The Shadow of Dr Syn - Thorndike Russell (библиотека электронных книг txt) 📗

The room was deathly quiet. At last there came the sound of horses’ hooves — then footsteps crunched the shingle — then whispered conversation as cloaked figures appeared in the open doorway. Between them they carried the limp shadow of the Scarecrow and placed her gently on the settee, the cruel mask still hiding her face. Mipps spoke to the Nightriders beneath his breath.

‘’Ere’s a damnable night’s work,’ he said urgently. ‘A foul bullet through the back and no one we can trust to tend it. I hoped to find the Vicar here — you must ride and scour the Marsh and tell him wwe have desperate need of him. Ride like the lightnin’, and pray God you bring him ’ere in time.’

The Nightriders vanished; they understood — their leader, or so they thought, was in danger — and they rode as for their lives. Mipps was desperate. Where was his master? He knew what this would do to him, yet now he did not know what to do himself. He stood over the settle, and now they were alone, carefully, with his trembling hands, removed the incriminating mask so that she could breathe more easily. Even as he did so she spoke in hasty whisper. ‘Mr. Mipps — the Court House — why did you not send them there?’

But Mipps had already seen the figure of the Revenue Man lashed to the banisters with skilful knots.

‘Because I knows his work when I sees it,’ he said. ‘And I knows there ain’t four walls can hold him when he’s a mind to get out and because I knows that —’

‘Orders is orders, Mr. Mipps?’ she completed.

He nodded once, then sadly shook his head.

‘Oh, do not blame me for disobeying him,’ she pleaded. ‘’Twas the time

— I thought he could not do it in the time — and such a simple thing for me to do.’

Mipps told her there was no blame to her: she’d done a good night’s work and done it brave and Bristol fashion. She thanked him and a smile played round the corners of her mouth. ‘There is a penalty, is there not, for disobeying orders?’ she asked, then as a twinge of pain twisted the smile from her face she whispered: ‘And I must pay it —’

A voice from the shadows answered her. ‘Would that I could pay it for you —’ Mipps turned on the Revenue Man, who was stirring in his bonds, and lashed out like a fighting terrier.

‘Aye, so you should, you dog.’ This was the Mipps well known to Clegg; lucky for Mr. Hyde he did not act without his master’s orders. ‘So you should, you dog,’ he repeated, ‘as a reward for foul play.’

‘No, Mr. Mipps — not foul play.’ Cicely lifted herself and spoke in a firmer voice. ‘He shot on sight, as any loyal citizen may do.’ She turned to the Revenue Man, and though shocked to see him in his present plight, her mind could not take in what had happened. ‘I wish to thank you, Mr. Hyde,’ she said gently. ‘The Court House would have been so crowded. I am happy here. A pleasant fire; some wine.’ She turned to Mr. Mipps and asked him to fetch some wine and a glass for Mr. Hyde. Then seeing that so tightly bound, he could not drink, she ordered his immediate release. Mipps demurred, until she laughed: ‘Scarecrow’s orders, Mr. Mipps.’

He did as he was bid, realizing now that she must have her way in everything, and when she asked him to tidy the room lest the Vicar should be grieved to find it in such disorder, he obeyed, and found to his amazement that Hyde was helping him.

She watched them lift the heavy cloth and place it on the highly polished table; then as she saw the Revenue Man looking at her with an expression of desperate guilt on his face, she shook her head and said gently: ‘That is our secret, is it not?’

The Revenue Man did not know, himself. Never in his life had he felt like this before. He answered her with a newly found sincerity: ‘Whatever secrets I have learned tonight shall go no further. Your teaching shames me, Mistress Parson.’

She hardly heard him, for her wandering mind was out — searching the secret places of the Marsh, and a greater fear was upon her. ‘Oh, Mr. Mipps,’ she cried. ‘Why does he not come? ’Tis such a little time. I would that I had known him all your twenty years. Suppose he does not come.’ She was trembling now, with the desperate urgency to be near him. If that could not be, then she must somehow be enveloped by him; hear his name spoken; and so she begged Mr. Mipps to tell her some story of him, saying there must be one she had not heard. Mipps was silent: not because he did not remember one — for indeed the tablecloth had brought back to his mind a scene in Santiago, where Clegg had once again escaped to save his life. But he hesitated lest it should incriminate his master. Then as she urged him to be quick, he saw Hyde’s face and knew that they were safe from him. He held the glass of brandy to her lips, telling her that if she would but drink, he would begin. She obeyed him eagerly.

‘Well — I remember once — there was a time…’ Mipps spoke slowly and with great effort: ‘…he done a very nippy dodge: that was the time he saved…’ He could not go on, thinking of how he, himself, would now give anything to save her and his master from this calamity. Instead, he gulped, and the tears ran down his poor old nose. ‘Oh, Miss Cicely, Mrs. Cap’n — Miss —’

She looked at him and loved him, finding excuses to save his embarrassment. She hoped he had not caught Marsh ague, he was shaking so. She feared it was a cold, for indeed his eyes were running. His weakness gave her strength, and she fumbled for her kerchief, a tiny square which she handed to him, saying: ‘Come, give me the glass and do you take my handkerchief.’ She shivered: ‘Is it not cold? Mr. Hyde, come nearer to the fire and let us drink a toast.’

The Revenue Man hardly knew what he did or said, but he moved towards her and she heard him give a toast — a strange one, from his lips. ‘The Scarecrow.’

And then she saw behind him in the doorway what she had prayed to see just this once more, and her lips moved: ‘Christopher.’

As in a trance the wild-looking shell of Doctor Syn, dishevelled from his frantic searchings on the Marsh, moved like a shadow and was on his knees beside her. She took his trembling hands and with what little strength she had, tried to bring him back. ‘L’Epouvantail, at your service.’ It was a very gay whisper. She put her head on one side and smiled at him — a tiny, frowning smile. ‘Forgive such a clumsy rendering of the part. Perhaps, after all, I am — but just a petticoat. And I was wrong. The Scarecrow is a ghost. For he must always rise while Aldington stands high.’ As though to prove her words, the beacon flames leapt higher and the whole room lightened up and seemed ablaze. ‘You see,’ she said. ‘The Beacon is alight. I heard the curlew cry three times. I should have heeded Mr. Mipps, but thought you could not do it in the time. What could I do as Spinster but devote my life… All the King’s horses and Revenue Men…’

He was looking at her in dumb agony, and she, caressing and stroking his arm, looked down and was the memory of a dream. She slipped her had beneath his sleeve till her fingers rested on the branded mark. ‘Why, Doctor Syn,’ she whispered, ‘your sleeve. The button is still loose. It will only take a moment if you have a spool of black. I have forgotten my chatelaine.’

She raised herself and, leaning forward, kissed him lightly on his bowed head, so close that only he could hear her sighing words: ‘Dear, kind old Doctor Syn, I am so happy. My first good deed shall be…’ And she was gone.

And with her went the Beacon light, for at that moment it had flared up higher than before, to flicker swiftly out. The silent room was now quite dark, save for the arrow stabs of moonlight that shot in from the window, and the shining pathway through the door.

The husky voice of Mr. Hyde broke the silence. ‘I, too, was wrong. The Scarecrow is a ghost.’

He moved humbly and stood behind the stricken man. He also wanted help, and strange, this parson was the man to give it. He longed to take the Vicar’s hand. Instead, he turned and, passing Mipps, said quietly: ‘You know where you can find me. I shall be ready if he wants me.’