in the churchyarde at Trotton. Item, I give to the poor of the parish of Rake ten pounds to be divided amongst them by the discretion of my Executors. Item, I give to Sir George Lee, knight, in token of friendship, my horse, alsoe a box and contents now deposited with Master Whitehead, Lawyer of Midhurst. Item, to my sister Margaret, now wedded to George Anderson, Clerk of Ye Survey at the Dockyarde neare Portesmouth, One hundred Pounds. Item, to the said George Anderson the sum of Twenty and five Pounds yearly, provided that the said George Anderson doth fulfil to the letter the instructions set forth by me and intrusted to the keeping of the aforesaid Master Whitehead, Lawyer of Midhurst.

"Item, to all persons hereinafter named" [here followed a long list of names, embracing all present and many besides], "provided that they pay me the last respects due to me, I give XX*s*. Item, to John Alexander and Arthur Lewis, my welbeloved friends and Executors, I give Five Pounds apiece.

"Item, to my deerly beloved sonne Aubrey I give the residue of my estate, to be held in trust by the aforesaid George Anderson till my sonne attain the age of XXI yeares, if he doe so long live.

"It is my will alsoe that my sonne Aubrey shall take charge and have and hold the metal box that I do always carry attached to my belt, suffering not the same to go out of hys possession, so that it will help in a small matter whereof he knoweth not yet.

"Item, it is my will if the above named Aubrey my sonne doth dye without heires or before he come to the age of XXI years, the residue shall remain to my sister Margaret Anderson and her heires forever."

There was a buzz of suppressed excitement when Master Whitehead had ended the reading of this lengthy will. Clearly my father was a far richer man than most people had wot of; moreover, there was a cloud of mystery hanging over the will--that was evident by the darkly worded passage about keeping the instructions.

But before there was time for discussion the lawyer brought out another bulky packet, fastened with a large red seal. This he broke and withdrew the contents, revealing yet another sealed missive and a sheet of vellum written in my father's hand. The missive was addressed: "In trust for my sonne Aubrey Wentworth. To Master George Anderson, dwelling in St. Thomas Street in Ye Burrough of Portesmouth. Not to be opened under paine of my displeasure till my sonne attaine the age of XXI years."

The letter gave instructions for me to be sent to my uncle's at Portsmouth, to be provided for until I could choose for myself what I should be, at the same time exhorting me to serve faithfully His Majesty King Charles II or his lawful successor, and to abstain from vain or idle longings to break the seals of the enclosed package till the stipulated time limit had expired.

This the lawyer gravely handed to me, expressing his satisfaction at the prospect before me--a statement that left me more bewildered than before.

Then Sir George Lee spoke, enquiring where was the small metal box that my father had mentioned.

Here was another mystery. No one knew or had seen the box. Mistress Heatherington and both the servants, Giles and William, who had brought home the body of my murdered sire, had been ignorant of its existence, and, at the request of Lawyer Whitehead, the clothes my father wore at the time of his death were produced. There was the belt--a highly ornamented broad band of Spanish leather. The lawyer took and examined it, then passed it on to Sir George, who also looked at it closely, even bending and shaking it in the hope that the missing box might be hidden between the layers of leather.

"Ah, what has been here?" exclaimed the knight, pointing to a series of minute holes round a patch of leather that was not quite so discoloured as the rest.

Clearly the mysterious box was missing, and it was evident that it had been forced away from the leathern belt. Then arose the question, how could it have been detached, and who was the miscreant who had taken it?

The debate lasted for a long while, but all present were agreed that the villain Joyce must have annexed it for some particular motive, though 'twas evident that robbery was not intended, the box being of some worthless metal.

Master Whitehead then gave to Sir George an oaken box which my father had mentioned in his will. The knight opened it, disclosing a lace handkerchief marked with a deep brown stain, to which was fastened a piece of parchment inscribed: "Stained with y^e blood of y^e Martyr His M^tie King Charles", the jewelled hilt of a sword, a ring, and several papers.

The knight reverently pressed his lips to the royal relic, then proceeded to peruse the various papers. The first he looked at intently for some moments, then read aloud the following words:--

"To Beverley Gate on fir trees that wall keeping from y^e 11J feete come to of mine directions in desires I sonne having."

Again he read these unmeaning words, his brows knitting in undisguised perplexity; then he handed the paper to the lawyer, who, after several vain attempts to produce a proper sentence, turned it over in his hand. Something was written on the back; but without saying a word he returned the paper to Sir George, first tapping the writing with his forefinger and clearly indicating that the knight should likewise keep silence.

My sharp wits clearly told me that Sir George by his manner was angry with himself for having read the paper aloud. Hastily thrusting it back into the box, he slammed to the lid and prepared to take his departure.

The rest of the assembled company followed his example, and, with an arm aching with the result of vigorous handshakes, I was left alone with Mistress Heatherington.

It was the last I saw of kind Sir George Lee for many a long year.

CHAPTER III

--Concerning my Journey to Portsmouth

Grief does not for long hold its sway over the buoyant spirit of youth, and, in spite of the heavy blow that I had sustained, my boyish disposition speedily reasserted itself, and I looked forward with undisguised eagerness to my journey to my new home in Portsmouth town.

Already I had heard many wondrous tales of the happenings in that town from the lips of old Master Herbert Collings and of Henry Martin. In my mind I pictured my worthy uncle taking me round the dockyard, showing me this and that vessel, and pointing out this captain who fought against the Dutch, and that master mariner who repulsed the Barbary corsair.

With bright visions of the future I gave little heed to the troubles of the past, and eagerly wished for the end of the nine long days that must pass ere I left the quiet of our little village of Rake for the busy life of a naval town.

A day spent in Midhurst, where I was well fitted out with clothes, helped to make the time pass, and on the evening previous to the eventful day of my departure, I climbed the steep ascent of Rake Hill to bid farewell to some of my friends who dwelt on the by-road towards Lyss.

It was dark ere I set out homewards, and on the summit of the hill I stopped to look across the coombe, where flickered the innumerable wood fires of the iron smelters' forges. It reminded me strangely of that eventful day, but a few weeks past, when I journeyed over the selfsame road with my father, and instinctively I breathed a prayer for vengeance against his foul murderer.

Suddenly the distant thud of horses' hoofs smote upon my ear, and before I reached the foot of the hill, where stands the "Flying Bull", I perceived a cavalcade rapidly approaching.

As I drew to the side of the highway to watch them pass, I could see in the starlight that there was a body of horse, some dozen at least, surrounding a carriage. The horsemen were accoutred in breast- and back-plates and steel helmets, and from their sour visages I knew them to be Roundheads. Inside the carriage a candlelamp burned, throwing a dim light on the occupants; and, brief as was my glimpse, I saw that they were lavishly attired, and wore lovelocks under their plumed beaver hats.

Whether they journeyed as prisoners I could not tell, though from the careless jovial expression of their faces it seemed otherwise; but before I could remark much else the party had galloped past, and were well on their way along this southern highway towards Portsmouth. When I reached my home I at once retired for the night, and was soon dreaming of horsemen and chariots till the rays of the morning sun, thrown athwart my bed, awoke me.