"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10441, 22 April 1912, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

HOW CLAUDE DUVAL TOOK TO THE ROAD. ' v )y AUSTIN Fi'ttLTVS.) Author of " Tiio Murder at tho Silchester Post Office." [Ah, Rights Reskbyed.] Lady Mary Packington's face was hidden in her hands; her elbows rested on the great gate-table in the with-drawing-roorii. ilien her arms slid downwards till they lay along the table's top, and her face cradled itself hi a welcoming elbow-crook.. The waninn- sunlight streamed through the mullions and turned to gold her dark-brown hair, which, as it gleamed against the polished surface of the oak, showed such a contrast of liuiht to darkest shade that Rembrandt himself could have asked no subject dearer to his heart. The heavy door of the pannelled room Swung open, and a lackey came softfooted to her side.

" Milord Beaumont asks if Mademoiselle receives!" he said. An accent, unmistakably French, chimed with the Gallic idiom of his questioning and the» voice was gentle, almost Wa caress. Lady Mary looked swiftly up. Her eyes were eloquent of unshed tears. Presently tho storm would break —presently, when whether she won or lost, pride had fought far her and my lord Beaumont ivas gone. Sho rcse to* her fret and walked across to a tall mirror which hung against the wall in a frame carved with countless cherub beads. Tho lackey waited behind her, a. statue on the shining floor, deferential as became his place, yet a man, for all his deference. His fact was impassive as his limbs were motionless. Only his eyes moved. And thev m»de plain the secret which it was his''<!offißtaiit dare to hide.

j "Tell xny ! ''lord Beaumont that I await hitrt 'hoT'p I" she came over her shoulder, at last. ' \ " Oui, madahie." answered the lack- ; ey, with an obeisance. ! Lady Mary turned from the mirror and cast about for a seat. She chose | her father's high-backed, leathern-seat-ed cliair. When she had sat down she put a little foot on the brick fender and disposed hef skirts upon the floor. One white hand gripped' the moulded boss of the chair arm: the other supjported her chin. The door of the withdrawing room opened again, and the lackey appeared. "Milord Beaumont!" he announced. 'His voice, that bub a moment ago had. [been soft to a caress, now seemed, sibili ant with scorn and hate. Lord Beaumont, thin and pallid, black-haired, black-eyed and blackmonstachecl, came across the room. The door shut behind; him, and the lackey noiselessly wont out. The drama had been ishearsed, indeed, but for audi- ' ence tTiere must ho none save the [ players themselves.

Lord Beaumont came close to where Lady Mary gat. Lady Mary, from her chair, motioned him back, ungreeted. , " Permit me to kiss your ladyship's handl" he said.

For answer she pointed to the chaii beside the fireplace, opposite to her own.

' " Let us dispense with these little* formalities, my lord!" said she. He bowed, then seated himself, imperturbable and self-possessed. " Your ladyship has received my letter?" he asked. "It was to have been ;pxit within your ladyship's own hands." She nodded. "I have received your " she paused, " your threat I'' she completed. He raised a deprecative hand, while a smile flickered at the corners of hia tbin lips. "Let us be consecutive, dear lady!" he begged. " The threat was but an alternative. My letter contained an offer of marriage!" She smiled scornfully across at him. Fear was at her heart; pride in her voice. " Some folk, my lord," she answered, " should never jest. And you, indeed, are among them. Your lordship has—how shall I say it?—a heavy hand!" He scowled back at lier from beneath narrow brows. "Your ladyship mistakes my role I" said he. " I am, not come to jest, but to ask your hand!" She laughed out loud—a derisive little laugh, full of intent to wound. Then she cried:

My hand is already promised to Sir Douglas Even now .ho is at Court, where he seeks the King's consent to our union. 'Tis common knowledge and can scarce have escaped your ears, my lord!" " Promises can be broken," cried he. And the King's consent is not yet Won!" J

Mv lord Beaumont has broken enough for us both, if what my menfolk say be true!" she taunted. offer?" 611 y ° Ur ladyship refus es my

" She doesn't even consider it!" was the swift retort.

He set his hat upon the floor, flung down his riding-gloves beside it, and ■ then dehberately crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, while he rested hia elbows on its arms and brought his I " n S e T r " t , l Ps attorney-wise together. I It is now the turn of the threat," ne said, m even tones. Her face grew pale before the hardness of his esres. But she was brave

"At least'your lordship will be upon tried ground,", she sneered. ' 1G 6'be pass. 'j nt ,„ Y ,?l r iadyabip wrote me a letter i.' once, he said. «T* 1 ' s my lord," she agreed. i Vi av * wr A tm to m y groom I" 11 i/t? frfcke an assignation " lb 81-1, B l- 1 , ' 0r Primps I rank your (ladyship a discretion too highly." I l exc J ßf " at ,' on of contempt reached and echoed 'back from the four cori ®reat room. . Oh to bd ft man!" she cried. "To be a man for five minutes!" England would be the Doorer W the exchange," he told her diverse would he richer bv ! .4 e ' s ' le countered Like enough," he assented grimly. But benevolence was never my vii"B return to the threat. I I that ?° a me a letter ■ " wluit'thenP" ahe ° Xclaimed ' ' i l -?, 1 * 5 i\ or G y p ' B ' held them desponiWeSdlylW, y ™ M b "" ! " 1 ' i Witt Ki/™ .TfrVhX' ' CSt'V 00 ?' r lVi !' b f, <"»" ! for Sir Douglas Everitt." '.■ She rose to her feet, thrilled with in- ■ scorn. ' S' l ' Dou g lf) « Everitt," said she, : .ITnJ T i av n i* o ,'! r 'PP, wl b y his lackevs. f Ol / snail tell him the nature of tho tryst-how, thinking you my friend I •ought your aid for a wounded kinsman whose sole crime was that a regicide ha :l been his father. And because I gave you my trust, you misuse it to this end that I may marry you against my will and dower you with mv fortunes—you, tho ruined gamester and 1 QOfillist of ill repute!" smiled up nt her; imperturbable .own, In the certain knowledge that the trump card was his, ** "i i °"? balances the other," he j iV ! sometimes to be a duellist of ill repute. One is able to discharge one's littlo obligations, a life IS a iait* exchange ior a flogging," She took the full horror of his mean--1 ing, and. for a moment, the room grew dim, while before her ey.es there swam it mist from which loomed close, and more closely yet tho thin malignancy of mv Lord Beaumont's face. But the inherited courage of centuries enmo to her aid. Anger served as antidoto to fear. She sank back into her chair, moistening the dryiiess of her lips, searching for some taunt that might sting him to tardy shame. "I shall kill your lover I" he said, presently.

Tho cold evenness of his tone carried conviction with it. She saw the combat and the fatal thrust; slio fc-lt the steel's cold sharpness at her own breast. She must save her lover at all cost—for tho man who smiled in the choir opposite *as the first swordsman in England—Sir Douglas could not refuse the combat, v;liich would be provoked. Her woman's instinct bade her temporise where decision must be fatal. If sno secrificed herself for her lover s saks it was more certain still. Delay alone could serve her ends; delay, and with it a hinted weakening where, at heart, she was so strong. , • j "Give me time to think!' she said, with a faintness half real, half-as-sumed. His lips smiled, but his ©yes were hard still. Then he sat awhile in thought, with knitted brows. He had scarce hoped for her to weaken at tiio first onset; he himself was har Jly ready yet. To marry tho King s ward without, th© King's consent was no 11 pht thing to compass. The way must first bo smoothed by friends who schemed for him at Court- So, for his own pake, he granted her respite. " I will give your ladyship twentyfour hours, ' he said. " And if your mind is not then made up, Sir Douglas Evoritt scos the letter to-morrow, and within a week I shall have killed him. Let the knowledge help you to a decision, madam 1" "It shall," she answered, scarce conscious of hor words. " Now leave me!' He rose to his feet, picked up his hat and gloves and made her a reverence. She met his bow with the slenderest inclination of her head, and her right hand tugged at the silken bell-rope that hung from a beam in the ceiling. My lord Beaumont turned briskly towards the door. Then, ere ho reached it, he turned again, caught by a sudden doubt. From the pocket of his vest no drew a little case; out of the case he took a paper folded in four. " Madam recognises her seal?' he asked. . "The seal is indubitably mine! answered Lady Mary Packington, won back to courage in that ho would so soon be gone. " And the writing is my own. Even my lord Beaumont would scarce stoop to forgery." He came close against her, so that for a moment she feared he would contaminate her with his touch. The lackey,' who had come in answer to her summons, advanced behind him, treading softly and unseen of them both, ready, if need might be, to serve his mistress to the death.

But my lord Beaumont had himself well in hand.

•" Ivisscs can wait!" he cried, gaily. " Kisses come to-morrow !" He stepped a pace backward, waving the paper nigh above his head.

"To-morrow!" he triumphed. "Tomorrow, Lady Mary Packington consents to become my lady Beaumont—else Sir Douglas Everitt dies within the week !"

Again he made her a reverence; again he swung round sharp upon his heels. The lackeys anticipating the movement, turned' eP£f he turned, flew to the door and flung' it open, bowing almost to the -growiifl., ,■ "My horse and at once!" cried my lord, passing down the great staircase in hot haste. Lady Mary staggered back to her chair. She sat, dazed and hopeless, staring at the fire with eyes that saw nothing save the redness of its blaze. To-morrow he would come again—tomorrow, when she coukl temporise no more! Whatever her answer tho outcome would be equal. Mv lord Beaumont and Sir Douglas Everitt would fight. What chance was there against, the skill of tho practised duellist, intent to slay?

Suddenly the soft voice of her lackey caressed her ear.

"Dops mademoiselle need anything?" it asked.

" Nothing I" said she, and stared into the fire again. "Not even a letter, mademoiselle?" insisted the gentle voice. "A letterV' she repeated, mechanically. "What do you mean?'' She looked up, caught 'twixt ang> 5 r and surprise. The lackey smiled. His smile was as gentle as my lord Beaumont's had been harsh. His white neruke crowned features regular and fine; his teeth shone white and even beneath an upper lip short and well-shaped. And, standing there, gallant and erectr, he seemed almost of gentle birth, for all the liveried suit he wore.

Then lie spoke, with grave earnestness in _ his voice. Sincerity and devotion chimed clear and true from every worcl. "Your ladyship," ho said, slowly, "will forgive me for hearing what I could not help but hear. And since my lord Beaumont has dared to threaten you, let then yoiir lackey ' ride and draw,the viper's teeth. Without the letter, maybe his bite shall harm no more. And if I should fail " he shrugged his shoulders and his smile was gay and sad in rapid turns—- " peste, lackeys are cheap! Lady Mary "regarded him closely and long, pondering upon his proffered aid. The chance was slender, but it was, for all that, a chance. She knew him faithful and devoted; of his capacity for the discharge of such an enterprise she felt less sure. But, as she pondered, hope strove with doubt and won. "You shall go after him," she said. " And I thank you for going. But, most-like, 'tis to your death you ride!" " Fate whispers otherwise, mademoiselle," he answered her. "Something tells me that it is not death but life towards which I ride to-day. Pistols are monstrous levellers, milady. With pistols in hand and'knees astride of a good horse, a lackey is as good as a lord—or a little near it. But I need both without delay 1" "My lord Beaumont rides to Worcester?" she asked, in a voice that throbbed with exaltation born of sudden hope.

"By way of DroitwicTi town, mademoiselle," said the lackey. "And I, skirting the Park, will take the bridle path to Hadley Bowling Green and shall come upon him hard by Hindlip Hall. He rides unattended, save by his body-servant alone!" "But your clothes!" she remembered, pointing to his liveried suit. "The transformation will be easy, mademoiselle." said he. "'Tis pistols and a horse I need; pistols that shoot straight and a horse a man may ride." His enthusiasm warmed her to yet more ardent hope. She, too, felt that success must crown his essnv.

"You shall have both!" she said rapidly. "Take pistols from the armoury and saddle my own mare. She will carry a man's weight. But since you go, go quickly. For time is short and my lord Beaumont rides hard!" He nodded his quirk comprehension. Danger that made the laekev a man, broiurht him nearer to his lady's level, so that he seemed no servant but her equal in rank, as he was in courage her compeer, A sudden recollection of the need for secrecy came to Lady Mary's mind. For surely the enterprise smacked of highway robbery and more! " If," she said, " the "•rooms are curious, say that you ride the mare for exercise by my orders. And when you come ba<?k "•—he smiled his thanks at the hope her words hid—V lest they see her mu3-spatered and distressed, come first with the letter " —he smiled again and nodded—" to the summerhouse on the terrace. I shall be there and will find a means to have her groomed and fed by someone I can trust. Now go, and Ood speed, your errand. When you return ask "any favour yon desire, and if it lies within my power it shall be granted you !" He drew himself up and his lips parted, showing the even whiteness of his teeth. But a sadness, musical and strange, lay in his voice as he made answer:

" Mademoiselle, be Sure that T shall come hark. "With me T shall bring the letter on which you set such store. But, the deed must vest the deed's rownrd alone. For, in truth, there is no favour such as I, your lackey, would ask, tior any such as you, my mistress, could grant." Then he made her obeisance, reverent, and deep, yet with' an elegance that

took servility away. The lackey was no more a lackey, but a man with a man's task to do. So heaven serves us all. In each man's lifo there comes a tido and time. Chance waits on him who waits on chance', prepare^. From the window of the turret-cham-ber in the eastern wing Lady Mary watched him go. While in sight of the (house he 'cantered only, but when the oak trees' clustering served for a screen he set the mare a-gallop, past tho lake and through tho gates, out on to the hard road beyond. Though he was lost to view she stood at the window still The thud of hoofs, long out of hearing, drummed in her ears, beatung time and tuno to hope, that sang, first timidly, then loud and clamant, in her heart.

At last she went down; first by the windiug steps which led from the turret to tho central landing of the mansion j then by tho oaken staircase to her withdrawing room once more. She sought a volume of Master Herrick'a songs, and strove t-o concentrate hei mind upon the pleasant follies of his muso. But in vain. She could but wander up and down the room in restless moot!, hope alternating with despair—since there was no longer aught at hand to ker-p hope quick,' and because despair thrives most when hope is hardly dead.

And then, of a sudden, she remembered what in her haste had )>een forgot. If the lackey took her letter by trickery or force, my lord Beaumont could provoke the duel upon other grounds, and the gallant enterprise would serve no useful end. Perhaps in tho melee my lord Beaumont might bo killed. But for that she did not dare to hope J. Sho dined in solitude; she, sole mistress of half a county and less happy than the lowliest hind on her estates. Portraits of bygone Packing-tons gazed down upon her from the walls, stolid and moro ponderous than their massive frames. But ono of them—the one she loved best, the favourite of Henry the Eighth, seemed to smile approvingly, as if ho counselled her to conrago and good cheer. So when the servants were gone she poured wine into a cup, and, holding it towards the portrait, drank a grateful toast.

The smjling portrait, or the good wine in which she toasted it, fanned hope to life again. She sat more glad at heart, with thoughts that travelled to Court where now her lover was. The King would give his consent, and they should be wed ere summer died. Then, of them, kings and their courts should go unheeded; when they joined hands they would join estates too. On those estates they would live, benevolent and beloved, sufficient to themselves, careless of the great world that lay beyond. The fretted hands of the clock won round to the full hour of nine, and the music of its stricken bell brought her back to the present moment's need. She rose quickly to her feet and parsed out into the hall, thence into a robing chamber at its side. Here she put on a cloak. Then, opening the great door, that swung on easy lunges, she wont out on to the terrace towards the summerhouse. ,It stood to the right, a hundred yards distant from the house, overlooking the lake. Lady Mary lifted the latch and went in. flint and tinder were oil the table by a candle, ready to her accustomed hand. Fuel was on the hearth. A bookcase occupied the length of one small wall. In the middle was a roughbuilt cottage table. At each end stood a high-backed rush-seated chair. Mistress of a great house, it was iier frequent pleasure to pass the evening hours in this one room. To those who live in never-ending state there comes, perversely, a love of simple things. She lit the lamp and set the fire ablaze. Then she drew back tho curtain from the window and looked across the lake, while the light of the full moon shone down upon lier face.

The far-off clatter of a horse's hoofs came to her listening ears. Suddenly it ceased. The rider had left the high road, and the hoofs were muffled on the sodden turf. She heard, them again, thud-thudding across the park, heavy and distinct. The sound ceased, again. Only the jingle of a stirrup was audible. The rider ivas walking his horse over the lawns. Then the hoofs crunched the gravel of the terrace. And against the sky, bold and clear in the moonlight, horse and rider came towards her.

"Who is it?" she called, softly. The horseman was beside the window now, He leaped from his saddle. "All is well, mademoiselle I" he whispered. She ran to the door and opened it. "Have you the letter?" she asked, breathlessly.

He came across the threshold, hat in hand. Then from an inner pocket he drew the paper that my lord Jieaumont had flourished but a few hours back.

" Here is the letter, mademoiselle," he said. " The viper will sting 110 more!"

Lad.v Mary started back, almost in fear. For it seemed no more her lackey who spoke, but another, a man dressed as a grew* lord might tires:;, oasy of manner and confident of bearing; one who might hold his own where kings reigned and courts encompassed them.

He saw her hesitation and hastened to reassure her.

"Ah, mademoiselle," said he, "have no fear. I am still your servant, but, I would be your lackey no more. When

you lu.ve taken the paper T pray yon to give mo ray discharge I'' And lie Eontlv pushed the letter across tho table.

"There is blood on the paper!" sho cried. "It is my lord Beaumont's blood!" ho answered gravely.

" Ho is dead!" she shuddered

"By God's grace," ho answered. "Ho can work no more ill. The pistols in your armoury shoot straight, milady." She was honest with herself where another woman would have been less sincere.

"T am glad," she said, softly. And her heart was light in tliafc she know her lover safe.

" Tell mo what happened," sho presently went on. '

" There is little to tell, mademoiselle. I came up with him where ho rode a horse's length lx>fore his body servant. And T shot him through the heart and took the packet, from his breast. I had an old quarrel with him, milady. When T served Sir Harry Vernon ho had me whipped on a trivial pretext."

She looked hard at him. His was no lackey's heart—and she understood now why ho asked for his discharge.

" You leave my service, sir," sho said, abruptly. " With mademoiselle's permission," he answered.

" It is given," said she.

" IVI y thanks, milady," said ho. " Nay. but the thanks are mine," sho cried. " For your courage has saved me. Is there naught that you woukl ask of me before you go?" Ho. thought for a moment: then mp.do answer.

There are two things that I would mademoiselle."

" And they?" sho asked. " Tho first, milwly, is a horse to ride."

"The mar© is yours," she said, gladly. "What elso is it that you seeki"'

His fingers toyed with his riding whip; thou swiftly he brought his eyes to the level of hers.

" It is, mademoiselle, that you would bear with me while I speak for a. little of myself."

Her brows went up; for she knew of what ho would .speak. Almost it was in her heart to deny him what ho asked. Then, 'remembering how ho had served her, she checked tho refusal which she had all but voiced.

"That, too, is granted, sir!" sho said.

Ho bowed his grateful thanks. " Mademoiselle." he began, " men call mo Claude Duval, and my mother was a peasant's daughter who maiticd a miller of Domfront in Normandy. But ill my veins runs the blood of a peer of franco. lis wild blood, mademoi,selle, and difficult to control; it set.s my heart throbbing where my heart shoukl beat calmly; it has made me love whore to look, oven, whero insolence and shame. There is no euro for such a madness, mademoiselle, and since I must cease to serve your ladyship I can no more go as lacquey—even to a king. I am not of the people, and I would not work, with my hands if I could. To such as 1 there is but one calling left. 'Tis the service of the road, whose knight henceforth T am, till such time as fate shall tie the hangman's noose or a friendly bullet find my breast. It is a man's life, the life of the open road, and I was not born to wear, a liveried suit. Yet, before Igo I would tell you this, lest when you hear my name spoken in days to come you should, hearing, not understand." He paused—for his voice seemed full of tears.

"Tell ins I do well, mademoiselle!" he said, imploring her eyes. She looked at him in . silence for a while; then hi hor glance he read both pit.v and praise. "You do-well, 6ir," she said softly. " You do as a man should do in such"a place as yours. But spare to molest the poor for my sake!" He dropped on one knee and kissed her hand, fervently.

"Ah, mademoiselle." ho cried, "the poor of mo shall pass unhurt. J war but with the rich, since from my birth the rich ever made war with me i" He caught up his hat and bowed low before her. " Adieu, mademoiselle," he said. S'ie staved his going, caught by a sudden whim. " Give me your sword," said she. He wondoringly obeyed. "Now kneel!" she commanded. Then she gave him tho accolade, striking him lightly on the shoulder. "Rise up, Sir Claude Duval!" sho cried. " Knight of the road and the King's highway. Spare to molest the poor and treat womenfolk with courtesy, so shall you win renown in days to come!" As he stood before her, debonair and gay, she took a ribbon from her redbrown hair. " Hero is your favour, sir !" she said.