Charlotte read this infamous letter twice, then rang the bell for the housekeeper.
“When did this letter get here?” she asked. “And do you know who brought it?”
“It was that odious man, Merry, Miss Charlotte,” explained the housekeeper. “He brought it a few minutes ago from a friend, he says, and since he said it concerned your lover, Miss Charlotte, which I took to be a gross impertinence, I did not like to give it to you in front of the others downstairs.”
“It does concern my lover,” replied Charlotte. “And you must help me to help him.”
“Your lover, Miss Charlotte?” repeated the housekeeper. “But I thought, in fact, below stairs we all hoped that the good Dr. Syn—”
“Yes, you are right, my dear,” interrupted Charlotte. “It is Dr. Syn, and he is as good as you say. But there are certain wicked men who are his enemies, and this very night he is in danger, and I must get to him and warn him. Give me a cloak. I'll go down your back staircase and you can tell me if the way is clear.
But wait, there is a bundle of clothes I must get first.” From a drawer she produced a bundle of dirty-looking rags tied round with a cord. Passing her arm through this, she fastened it to her shoulder and then drew on a voluminous black cloak with a hood which she pulled over her face.
The letter she put into her bodice.
The housekeeper advised her to take off her pearls, as they would only add to her danger if she wore them, but she shook her head and told the dear old lady not to be nervous on her account.
“I am going to ride my new horse, and I shall be safe enough on him,” she said. “When I have gone, lock my door. Tell the others when they wake that I was very tired and did not want to be disturbed till breakfast time. I shall be back by then.”
“Oh, my poor child, don't go,” whispered the housekeeper. “It is not right for you to ride at such a time of night alone.”
“But it is right for me to save my lover, isn't it?” she argued. “I must find him and warn him. And I shall be safe enough.” The ostler in charge of the stables was easier to deal with than the housekeeper who let her out of the back door, for hearing footsteps, and thinking it must be one of the Scarecrow's men, he left the lantern burning in the harness room and made himself scarce up in the hay-loft.
Charlotte selected a riding switch and bridle, and with the lantern went into the stall to harness up Gehenna, for she had named him after the Scarecrow's horse. She then led the splendid animal out of the courtyard, through the side gate and so out upon the road.
The village was still as death, and yet as she walked along at the horse's head she knew that the ring of hoofs brought prying eyes to darkened windows in the cottages. The women and old men, aye, and the children, too, of Dymchurch, were keeping vigil in the dark, for they were all anxious to know what was happening out on the eerie Marsh.
Charlotte walked on past “The City of London”. It was all dark and the shutters close fastened. She wondered whether Captain Vic would be still there, or whether he was already out upon the trail of Dr. Syn. She never doubted the accuracy of this terrible information against the man she loved, for she had already half-guessed at the truth of it, and she was now on her way to the one man who could tell her the truth. She made straight for the coffin shop to see Mipps.
Her one fear in this was the remembrance that Captain Faunce was watching it. Sure enough, there he was on the high road in front of the shed where Mipps worked, and she caught the glint of another breastplate on guard at the bridge that led over a broad dyke to St. Mary's. The other trooper mentioned by Colonel Troubridge at dinner was no doubt watching up the fork of the road that led to the hills.
Charlotte thought quickly and decided on a bold action. With her hood well over her face, she passed Captain Faunce, and assuming a rustic voice said:
“Dark night, mister. But the moon gets up later.”
“Where are you going, my good woman?” asked the Captain. “The Marsh is not too healthy tonight. There will be trouble most likely, for the soldiers are out after smugglers.”
“Aye, mister, I knows it well,” replied Charlotte, “for ain't I the wife of the new riding officer from Sandgate? Bad luck to these scoundrels, I says, for this Scarecrow wouldn't think twice of making me a widder if my Tom rides on his tracks this night.”
“Is that his horse?” asked Captain Faunce, bringing his charger nearer. “A fine animal from what I can see in this darkness.”
“Aye, the Government issues good cattle,” she answered. “But what chance 'as one man against so many?”
“There's plenty of volunteers to help him this night, not to mention my own regiment of Dragoons. But what are you doing here with your husband's horse? No saddle either.”
“Don't use one. He can ride, can my husband. He stopped at the 'Ship Inn' for a bit of information,” she explained. “I works there myself in the kitchen.
His horse has a loose shoe, and since the farrier there has gone with them volunteers and Mr. Mipps here has a forge, I come along to ask him to see to it.
“I 'eard you,” replied a voice from the open bedroom window of the cottage.
“Not asleep, Mr. Mipps, yet?” asked Captain Faunce sarcastically.
“How can I sleep, I ask you, thinkin' of you three Dragoons 'anging about,” replied the sexton irritably. “Funny thing, ever since I was a nipper the one thing I could never abide has been a Dragoon. My uncle was the same. Any soldier or sailor would be welcome at his place—the 'Chequers' at Aylesford that was up Maidstone way, but he'd never serve no Dragoon, no more would the pot-boy nor the barmaid what squinted. Didn't trust 'em. However, riding officers are different. Bring your old man's nag round the back and I'll have a look at his treadables.” Charlotte led the horse away from Captain Faunce round to the forge which opened on to the little garden. Captain Faunce rode a yard or so from the coffin shop, so that he could keep his eyes on the forge door, which after much noisy exertion, Mr. Mipps, carrying a lantern, unfastened. As soon as he had tied the horse to a ring, he closed the doors and picking up a hammer began to strike it on the anvil.
“Thought at first it was the Scarecrow's horse,” he whispered. “Who are you, now?” Charlotte put her fingers to her lips in warning and then pushed back her hood.
“Mipps, I have come to you for help.”
“Miss Charlotte? Whatever's happened?” He banged once or twice on the anvil.
“We can trust one another, Mipps, I know,” she whispered, “for we both love your master. We love him as Dr. Syn, just as we love him as Clegg or the Scarecrow. Oh yes, I know.”
“So he blowed the gaff to a pretty girl and never told me. Oh my old commander. Well, if you loves him you'll not blab.”
“I do love him, Mipps, and so do you.”
“And don't imagine he has told me anything. He has not,” she went on, “for he would never betray another's secret. But love can solve most riddles—”
“Lovely love,” sighted Mipps. “There was a girl I knew in Saratoga—“ But she cut him short. “What I guessed, I now know. Read this and then help me to save him.”
“Give it to me, miss, and you take the hammer. Every time I kick give the anvil a good 'un. That'll keep Faunce quiet.” Mipps held the paper close to the lantern and then almost touching it with his long nose his gimletty eyes devoured the words. Every now and then he would kick out sideways with a thin leg, particularly when the shameful letter most angered him, and Charlotte dutifully smote the anvil with the hammer.
“Did you give this rascal the pearls?” he demanded suddenly.
“I got the letter too late. Merry brought it, I hear.”
“Yes,” said Mipps, “and he was not letting Captain Vic get hold of 'em.
That's why. Kept the letter back a-purpose. He thinks he'll get the pearls himself by further blackmail. Well, he's as good as dead already. So's that there Captain Vic and his gentleman friend at Rye, whoever he may be. Aye, dead they all is, if I has to knock 'em all three up alive in coffins at my own expense.”
“But the Scarecrow must not die, Mipps, and we must save him,” whispered Charlotte. “Think.”
“Can't,” replied Mipps. “If I could get out of this 'ere without being shot by them Dragoons I wold, but even then it would want hard riding to get to the doctor in time, and my donkey's a hearse for speed, unless you loans me your nag 'ere.”
“You'd never get through, Mipps. They'd shoot you down. But I can go as I came. You heard my conversation with the captain. I am sure I deceived him, and I'll do better yet. Look here.” She undid the bundle of clothes. “I will dress in these, and on my black horse I shall look sufficiently like the Scarecrow to pass through any smugglers' lines. Where can I find the doctor?”
“He'll be waiting now up at Quarry Hill,” returned Mipps. “He has a job there before the 'run'. You see, I started this rumour going about Jimmie Bone being the Scarecrow, thinkin' it would clear the doctor, but when the highwayman objects, Dr. Syn promised to clear him of the charge. Well ('ere, Miss Charlotte, oblige me by knockin' that anvil once and again. Thankee).
Now, listen, that 'ere scoundrel, Captain Vic, and his friend, are in league with some English traitors in London who are supplying France with gold. Captain Vic and his friend have arranged the transport. Well, what does they go and do? Why, employs Jimmie Bone to rob the coach. And what does Jimmie Bone do but gets Dr. Syn, as the Scarecrow, to rob him. The coach is due when the moon rises, and when he's done, Dr. Syn, or let's say the Scarecrow, rides along the hill line to Aldington and starts the 'run' by firing the beacon. That's the idea. A double haul worth thousands of guineas, this night is, and I'm supposed to be up at the beacon waitin' for the Scarecrow. Damn all Dragoons, say I.”
“But Dr. Syn knows you're a prisoner,” explained Charlotte. “For Colonel Troubridge told him at dinner about you being watched.”
“Bat he don't know that anyone knows him as Clegg. Some dirty spy on his track from the Americas, no doubt,” replied Mipps. “'Ere, miss, give us that hammer. You get along and change your clothes behind my back in the dark there, while I shuts my eyes, hammers and thinks. There's a coffin stool for you to sit on and a carpenter's bench for your things, and an old cracked bit of mirror what I shaves in hanging up on the wall there.” Charlotte went into the dark corner to change. Mipps shut his eyes tight and hammered at the empty anvil. But between the strokes he talked.
“Miss Charlotte, I'm glad it's you and me as knows, I mean about Clegg.
And you needn't fear about loving him. Clegg has killed men by hundreds, I ain't denyin', but only bad men what was better dead. And in all the ships he scuttled, he never left even an enemy to drown. In fact, as we used to say, he didn't deserve success on the high seas because of the chances he took, and the generosity he showed. But he did succeed. Mind you, when he was double-dealt with by a traitor, why then he could be terrible.”
“Well, his safety is in our hands, Mipps,” replied Charlotte, “and neither of us are likely to prove unfaithful.”
“You said a pretty mouthful, and that's the truth,” said Mipps. “But damn them Dragoons, say I.” He dealt a few lusty strokes upon the anvil.
“You may turn round now,” said Charlotte, who had by now dressed herself in the rags. “Will I do?” Mipps turned and grinned. “Well, miss,” he whispered, “you're the bestlooking scarecrow I ever see. But that smile of yours would attract the birds, not frighten 'em.”
“You must give me some paint or something to make myself look ugly,” she said.
Mipps shook his head. “No, that won't do. Out on the Marsh your face will not be seen. It's the horse and rags that will deceive 'em. But you've got to go out as you come in, dressed in a woman's cloak. Suppose them Dragoons want to see your face? It 'ud be like their impertinence. Well, with them black curls you've put in your hat, they'll never recognize the fair Miss Cobtree, but you'll pass for a girl, just the same. Don't forget, Quarry Hill. Go slow till you pass the Dragoons, then ride like hell, excusing the word. I'll burn this letter in the forge.” When the tell-tale letter had turned to ashes, Charlotte took the head of the horse while Mipps opened the doors.
Captain Faunce brought his charger close to Charlotte as she turned to Mipps, saying in a rough voice, “Me 'usband will see to the reckonin' in the mornin' after he's caught this damned Scarecrow.”
“Tell you husband not to worry, missus, about the payment. Let him catch the Scarecrow, say I. He ain't the man to be scared of a Scarecrow like some Dragoons I knows of, who's sooner bide safe in the village street watchin' a harmless friend of the riding officers. Your good man will catch him with the help of the village lads and the vicar. As to Dragoons, well—we lives and learns. Fine feathers makes frightened birds, it seems. Good night, missus.” And with a snort, Mr. Mipps closed the forge doors and noisily entered the back door of his cottage, which he banged to, and then opened again very quietly, listening.
Captain Faunce walked his horse beside Charlotte's to the corner, where one of his troopers sat mounted on guard.
“Escort this woman to 'The City of London',” he ordered, “and then come back to your post.”
Charlotte walked beside her horse round the corner with the trooper close to her. She heard Captain Faunce ride back to watch the coffin shop.
The trooper waited till they were half-way along the straggling street. He knew that he was then safely out of earshot, and he appreciated the fact that the woman who walked beside him was young and virile by her carriage.
“Married, lass?” he whispered.
“All the better,” laughed the trooper, “for you know how to give and take a kiss, and though your hood hides you well enough, I can see you're as pretty as a drum-horse, and here's the moon rising from the sea to give us light. So let's have a kiss, girl, before we goes further or the road grows brighter.” He slipped from his troop-horse with surprising agility and laid hold of Charlotte's hood. The full moon bathed the road.
With her riding switch Charlotte aimed beneath the brass peak of his helmet, and with an oath the Dragoon stumbled backwards with the pain and surprise of that swinging cut. His horse plunged and kicked, so did Charlotte's as she leapt upon his back. Then striking the trooper's horse across the nose with her switch, she set her own horse full tilt down the street. Her hood fell back, the cloak blew wide in the sea breeze, and the discomfited trooper saw that his pretty girl was the Scarecrow. His own horse having galloped away into the fields, he picked himself up and ran back towards Captain Faunce, crying out that the Scarecrow had once more slipped through their fingers.
Captain Faunce set spurs to his charger and galloped away down the village street in pursuit of hard-riding Charlotte.
An hour's riding and she reached the foot of Quarry Hill and entered the darkness of the over-hanging trees. But it had taken time, and the moon, to her dismay, was mounting high.
On the top of the hill two other horsemen watched the moon anxiously.
Jimmie Bone turned to his companion and said: “Scarecrow, there's something wrong with that coach. It should have been here an hour since.”
“Listen,” warned his companion. “I hear horses. No, one horse, and coming up the hill. Wrong way. Let's get to cover.” Reining the horses back into the shelter of the trees that topped the bank, the two horsemen waited to see who rode so fast up the hill. True, there was no one in the neighbourhood who cared to ride slowly on Quarry Hill for it was a place of bad reputation, admirably suited for attack by highwaymen or footpads, and a spot much favoured by Bone himself.
Up the hill towards them thundered the horse.
“We shall catch a glimpse of him in that patch of moonlight there,” whispered the Scarecrow.
Into the said patch galloped the horse, and its rider pulled it up on his haunches. Jimmie Bone gasped with astonishment. The rider was another “Scarecrow”—black horse, ragged black clothes—just the same as he who sat by his side.
“I thought right,” muttered the real Scarecrow. “Wait here, my friend. Let me deal with this.” Down the steep bank he slithered his horse, and the two “Scarecrows” met in the moonlight.
“Charlotte,” said the Scarecrow hoarsely.
“Beloved,” replied the other. “Thank God I have found you.” With their horses close to each other, she told him the threat contained in Captain Vic's letter.
“And you came through the dangers of the Marsh to warn me? Oh, Charlotte.”
The sad regret in his voice told her that he was ashamed she knew all, but she quickly dispelled such despair by answering: “I love my three heroes. I love them equally with all my heart—Clegg and the Scarecrow and my beloved Dr.
“Then since you know all, why, then I can unloose my tongue. I love you, Charlotte. I love you. Oh, God, what am I to do?”
“You mean against this Captain Vic?” she asked.
“No, no,” he corrected. “I care nothing for him. I can deal with him. Mipps was right, he must be the red-headed planter who served me so ill. No, I meant with you, dear Charlotte. Never did I think to regret my past. Oh, God, were I only worthy of your love.”
“Let me say the same, beloved,” she answered. “Oh, God, that I were worthy of this grand adventurer,” and she placed her hand upon his sleeve.
Mr. Bone, not understanding this situation, advanced to the edge of the bank.
“Not a word of Clegg before him,” whispered Dr. Syn. “That is a secret belonging to you, to me and to Mipps. For the rest, he knows all, but I know, too, when I can trust a man, and Mr. Bone is my sworn friend.” He raised his voice so that the highwayman could hear the latter part of the sentence, at which he also slithered down the bank, and the three black horses stood together.
When Mr. Bone had been told who this new “Scarecrow” was, he swept off his hat, saying: “Then I am more than glad I never stole those pearls. So you have come to warn the Scarecrow that something is wrong. Now, see here. This coach is late, and if the Scarecrow lingers too long to free me, why, we endanger the success of the 'run'. You told me but now that you were anxious about the tide on Jesson Beach. It is time the beacon fired on Aldington Knoll.”
“Aye, that's so,” returned Dr. Syn, “and no one may light it but the Scarecrow. I did not anticipate this long delay.”
“Is your presence necessary—after the lighting?” asked Charlotte.
“No. They all know what to do—but I wished to light the beacon. I wish now I had ordered otherwise.”
“Have you hidden a 'flasher' near the beacon?” she asked.
“No, I carry two here in my belt.”
“Let me see them, please,” she asked.
Obediently the doctor handed them over. Charlotte thrust them in the side pockets of her coat.
“You can stay here and free Mr. Bone, as you promised. I will light the beacon.”
“No, Charlotte, no! You will ride back to safety.”
“Do you value my love?” she asked.
Despite Mr. Bone's presence, Dr. Syn replied, “You know that, Charlotte, but—”
“Then let me give it you with service,” she interrupted. “You can hardly refuse.”
“The way down the cup of the valley is free of Dragoons,” said Jimmie Bone. “The lady is safe enough under cover on this side of the sky-line. The Dragoons are not to take action till Dr. Syn's lieutenants give the signal, and the Dragoons ride the sky-line with an eye on the Marsh. Of course, they'll not be on the Knoll.”
“Aye, it's safer on the hills than on the Marsh,” muttered Syn. “After firing the beacon you could be hidden safely if you go back to the Walnut Tree Inn.
But no, no, I must find another way. Let me think.”
“It is my privilege to do the thinking this time,” replied Charlotte, “for this time is the first time since you have told me that you love me. Therefore, I claim the initiative as my privilege—this once. I have the flashers. A girl can light the beacon as well as a man, and my dress will pass me through the smugglers' patrols. The Dragoons are on the edge of the hills. They will never catch sight of me. I know the lie of the land—they don't. Besides, I can outstride them as I outrode their captain.”
“The captain will be taken by our outposts,” said the doctor. “Had we known he was to favour us here with a visit, we might have saved ourselves the trouble of taking and disarming two of his regiment. We needed them as witnesses of this hold-up.”
“Where are they?” asked Charlotte.
“Dismounted and lashed up,” he explained. “Our men who will remove the guinea bags will bring them along to see me rob Mr. Bone.”
“It is well planned, but I am glad I am here to help,” returned Charlotte.
“You would have been forced either to leave Mr. Bone or the others in the lurch. The tide waits for no man. I will ride up to the Knoll, fire the beacon, and then—”
“Wait for me at the 'Walnut'. Ask for Master Awford, and his charming wife will look after you if you say you have ridden on the Scarecrow's business, and that he sends you to await him. But are you sure—?”
“That I love you? Oh yes, yes. You shall see.” And turning her horse, she rode on up the hill. Jimmie Bone stayed where he was, but Dr. Syn rode after her and they paused together at the top of the hill.
“And when this night's work is done, will you hold me in your arms?” she asked.
“Until I think disaster is at hand—” he answered.
“And then I shall hold you in mine,” she added, “for we belong in safety or disaster.” And turning her horse, she waved to him and plunged down the springy turf into the cup of the great valley that headed away behind the old cliff line of Lympne Hill, to the distant Knoll of Aldington.
Dr. Syn watched her as she plunged down into the shadow of that hollow pasture land with every instinct prompting him to ride after her.
Just when the temptation was proving too strong to be resisted, he heard to the right, the galloping of horses, the rumble of wheels and rattle of the coach they awaited! Well, the business would be done quickly now, and he would not be far behind Charlotte at the beacon. He might even overtake her.
Wheeling his horse, he trotted quickly back to where Jimmie Bone awaited him. A few hurried whispers, and then they waited in the darkness with pistols at the ready.
With a great to-do of cracking whips and shouting, the guard descended and put on the skids, and then with much squeaking from the vehicle and much shouting from the driver and guard (which the occupants had no idea was a pre- arranged signal) the four horses, strongly straining backwards, slowly descended Quarry Hill.
And then, a flash of fire from a horse's hoof ahead, and into the patch of moonlight the dread masked figure of the notorious Jimmie Bone.
“Stand and deliver!” A bang and a flash from the guard's blunderbuss. An answering shot from the laughing highwayman, and the guard fell from his seat down upon the high road. Two gentlemen put their heads out of the window. The driver sprang up on his box, fired a horse-pistol at Mr. Bone, and then leaping down to the road ran to the leaders' heads.
Mr. Bone fired again. The driver cried out, staggered a few yards from the horses and fell against the bank, groaning.
“Now, gentlemen, unless you want to be served the same as the guard and whip,” cried Bone, “unpack them guinea backs quick and place 'em at the side of the road. Come on now, I knows all about them guineas. Meant for France, eh? Think yourselves lucky to escape with your necks, then, and think of Mr. Jimmie Bone enjoying your English guineas. Come along, now. Smart's the word. Ten bags under each seat makes twenty. Ten more in the boot. Fifty more upon the roof. Five more under the driver's seat. You see, I am well informed. Look lively.” The two inmates of the coach went to it with a will, unloading guinea bags to the road and whimpering with fear.
When all was unpacked, Mr. Bone told them to cut the traces of the horses, throwing them a sharp knife for the purpose. The released animals, terrified by the smell of powder and the flashes, stampeded off down the road.
“Now, you two can follow as best you can,” cried Bone, “and thank God that James Bone's limit for murder tonight is two, but run lively, or it will be four.”
“Stand in the Scarecrow's name,” cried a hoarse voice. “Very neatly done, Mr. Bone, upon my life, but I have greater need of those guineas than you.” James Bone pretended to be in a terrible rage as he threw up both hands above his head.
“The Scarecrow,” he cried aloud, as Dr. Syn rode into the moon patch.
“Your game's up,” he cried. “I have men here to remove the bags of guineas, Mr. Bone. Two lumbering Dragoons who rode out here to catch you were first caught by me, and for that you may thank your stars.” Still covering Mr. Bone with his horse pistols, the Scarecrow raised himself in his stirrups and let out three cries of the curlew.
Immediately the coach was surrounded by armed men fantastically dressed.
In their midst were two Dragoons, and Captain Faunce, all three disarmed, dismounted and lashed round with rope.
“Mr. Bone,” croaked the Scarecrow, “I have brought these soldiers to witness the robbing you of your prize, since I object to a highwayman setting himself up to be the great Scarecrow. You may now ride away, Mr. Bone, and up the hill, if you please.” He then turned on the two passengers. “You two gentlemen will continue your journey to the 'Mermaid' at Rye on foot, as we have need of those horses, and down the hill, if you please. We will attend to your money bags and to the dead. Quick, away with you.” The two terrified agents, only too glad to escape with their lives after such disaster, took to their heels in the opposite direction to that already taken by the highwayman.
Directly their footsteps died away, the “dead” guard and driver sprang to their feet. They had been previously bribed by the highwayman to fire blank powder and to pretend to be shot. These men quickly captured the horses; the Dragoons were bundled unceremoniously into the coach, and having closed the doors upon them, the party packed the guinea bags upon the horse and made their way across country towards the “Walnut Tree” at Aldington.
The Scarecrow, seeing that all had worked according to plan, waved to his comrades and galloped up the hill to the signpost, where the highwayman awaited him.
“We had best separate,” said the Scarecrow, “for it will spoil all if we are seen riding in friendship. Make the best of your way to Mother Handaway's, but keep your eyes open.”
“And keep your wits about you, too,” replied the highwayman, pointing to the broadsheet stuck upon the signpost.
“Death to the Scarecrow,” read Dr. Syn. “Ah, well, they have not killed me yet.” And waving farewell to the highwayman, the Scarecrow plunged down the steep bank.
Keeping a sharp look-out ahead, Dr. Syn thundered on until within a mile of the Knoll he suddenly pulled Gehenna up on his haunches and brought him to a standstill. For there had leapt up into the sky the red reflection of the beacon. It was alight. She had succeeded, and he could now ride to the “Walnut Inn” and meet her.
For a moment he watched the great tongue of fire against the sky, and his love for her soared up to heaven with it. And then the silence of the night was broken by three distinct cracks as of musket fire.
For the first time in his long adventurings, Dr. Syn was smitten with the icy sweat of fear. The letter of warning which Charlotte had spoken of—and then Charlotte dressed as the Scarecrow. Was it possible? God—what a fool he had been! In went the spurs to Gehenna's flanks, and the maddened animal leapt forward, goaded into fury by the demon on his back.
On reaching the Knoll and dismounting, his worst fears were realized, for there, lighted by the flames of the beacon, knelt his faithful Mipps, supporting on his knee the pale face of Charlotte Cobtree.
“Is she dead?” Dr. Syn whispered hoarsely, as he knelt down and took the girl's hands.
His voice recalled Charlotte to consciousness. She smiled bravely and tried to speak in a steady voice. “Not yet, my dear Doctor,” she whispered. “If you could carry me down to Mother Handaway's she could help us. Mipps, will you ride for Dr. Pepper and my father? And your clerical clothes are there, Doctor, so it is convenient for all of us. I'm proud that they got me instead of you. I have done something.”
“I saw the three flashes as I climbed up here,” explained Mipps. “I fired with my blunderbuss, which scared 'em. They ran down that side of the Knoll and by the light of the beacon I saw three men mount on the road and ride towards Rye. I saw Miss Charlotte's horse run away. Then I come here to Miss Charlotte, and then you come along, thank God.”
“Make haste,” whispered Charlotte.
The doctor lifted her like a child and strode down the slope of the Knoll to where his horse awaited him.
“Take Gehenna and ride for the squire and the doctor,” Dr. Syn ordered.
“I have a horse I borrowed from the Dragoons,” the little man replied. “I tied it to a tree here.”
“I am slipping away from you,” whispered Charlotte. “Take me on your horse. Let us ride through the air. It will revive me.” Without knowing how he did it, Dr. Syn found himself with the girl in his arms upon his horse. He knew that Mipps rode just behind them, for when they reached the fields by Mother Handaway's, he cried out to “'ware the dyke”.
All he realized was that Charlotte kept looking up at him beneath the moon and urging him to greater speed. “Faster, faster, beloved,” she cried, and he felt only that she was right and that death could only be beaten by speed.
It was Jimmie Bone and Mipps who helped Dr. Syn to dismount gently with his precious burden, and the took the horses to the secret stable, bringing back the fat white pony, which they tethered to a ring in the wall of the chicken yard, while the dazed doctor carried Charlotte into the cottage and laid her on Mother Handaway's straw-covered bed.
The old woman, in great distress, busied herself with stopping the bleeding from the three wounds. Within an inch or so of one another, any of the three shots in her back below the shoulder blades might have proved fatal—but together, the end was certain, and the old woman whispered that there was no hope. It was doubtful whether she would live until her father and Dr. Pepper could be fetched.
“This is no time to fear for my own life and liberty,” said the highwayman, when he heard the old witch's report. “I ride the faster, Mr. Sexton. I will take the Dragoon's horse for Dr. Pepper, Miss Charlotte's for the squire and ride mine own. I will bring them back quicker than you could, and do you somehow get Dr. Syn into his clerical clothes. If he is taken as the Scarecrow, he will hang. And what will the squire say to his daughter's disguise?” Although these words were spoken loud enough to be heard by all, they conveyed no meaning to Dr. Syn. His brain could only realize that Charlotte was dying, and for him. But Charlotte understood and called Mipps to her side.
Bending down towards her lovely face, Mipps understood too, and his eyes filled with tears as he listened to the girl's last request. She wished to make her sacrifice worth while, by saving her lover's life in good earnest. Mipps saw that here was a way out for his beloved master, and promised Charlotte she should have her wish.
Nodding to the highwayman, he said: “We will keep her alive till you return, if possible. Hurry. I'll look to the Scarecrow's clothes.” The highwayman hurried back to the stables, and in a minute or so they heard the horses dashing away, and Mipps thanked God for Jimmie Bone's honour. He was risking all to bring comfort to the dying girl, and Mipps told himself that he must also risk all to save his master.
“Vicar,” he whispered hoarsely, “she has done all this for you. Why will you not help her? Scarecrow.” Dr. Syn showed no sign of understanding. He just knelt on the other side of the straw mattress with Charlotte's hand in his, and he gazed at the pale face with panic-stricken eyes.
Mipps was desperate. He went round to the doctor and clapped his hand upon his shoulder, crying out: “Listen, Captain Clegg. You must play the man for her.” At the word “Clegg” a look of queer recognition came into Syn's eyes as he turned and looked at Mipps.
Mipps went on: “Captain Clegg, she loves you. We cannot save her, but at least you can comfort her by doing what she asks. It is your duty, sir.”
“What does she ask?” Dr. Syn spoke mechanically, as he turned back to gaze at Charlotte.
“That you will dress as the parson for the end,” whispered Mipps. “You could say a prayer for her then. I'll come with you while the old woman does what she can.” Mipps led his master to the underground stable and helped him to change from the Scarecrow back to the parson, and he certainly felt happier in his mind when the tell-tale clothes were stowed away and the Vicar of Dymchurch was kneeling by the dying girl. At least, he had saved his beloved master. It was obvious that something had snapped in the doctor's brain, and Mipps realized that for his master's safety nothing better could have happened. But at any moment this temporary denseness might clear, and then he would be sent to fetch Charlotte's own clothes from the coffin shop. If the brain lapse continued, however, Charlotte would have her last wish. She would be identified as the Scarecrow by her father and consequently would be shielding the man she loved. So Mipps, determining not to fall under Dr. Syn's vacant gaze, crept out of the cottage door and sat down to wait.
It was not long before he was joined by the old woman, saying that she could do no more, and that the end was very near.
“She is telling him of her love,” the old witch whispered. “I have left them together.”
“Has he spoken to her?” asked Mipps.
Mother Handaway shook her head. “He is like a man possessed. He is holding both her hands in his and gazing at her face. I think his reason has left him.” For a long time they sat together in silence, listening for the horses, while behind them they heard the dying girl talking on and on. The old woman has left the cottage door open so that Charlotte might have air.
Presently a distant crackle of musket-fire broke the stillness of the night.
This was followed by a shouting as of many men, and the words “Death to the Scarecrow” echoed across the Marsh.
“The Dragoons are attacking the smugglers,” whispered the old witch.
“What will they do without their leader?”
“No cause to worry, Mother,” replied Mipps. “The Dragoons are waiting for that. It's part of the Scarecrow's plan. It's the men with the white armlets who are pretending to attack the smugglers. They'll have a fine tale to spin when the Dragoons meets 'em carrying hundreds of captured barrels up to the old 'Walnut Tree'. If it weren't for Miss Charlotte, you'd see me splittin' my sides laughin'.” A mightier shout of “Death to the Scarecrow” sounded behind the cottage from the hills as Colonel Troubridge at the head of his waiting Dragoons charged down the main Marsh road.
With so many hoofs ringing behind him and the prospect of battle before him, Colonel Troubridge's ear did not detect the soft thud of three horsemen galloping towards the cottage over the fields. With boisterous shouts of “Death to the Scarecrow” they blundered on across the Marsh as Mipps sprang forward to hold the heads of the horses ridden by the squire and Dr. Sennacherib Pepper.
“Gentlemen,” cried out the highwayman from his saddle, “according to our bargain, it is here that our ways part. As you will learn tomorrow, it has been an ill night for me. I held up a coach on Quarry Hill and was in turn robbed of its guinea sacks by the Scarecrow. There will be squealing witnesses enough tomorrow for you to learn the truth of it. That misfortune, however, is nothing to the grief I feel about your young lady. You will do well to hasten, gentlemen.”
“I shall not forget that you ran this risk for her, Mr. Bone,” said the squire, going through the door into the dim-lighted room.
“Get into the stable quick, Jimmie,” whispered Mipps. “You must lie low.
I'll tell 'em you've rode to the hills.” When the squire stood at the foot of the rough bed and looked down upon his daughter, she smiled at him sadly. “Forgive me,” she said. “And remember that the Scarecrow only rode to save the necks of our Marsh men.”
Since she was covered by a shawl of the old woman, the significance of this speech was lost upon the squire. He looked at Dr. Syn and asked him what it all meant, and what had happened. But the doctor neither turned to him, nor answered.
From the other side of the bed Sennacherib Pepper made a brief examination, then rose and motioned Sir Antony to take his place.
“I can do nothing,” he said. “It is a question of a few minutes at the most.”
“You will look after him, Father,” she went on. “The shock of what I have done has stunned him. I have not been able to wear his pearls for long. You will give them back to him when he is recovered. I should like to keep them with me, but that would be silly. Their worth is too great to be buried, and I am content with my love for him. Perhaps he will have forgotten that I am the Scarecrow. If he recovers, promise not to mention it.”
“That you are the Scarecrow?” repeated the bewildered squire.
For answer she gently moved the shawl and showed the black rags of a man's suit that covered her.
“You? Charlotte? My daughter?” ejaculated the amazed squire.
“That information need go no further, sir.” The squire turned to see who had spoken and met the steady gaze of a very dishevelled Captain Faunce.
“I think we are all your daughter's good friends here, and although she has outwitted me tonight, I bear her no resentment. Above all, there must be no scandal. She has paid a heavy enough price for her adventuring.” The Squire did not answer, for Charlotte moved and uttered a heartrending sigh. With one hand she drew Dr. Syn's head down to her breast, then with a smile she closed her eyes. The lids quivered. The lips trembled, and then she lay deathly still.
Dr. Pepper gently moved the squire away and bent towards the girl. Then he straightened himself and said quickly: “Captain Faunce has spoken the truth.
She has paid the price in full.”
In order that Colonel Troubridge should not discover the tragedy, Captain Faunce left Dr. Pepper on guard and walked round with the squire to cut off the soldiers at the bridge. Mipps followed very unobtrusively.
“Well,” cried the perspiring colonel, “we have rid the Marsh of the rascals this time. With the help of Dr. Syn's excellent volunteers, we've taken more than fifty prisoners, and hundreds of tubs. Whether we've taken the Scarecrow amongst them we don't yet know, as the villains had to be taken up under guard to Aldington and put under the pump at the 'Walnut Tree'.”
“Under the pump, sir?” asked Captain Faunce.
“Aye, sir, in order that we can identify 'em,” went on the elated officer.
“Their faces were all tarred and painted like a lot of wild cannibals, but I more than suspect we shall discover some worthy citizens under their disguises.”
“How many men did you send up to guard them, sir?” asked Captain Faunce.
“Devil take it, sir, not one. I was not sparing a fighting trooper as we heard that a second party of the rascals were landing more barrels between Lydd and Romney. And sure enough it was true. We found the worthy landlord of the Ship Inn at New Romney lashed up in his own bar-parlour, who span a woeful tale of some fifty painted devils who came in and robbed him of his drinks. It seems they've gone to cover somewhere, for we charged up and down the district and never a sight of 'em did we catch. But we'll get 'em. The prisoners we've taken will squeal, you mark my words.”
Captain Faunce frowned. “And you sent no escort, sir, to guard the prisoners?” he asked again.
“I have told you no, sir,” roared the colonel. “Dr. Syn's capital fellows had proved their worth. I made use of 'em. Besides, they can identify the prisoners —we don't know 'em.”
“That's good for our parish boys, that is,” chuckled Mipps, rubbing his hands. “I says to Dr. Syn myself, I say: 'I lay our boys will get them, Scarecrow and all.' It will be a great thing if they've got the Scarecrow up there, won't it?”
“So it will, Mr. Sexton,” cried the colonel, forgetting in his triumph any antipathy he had felt for Mipps.
“Why, there is Dr. Syn,” went on the colonel. “Come out with you to here the news, eh? I must ride over and congratulate him on the work of his volunteers. Yes, by Gad, I must thank him officially for his co-operation.”
“I beg you will postpone it,” said the squire. “There is an old woman there who is very ill. Dr. Pepper is attending her, and the vicar is waiting to give her religious consolations.”
“'Ere comes the ones to congratulate, sir,” said Mipps, pointing up the road.
“It's them Upton brothers, ain't it? Fine fellows—all three.”
“Ah, now we shall know if they have got the Scarecrow,” cried the colonel.
“I think he's escaped, I do,” said Mipps. “Them Upton boys don't look their usual perky selves. A bit depressed, ain't they? Or do the moonlight play tricks on their mugs?” The three horsemen with their white armlets rode slowly towards them and pulled up wearily.
“Did you get the Scarecrow, lads?” asked the colonel.
Monty Upton looked angrily at the officer, and asked another question.
“Why couldn't you ride back and lend a hand when you heard the firing?” he demanded.
“What firing?” asked the colonel.
“What firing?” repeated the eldest Upton. “Why, up at the 'Walnut Tree'.
You're professional soldiers. We are not. What firing indeed. Can't you hear a battle or are you all deaf?”
“Battle?” ejaculated the colonel.
“Don't be silly, Monty,” put in Mipps. “I knows something about firing, having served in his blessed Majesty's Royal Navy, and you wouldn't hear firing all the way back at the 'Walnut Tree'. Be reasonable.” Colonel Troubridge, suspecting that all was not so well as he had hoped, remembered his antipathy to Mipps, and sharply ordered him to keep his mouth shut. He then turned on Monty Upton and rapped: “Well, sir?”
“Oh, tell him, Brothers,” said Monty. “I feel sick of the whole business.”
“Same here,” replied Henry. “You tell him, Tom.” The youngest Upton moved his horse a few paces forward. “Aye, sir,” he began, “had you but come along with us to lend a hand, instead of galloping over the Marsh, things might have turned out better.”
“But the prisoners? The barrels?” ejaculated the colonel.
“We stacked the barrels in the stable-yard,” went on Tom, “or rather, we made the smugglers do it. We then put 'em one by one under the pump, and every man we cleaned, we found was a foreigner from Sussex. Not a Marsh man amongst 'em, thank God. We then began questioning 'em about the Scarecrow, but they all said different. As each one was washed and identified as Sussex, we'd march him on to the road, where half of us mounted guard, while the other half made an inventory of the contraband. And then from every bit of cover on both sides of the road muskets began to blaze over our heads. It was a knock-out counter-attack, as you military gentlemen say. Two hundred smugglers, if there was one. They turned the tables on us properly, freed the prisoners and shut us up in the stable-yard after they'd carried off every keg and barrel under our noses. Our men lost heart, and have scattered for home.” What the colonel would have said or done at the awful moment will never be known, for there had suddenly come to their ears a furious clattering of hoofs. Round the bend of the Marsh road came five horsemen all wearing armlets.
“What now?” demanded Monty Upton, as they drew rein.
“We've just heard tell,” cried their breathless leader, “that a second fleet is putting in below Dungeness, and that a string of some three hundred smugglers are already crossing the pebble path-land with the first consignment of kegs.
And they say the Scarecrow is there himself.”
“Give Captain Faunce a horse,” cried the excited colonel. “We'll have 'em yet. Come along, lads. Death to the Scarecrow.” The cry was taken up by the troopers, as Captain Faunce mounted a spare horse, and off they galloped with the five men in white armlets showing the way.
“Death to the Scarecrow,” echoed out from the distance as they rode hellfor-leather.
The squire turned sadly and walked back to the cottage. Mipps remained by the three rejected Uptons till he was out of ear-shot. It was then that the Uptons smiled. Mipps winked.
“And now, what's the truth?” he asked.
“All of it, more or less,” replied Monty. “The Dragoons will have an uncomfortable ride after all those pebbles at the Petts, and our hundred and fifty 'white armlets' have by now reached home under Dymchurch Wall.
There's two thousand guineas' worth of kegs just landed there from sunken rafts. We'll ride down and see that all's safely stowed before the Dragoons get back.”
“Death to the Scarecrow,” laughed Monty, putting his horse to the canter.
“Death to the Scarecrow,” laughed his brothers, as they rode off in his wake.
“Death of the Scarecrow is what they ought to say—and bad luck it is, too,” muttered Mipps. “Well, by the time I've spread a rumour or so, the Scarecrow may ride again, and then it will be her ghost. Nothing like a bit of superstition to make affairs like this a success.” He went to the cottage, and producing a tool from his pocket, wrenched off an ill-fitting shutter with no difficulty. He carried it into the death-room. Dr.
Syn got up and mechanically followed him.
“It's a long walk to the village, Mipps,” said the squire. “I wish our honourable highwayman had not ridden off. His strength would have been welcome.” Mipps looked at Dr. Syn, who stood dazed and forgotten. He knew it would require all his wisdom to get this madman to the vicarage.
“The vicar's no good, sir. Not just now. No more's Dr. Pepper.”
“It seems that you and I will have to manage best way we can, Mipps,” said the squire.
“I've a notion, sir,” replied Mipps, “that what with all the military about, a sensible highwayman would not ride far tonight looking for trouble. Suppose he's gone to earth close, and I finds him, would you go bail for his safety?”
“I think I would welcome him more than any other,” replied the squire. “He knows better than we do how to travel unseen. I'd go bail for his safety with my honour.”
“Give me a minute, then, sir,” went on Mipps. “I has a wonderful way of sniffin' people out.” He left the cottage and in three minutes returned with the highwayman.
Both he and the squire exchanged a bow of ceremony, as the highwayman said, “I am at your daughter's service, sir.”
“You will not regret it, sir,” replied the squire.
They placed the shutter by the bed.
“I could make handles,” said Mipps. “There are some stout poles in the yard.”
“I have carried a wounded comrade to safety before now, sir,” said the highwayman. “On horseback we should be there quicker and not attract attention. We could wrap your daughter in a cloak.” But they were reckoning without Dr. Syn. He no sooner saw that Dr. Pepper and the old woman were about to lift the body from the bed to the shutter, than he made a ferocious gesture of disapproval. His arms shot out wide in the shape of a cross as he motioned them away, the physician from the head, the old woman from the feet. He then knelt down and putting his arms around the girl, lifted her like a baby and stood up, glaring at them all defiantly.
The highwayman took Mipps aside. “Bring his pony and the horses. He will do it himself and, please God, it may save his reason. I will ride his Gehenna, and do you ride mine, and we'll hide the white pony between us.” A few minutes later, the old woman, clutching a purse which the squire had given her, watched them ride over the little bridge that spanned the dyke.
The squire, on Charlotte's mount, rode first (for, as he said, who would dare question him on Romney Marsh?). Then came Mr. Bone upon the wild Gehenna, who had had his fierceness ridden out of him that night. On his right, Dr. Syn, clasping his precious burden, sat the white pony, while upon his other side rode Mipps. Beyond them was the physician on the troop-horse.
They fitted their pace to the pony's jog-trot, riding close to screen it from any passer-by. Once only they met a party of horsemen, whom they conjectured to be smugglers hurrying home. Certain it was that they turned their heads away as they galloped past, being none too eager to be recognized by the head magistrate.
Furtive faces peeped out as they passed cottage windows, but Jimmie Bone and Mipps rode close beside the pony and screened the tragic pair who rode it.
So was Charlotte brought back secretly to the Court House and laid in her own room.
The housekeeper, having told all she knew of the girl's departure, was pledged to silence, and the tale of her accidental death was spread through the house. Dr. Syn carried the body to the room himself and sat beside the bed, from which no one could move him.
“He must be watched,” said Sennacherib Pepper, “But he had best be left here.” Mipps stabled the white pony and Charlotte's black horse, and then led the troop-horse to the Ship Inn and handed it over to one of the soldiers on guard of the camp.
On his way back he met the highwayman. He was still riding Gehenna. His own horse he was leading on the loose rein. He drew up beneath the gibbet tree.
“Are you going back to look after your master?” he asked.
“Aye, mate,” replied Mipps. “The squire is keeping him there till he recovers, I expect. He told me to come back. I want to be at hand, in case he should talk silly. I've never known him like this.”
