him.”
“I hope we may be, sir,” replied Doctor Syn. “For my part, I shall
depart from the usual custom of my cloth and buckle on my father’s
sword.”
“But however brave your steel,” cautioned Sir Henry, “see that it is
tempered with good caution, for to make enmity with a noted duelist is
no light undertaking.”
“At the worst, sir, I should not be unprepared,” replied the Doctor,
“for since taking orders I have never given up the practice of many
accomplishments. In riding, fence and marksmanship I have been in
continual training, and with right upon my side and a reasonable amount
of luck, backed by mine own skill, I have yet to meet a man whom in a
righteous quarrel I should avoid.”
“And since Christ in Holy Writ that He brought a sword to the Earth,
I fail to see why His own parsons should be scorned to be skilled in
‘em,” said the Squire of Lympne solemnly.
After which understanding between these two gentlemen, Doctor Syn
went to join the ladies.
And long after the Squire of Lympne had despatched his rider with the
letter for Sir Charles Cobtree upon Romney Marsh, the early night stars
played their romantic parts upon the terrace of the Castle, so that when
a last good-nights were said in the corridors of Lympne, Doctor Syn was
confident that his authority with the Spanish ladies went a little
further than mere escort, for Imogene gave him cause to believe that
their families were almost united. Certain it was that Doctor Syn
desired no better.
The n ext day the faithful coachman to Sir Henry reported to his
master that the expedition to Dymchurch-under-the-Wall was a great
success. His “Everything -seems-very-promising-your-Honour” was
optimistic news to Sir Henry, and it did the coachman no harm in
reporting it, for Sir Henry, despite his gout, was still romantically
inclined, and happened to be fond of both his young Spanish guest and
the brilliant nephew of his own attorney Solomon Syn.
- 16 -
Imogene loved Dymchurch, and all the good folks she met there. Sir
Charles Cobtree went out of his way to make the place seem attractive to
her.
“Persuade young Christopher to marry, my dear, and then tell him to
leave Oxford and retire here as our Vicar. The people need a married
parson here. Our pr esent incumbent wishes to retire. Well, he is old,
I’ll admit. But I’ve badgered the old fellow to stay on till my good
young friend is ready to take his place. Let him bring Dymchurch a
Vicar’s wife, and the living’s his.”
“I love it all, my Christopher,” she whispered on the ride back to
Lympne beneath the stars, “But oh, my dear, your little churches, and
your great ones too, of the Protestant Faith are so very plain and dull
compared with the glories of ours. But I love you, dear. Yes, I put
you before religion.”
“But could you change your faith for mine?” asked the parson.
“Oh, but I could do more for you than ever the stupid poor dear
headstrong Nicholas did for me,” she answered. “If he could change his
faith for mine because of love, cannot my love
make me change mine too, because I happen so to think of you? My church
is now you, and my faith and ritual is my love for you. Do you love me
as well?”
“I think I would give up all for you,” he answered. “But you could
never ask me to give up faith and honour. You also could never give up
honour, and I do not ask you to give up your own country’s faith.”
“But I shall, and of my own free will; and yes, because of you. But
you must still allow me to think that the churches of the Pr otestants
are, oh, so dull!”
“Your presence in them will make them the more lively,” he smiles
back.
But that speech of hers he was destined to remember through the
twenty years’ Odyssey of bitterness.
However, there was no thought of bitterness d uring the blessed week,
so skillfully prepared by the Squire of Lympne, and certainly no
bitterness in that long ride beside the coach to Oxford. A face at the
coach window. A beloved rider outside. A loyal companion in the
handsome Tony Cobtree, who lingered for his friend’s sake, although so
impatient to reach their goal for his own ends. A long, romantic
journey, and no mishap to mar it. But everything to make it wonderful.
Romance and Love. Until at last Doctor Syn rides out to Iffley to inform
the Squire that his betrothed, one Imogene Almago, and her mother are
awaiting to receive him in their lodgings at Oxford, and that their
attorney will be there at his convenience any morning to discuss
business.
The large mansion at Iffley stood in its town distinctive grounds,
and was hidden by trees. A high wall ran round three sides, and the
river completed the circle of defense upon the fourth.
Doctor Syn rode to the Lodge gates, and without dismounting rang the
bell. A forbidding-looking man-servant came out from the Lodge and asked
him his business. He opened one side of the great gates with an ill
grace, and Doctor Syn noted that he looked it again directly he has
passed through.
- 17 -
Now, it so happened that the Squire of Iffley had heard that Doctor
Syn had forbidden his pupils to play cards or dice, and as this had been
one of the Bully’s sources of income, he was enraged to see the cause of
his disappointment riding up the drive.
Bully Tappitt did not wait for his servant to open the front door.
He opened it himself, and, grabbing a heavy whip from a handy peg,
strode out in a fine rage on to the porch steps.
“And what the devil brings you here?” he asked brusquely. “I thought
you had warned your companions against visiting me. However, if you are
here to play behind their backs, I am your man, with cards or dice in
secret.”
“I am not here for gaming, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, without
dismounting. “I bring you a message from a lady.”
“The devil you do,” laughed the Squire. “Come in your official
position as a parson, no doubt. Well, understand that I am not paying
compensation to any woman who has had the privilege of my attentions.”
“There is no question of attentions in this case, sir,” replied
Doctor Syn coldly. “You have not had the honour of meeting the lady in
question, and she will only extend you that honour in the presence of
myself and her English legal adviser, Mr. Antony Cobtree. She will
receive you at White Friars House, St. Giles’, tomorrow at noon, if you
desire to interview her concerning your nephew’s affairs in Spain.”
“Are you talking of the Almago women from Madrid?” asked Tappitt.
“I have the honour to be speaking on behalf of the Senora Almago,
sir.”
“Are they in Oxford, then?” he demanded.
“They are, sir,” went on Syn. “I myself have lodged them with the
good woman who lets the apartments I named.”
“But they were to come here. What the devil!” exploded the Squire.
“Why are they not here? I invited them.”
“Pardon me, sir. The invitation was null and void, and under the
circumstances demanded no reply.” Doctor Syn spoke quietly, but with a
cold disdain. “The letter did not come from you. It came, in fact, from
nobody, for, as I pointed out to my good friends at Lampne Castle, and
have since confirmed it, there is no such person as Elinor Tappitt, wife
to the Squire of Iffley. You are a bachelor.”
“And who are you to interfere with my schemes —” started the Squire.
“Schemes, eh?” repeated the Doctor. “I can well believe that. I
will tell you my authority. I am the prospective son-in-law to the
Senora. Yes, sir, her daughter, the Senorita, with her mother’s
consent, has promised to marry me.”
“Marry you?” retorted the Squ ire. “We’ll see about that. I rather
think she will marry my nephew.”
Doctor Syn shook his head. “She has already refused him, sir.”
“Then if he’s such a fool as I always suspected, she shall marry me,”
said the Squire. “Or I’ll marry the widow, and then refuse you the
daughter. Yes, sir, I’ll brook no interference from a hypocritical
young parson, who no doubt thinks to get the dead Spaniard’s money into
his own coffers.”
“There is no more to be said, I think, sir. Tomorrow at noon. Good
day.”
“Oh no,” replied the Squire. “Not good day yet. I have not finished
with you.”
“But I have with you till noon tomorrow,” replied Doctor Syn, turning
his horse’s head down the long drive and riding slowly away.
“I think not, till my grooms have done with you,” cried the Squire.
He then balwed out the words: “Stables, quick! All of you!”
- 18 -
Doctor Syn saw him run into the stable yard, and so put his own hose
to the canter.
The drive was a long one through an avenue of trees. Fortunately the
young parson knew the lie of the ground. He remembered that there was a
back lane from the stables which was a short cut to the Lodge gates. He
remembered that these gates were locked. Even at a gallop he could
hardly reach them and persuade the man to open before the arrival of the
half-dozen bullies that Bully Tappitt kept to do other and dirtier work
than grooming. Just as he was considering the possibility of attempting
a gallop, he heard the deep bell clanging from the stable tower, and
guessed that this must be a signal to the lodge-keeper to stop him. The
bell was followed by a banging of doors, cries from stablemen, cracking
of whips, and then the full-throated baying of hounds. Doctor Syn had
no intention of riding into such disadvantage. He knew well that Bully
Tappitt would not scruple to go to extremes. This at the best would be
a flogging, perhaps injury to his horse, and then as an excuse a
trumped-up accusation of libelous interference, which the Squire would
lodge against him to the College authorities. The odds were too heavy
to risk. It was then that a richer way out occurred to him.
Turning his hose sharp to the right, he rode through the woods, along
the mossy path that led to the river. The Isis ran there broad and
wide, but it would not be the first time that the young scholar and sum
his horse, and he considered that a wetting and a laugh against Tappitt
in the face of his bullies were preferable to a bad manhandling. He was
no coward, as he was to show by the different risk he was to take, but
as a lover he was not desirous to court any facial disfigurement.
So he galloped through the wood in the opposite direction taken by
his would-be assailants. Just as he approached the boathouse, a voice
cried out, “Now, then, sir, what do you want?”
“A heavily built waterman barred his way. He was armed with a short,
sharp boat-hook.
The Doctor reined his horse. “I have been talking to your master,
the Squire of Iffley,” he answered pleasantly, waving his ha nd towards
the river. “He thinks that this little ditch is unswimmable, on
horseback. You know how given he is to a wager. I am about to prove to
him that a good horse and rider find it easy. What do you think?”
“I think not,” growled the boatman. “The stable bell has been
clanging, and that means “close all ways out of the estate.”
“If you come here, I’ll give you good reason not to detain me,”
replied Doctor Syn, affably putting his hand into his breeches pocket.
He saw the covetous glint into the other’s eye. He read his though, “If
this fool cares to hand me a guinea to get out of here, I’ll take it,
stop him leaving and then deny his gift to my master.”
Doctor Syn sure enough held up the guinea invitingly with his right
hand. The man approached, and put out one hand for the coin, and with
the other tried to grasp the rein. The rider shortened rein to prevent
this, and at the same time distracted the other’s attention with a
sudden “Hallo! Is this a good one? I believe not. I’ve been done
brown. I should have rung them one by one. It looks to me—well,
dull.”
“I’ll ring it,” said the other eagerly. “Let’s see.”
“I’ll try it in my teeth,” answered Syn.
He suited the action to the word; put the coin between his teeth, and
made a face as though biting hard.
- 19 -
The man waited for his judgment, eyeing the guinea held so firmly in
the young man’s white teeth. Instead he should have kept his eye on the
young man’s right hand. The fist closed, and a terrific blow caught the
waterman under the jaw. Down the bank he rolled into the water, and
down the bank went horse and rider straight into the river, and by the
time the man scrambled for the bank and held his jaw, Doctor Syn was in
midstream heading for the bank. The current was stronger than he
thought, and swept his horse below the opposite landing-stage, but
Doctor Syn headed for a meadow belonging to a little farm, intending to
land there, despite a notice on a tree which said, “Trespassers will be
prosecuted.”
The owner of the farm happened to be out with a fowling-piece under
his arm, and, objecting to the swimming would-be
trespasser, cried out: “Now then, if, as I saw, you come from yonder
cursed place, you should know what to expect from me if you attempt to
touch my bank. I’ve suffered enough from the sins of the Tappitt crowd,
so my advice is, swim back as fast as you can, lest I drill holes in
you.”
“I’ve just escaped from there, my good friend,” Doctor Syn called
back. “I preferred a wettin g to a whipping from the rascals. So of
your charity let me land here, or my horse may drown.”
“Who are you, then?” asked the farmer cautiously.
“A young doctor of Queen’s College,” he answered. “And with every
cause to hate the folk behind me.”
The farmer immediately came down from the bank and pointed out the
best spot for landing, which was no sooner accomplished than Doctor Syn
was asking which was the best bridge to cross in order to come upon the
road leading past the gates of Iffley Court, and on the way to Oxford.
‘I wish to have the laugh of them from the safe side of their locked
gates,” he said. “Aye, and before they have discovered how I have
tricked them, too,” he added.
For this reason of haste, re refused the farmer’s offer o f a stable
for his horse and grooming, while he should dry his clothes by the
kitchen fire, and himself with a warming drink.
But for all his haste, the farmer insisted on rubbing down the horse
with a wisp of grass, and as he did so he talked. “I’ll show you the
way beyond the house. You can gallop it in three minutes, while they’ll
be hunting you in the grounds, or waiting for you to break cover.
You’ll reach Iffley gates before that rogue you knocked into the Isis.
I’ll do anything against them ov er there. I have cause enough to hate
them. Lend me your ear, for my wife is coming down the meadow, and what
I would say is her grief.”
Thereupon he quickly whispered a foul story of seduction which the
Squire of Iffley had carried out against their daughter. She had been