Beauvallet · Chapter 17 (2/2)

“Ah, of course!” said Sir Nicholas blandly. “I had forgot that he lived here.” He looked rueful. “I give him joy of it. For my part, I find it a dreary place.”

“Well, señor, you are unfortunate,” he was told. “The Governor does well enough, with a very pretty garden to walk in and a score of fine rooms, I warrant you.”

Sir Nicholas began to talk of something else. The disposition of the Governor’s quarters and the whereabouts of his garden was all he wanted to know now, and he would go his own way to work about that. He complained of the scorching sun, and brought his walk to an end. When Don Cristobal came to visit him later in the day, and inquired whether he had taken his exercise, Sir Nicholas thanked him, but believed that for the future he must confine his walks to the corridor.

“I find it rather too sunny, señor. Heyday! I would M. de Lauvinière’s messenger might bestir himself a little.” He observed Don Cristobal’s troubled look, and smiled. “Nay, do not look so worried, señor. I must be content with the corridor, and this grim incarceration cannot last for many weeks.”

“Why, Chevalier, I should be loth⁠—certainly the sun beats down very hotly. I do not think there could be any objection to your walking in my garden for a space every day. I will arrange for it.”

“But this is too kind, señor! Indeed, I shall take no hurt in the corridor. I should not like to trespass into your garden,” Beauvallet said.

“No trespass, señor. Consider it agreed upon. I am held responsible for your well-being, and I am assured his Majesty is anxious to make this unfortunate time as pleasant for you as maybe. Is there aught else I may do for you?”

Beauvallet seemed to consider. He drew some coins from his pocket, and looked at them with a grimace. “Lay that fellow of mine by the heels, señor, and I shall be much your debtor. But I believe I have enough to buy me some few things. Of your kindness, señor, some book to help while away the time. I do not know whether I am permitted to write to my friends?”

Don Cristobal hesitated, “With the greatest reluctance, señor, I should feel myself bound to glance at any messages you may wish to send out of this place.”

“Oh, you may read all my papers with my very goodwill,” Sir Nicholas told him.

“I will send you some ink, then, and paper,” Don Cristobal promised, and withdrew.

Upon the following morning Beauvallet was escorted to the Governor’s quarters, by the stairway he had gone down the day before, and through the door he had noticed on the opposite side of the arched gateway. This led into a large hall, furnished very richly with fine hangings and chairs of Italian intarsia work. Across the hall a door gave on to a walled garden, shaded by trees, and through this they went.

Beyond the wall Sir Nicholas judged that there was a street as on his opposite side of the building. The wall was high, but rough upon the inner side, with one or two espaliers trained up it. If a man had the help of a rope he might make shift to scale that wall; at a pinch he might make the attempt without assistance, but with indifferent hope of success. There seemed to be no other way into the garden than through this one door.

Sir Nicholas studied the outside of the building closely. Here were no barred windows, and the side of the house was grown over with a thick wisteria. A man penetrating into one of the upper rooms on this side of the building might climb down the wall by the aid of that wistaria⁠—if it held. So much Sir Nicholas decided; it was little enough. He went back presently to his prison and sat down by the window to write an innocent letter to his Andalusian acquaintance.

It might have been noticed that the Chevalier nearly always sat by the window, and very often stood looking out on to the street. His guards made nothing of that. There was little enough to see in the street, but the poor gentleman had nothing else to interest him, to be sure, until the Governor sent him a selection of books to read. Even then a gentleman cannot be reading all the day.

Sir Nicholas, watching the street below, did not at first recognize his swaggering servant in the clean-shaven, demure individual who strolled slowly along on the opposite side of the road. But his attention was held by the apparently idle glances this clerk-like person cast up at the barracks as he came, and he knitted his brows a little.

Joshua was opposite his window now, and again looked up. The puzzled frown vanished from Beauvallet’s face; he lifted his hand, and Joshua saw him.

Joshua cast a glance behind him. There was no one in sight. He stood still, showing a joyful countenance. Sir Nicholas passed a hand over his beard, caressed his mustachio tips, and affected an intense grief. But his shoulders shook.

“Ho!” said Joshua softly. “This is pretty treatment, God wot! Nay, then, master, have done! Is this the time to make merry? It sorteth to no good at all. God be thanked you are safe, and in spirits, as it would seem! What, will you be fleering still?” He shook his head severely. “I may say you are incorrigible. Now I must tell you some few things. And how?” He saw a man turn down the corner of the street, and bent as though to take a stone from his shoe. After that he walked on until the man had rounded the corner, and then came swiftly back. It would not do to shout to Sir Nicholas, that was certain. He put his head on one side and debated. The street was still empty when he came opposite to Beauvallet’s window again, and he began to indulge in a piece of pantomime for his master’s benefit. Don Diego was portrayed by a mincing step, a sniffing at an imaginary flower, and a flourishing bow. Sir Nicholas grinned and nodded. Joshua made believe then to throw himself upon a horse, and to ride off at full speed.

The play ended he looked up inquiringly. Sir Nicholas was frowning. He drew a large V in the air, and cocked up an eyebrow. Joshua nodded vigorously, and made beckoning signs as though to bid his master make haste.

That Sir Nicholas understood more or less what he meant to convey was easy to see. He signed to Joshua to go, and himself fell to pacing the floor of his room.

If Dominica had gone already to Vasconosa, as Joshua’s play would seem to indicate, with Don Diego hard on her heels, it looked as though there was mischief brewing. Sir Nicholas had been content to lie in his prison till Tuesday, or even later, for there was nothing to be gained by breaking free while Dominica still lay at Madrid. On the contrary, there was all to be lost. Once out of prison he must lose no time in getting out of Spain; there would be no time then for waiting upon his lady’s movements. But this new development changed the complexion of the affair. Sir Nicholas sat down on the edge of his bed and began thoughtfully to finger his beard. “ ’Ware Beauvallet, if you see him at that trick!” would have said Joshua Dimmock. But the Guards of Castile were not so familiar with Sir Nicholas Beauvallet’s ways.

His brain began to shape plans, twisting and scheming. If he failed in his attempt he must stand self-convicted as El Beauvallet. He knew what to expect then. He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his pomander to his nose.

Sniffing at it he evolved his plan. It was sufficiently desperate to appeal to that lively sense of humour in him. “Come, Nick!” he apostrophised himself. “Let us take Reck Not for our watchword yet once again. It has not been known to fail us yet. But I am sorry for that sentry.”

By which it may be seen that Sir Nicholas counted the sentry outside his door a dead man already.

He moved to the table, and wrote three lines to Joshua. They were quite simple.

“Be ready tomorrow evening with a rope outside the wall on the opposite side of the building to this. When you hear my whistle, cast it across and hold tightly.”

This he twisted into a screw and put away in his bosom. Upon the following morning Joshua walked down the street again. The screw of paper went fluttering down from Beauvallet’s window, and was swiftly pounced on.

Joshua went back to his tavern strutting lightheartedly.