XXXVII
Of Our Visit to Castle Hill
When we had sufficiently rewarded master innkeeper and his companion in villainy according to their several deserts, we thought it time to be moving on our way, and one of the troopers fetched Rose’s horse from the inn, where it had been stabled during her imprisonment. So presently Philip Lisle brought her forth, ready for the ride, and we departed, assuring the two men whom we left tied to the tree that we had not yet done with them, but would see that the law punished them for their naughtiness in proper fashion.
“And as to your master and instigator,” said Captain Trevor, “tell him, when he returns hither, that it will be an ill day for him if we come across his path. For what we have done to you is naught to what we will do to him.”
Now, I was in fiery haste to return to Dale’s Field, because the men had told us in response to our questions that Dennis Watson had gone homewards only that morning, promising to return in two days at the latest. When I heard that, I was resolved to seek him at his own place, and there settle matters between us once for all, and with this object in view I spurred on my companions so that I might get the business over. Captain Trevor, however, was of opinion that the best way to catch Dennis was to wait for him at the point where we then were, because, said he, the villain was certain to return to that place, whereas he might get wind of our coming to Castle Hill and give us the slip. But I was not willing to take this counsel, arguing rather that it would be better to proceed straight to the Watsons’ farmstead, where Dennis would certainly be found that day. So we proceeded towards Doncaster, to which town Captain Trevor and his men accompanied us, and as we journeyed thither Rose told us of how she had fared since the day she left Dale’s Field, which history did but serve to increase my great anger against Dennis Watson.
When the two serving-men, who were none other than the villains we had just whipped in the wood, presented themselves at Dale’s Field with the letter from her father, Rose had not seen reason for doubting their word, for the letter was cunningly made to represent Philip Lisle’s handwriting, and the two men wore a sober and seemly air, and spoke of Philip with much solicitude and regard. This appearance of concern for him they kept up, she said, as they accompanied her along the road, telling her how he fared, and giving her many false accounts of how he had come by his hurt. For they said that he had come over from Lancashire with certain troops, and had been engaged in a skirmish with the Roundheads near the place where they professed him to be lying wounded, together with much more falsely invented matter, put into their heads, no doubt, by the cunning and malice of Dennis Watson. And at all this news she had no suspicion aroused, because she did not know of her father’s whereabouts, none of us having heard from him or Jack Drumbleforth for some time. Moreover, the two men were so civil in their behaviour and so constant in their professions of regard for Philip Lisle that she felt perfectly safe in their company, and was even thankful to them for the care they took of her during the journey.
“Alas!” quoth Captain Trevor at this part of Rose’s story. “An I had known this, Mistress Rose, an hour ago, we would have given the smooth-tongued knaves a dozen extra stripes apiece. I cannot abear your foxy villains that say fine things to your face and are plotting against you in their hearts. However, we made their backs smart.”
All went well, continued Rose, until they reached the wayside inn between Thrybergh and Rotherham, which was towards the end of the afternoon. When they had come to this point they informed her that the house where her father lay was now close at hand, and that they would stable their horses at the inn, and then conduct her to it across the fields. Even then she had felt no suspicion, and followed the men with confidence to the house in the wood. When they were at the door, one of the men, namely, the innkeeper, retired, and the other took her inside and put her in charge of the woman. Rose now wished to be taken immediately to her father, but the woman put her off with the excuse that he had fallen into a deep slumber, from which he must not be disturbed at that time. After this she conducted Rose to an apartment and left her, promising to fetch her to the sick man as soon as he should give signs of waking. The woman, however, had no sooner gone away from the chamber than the door opened and Dennis Watson appeared before her.
Now, it did not at first so much surprise Rose to see Dennis, because she thought that he had chanced to be in the neighbourhood and had been made aware of her father’s condition, and she therefore immediately made inquiry of him as to Philip Lisle’s health. He answered this question by assuring her that so far as he knew her father’s health was in the best of conditions, and begged her to forgive him for the trick he had played upon her in order to bring about that meeting. For he was, he protested, dying with love for her, and believing that all things were fair in love and war, he had not scrupled to resort to stratagem to secure her. After which he renewed his professions and besought her to fly with him out of the country.
Now, when Rose fully understood how she had been served, her indignation rose to such a height that she told her mind very plainly to the villain before her, and informed him that she now knew him to be a liar and a very sorry knave, finally commanding him to stand out of her path and let her go out of his presence, which did but offend her. At which, she continued, he grew very red with passion and altered his tune, threatening her as much as he had formerly coaxed her. For she must remember, he said, that there was no help for her, because she was entirely in his power, and could count on help from no earthly being. Wherefore he bade her consider matters afresh, and then retired, locking the door behind him, so that she was a prisoner. In this way she continued until the next day, seeing no one but the woman of the house, who brought her food and waited upon her, and whom she tried to bribe with promises of reward, but with no effect. Nevertheless, she did not lose heart, knowing right well that her friends would come to rescue her sooner or later.
The next day Dennis again appeared before her, and again made many protestations of his passion for her, to which she answered that his actions gave the lie to his words. After that he again resorted to threats, which she scorned as before, telling him that she did not fear him and promising him, moreover, sound punishment for his misdeeds. This caused him to withdraw again, having first told her that she should be kept in close confinement until she was more reasonably disposed towards him. In this way the succeeding days passed, Rose being strictly guarded by the man and his wife, while Dennis appeared at least once a day to plead his evil cause, hoping that the imprisonment would eventually break his captive’s resolution. But though Rose became anxious and concerned, she did not cease to rate him soundly for his misdeeds, and upon the day previous to our arrival she let him know how much she abhorred and despised him; whereupon he swore an oath that he would use foul means if he could do naught with fair, and bade her take two days to decide whether she could give him no better answer. After which he left the house, telling the men that he was going to Castle Hill and should return on the second day at the latest.
Now, this story did but serve to increase our resentment against Dennis Watson, and Captain Trevor regretted that he could not accompany us homewards and go with us to do justice upon our enemy. And we had indeed been glad of his company, and were sorry to part with him and his men at Doncaster, where they went southwards to Newark, while we pursued our journey along the Great North Road.
It was far into the evening when we arrived at Dale’s Field and gave Rose into the hands of my mother and Lucy, who were so overjoyed to see her that they laughed and cried at the same moment, and made a great to-do in the way of preparing a feast for our refreshment. But, tired as I was, I had no mind for rest or food until I had settled my account with Dennis Watson. And, indeed, I dare say my dear love wondered that I had so little to say to her at that time, but the truth was that I was so full of hatred and revenge that I could neither eat, sit, sleep, nor talk until I had done somewhat to satisfy my heart. Wherefore we had no sooner arrived than I sent off one of my men on horseback to Darrington, bidding him find three trusty friends of mine there, whom he was to bring back with him on the instant. While he was gone I went into the yard and talked with Jacob Trusty, who was very bitter against the Roundheads that night, a party of them having ridden into the fold on the previous day and seized two of my best bullocks.
“Yea, marry,” said Jacob, “and had the assurance to sing psalms over the poor beasts as they drove them along the road! Oh, an I had had my old musket I would have given them a taste of cold lead. For thou knowest, William, I had meant those bullocks for Doncaster market, and now, I suppose, they are roast meat. However, ’tis a world of disappointments.”
Presently my messenger returned from Darrington, bringing with him my three friends, who were all stout and sturdy young farmers. I led them into the house, where Philip Lisle was eating his supper, and to him and them I shortly explained what I wished to do. To settle with Dennis Watson, I said, was my affair, and I desired no man to be with me in the matter. But so that we might come at him, I proposed to go in a body to Castle Hill and there oblige him to come forth and account to me for his doings. And having said this, I begged my friends to refresh themselves, and meanwhile I went out and provided my four ploughmen with a stout cudgel apiece, so that there were nine of us ready to seek Dennis Watson. Presently, then, we set off, leaving Jacob Trusty and Timothy Grass looking wistfully after us, for they would have much liked to go with us but for their increasing infirmities.
Now, the farm at Castle Hill lieth beyond the Stapleton woods on a rising ground halfway between Darrington and Kirk Smeaton. Why it is called Castle Hill I know not, unless it is because there was at some time a fortified tower on the spot where now stands the farmstead tenanted by the Watsons. It is a lonely place, being surrounded by deep woods, and the house itself is old and gloomy and here and there in a ruinous state. As we left the woods and drew near to it that night, the moon shone clearly on its roofs and chimneys and lighted us beneath the trees to the door. There was no light to be seen in any of the windows, and we saw no men about the yard, so that the whole place looked deserted and dreary.
We left our little force within easy call, while Philip and I went up to the door and knocked loudly at it. The noise echoed through the house inside with a hollow and empty sound, and no one answered our summons. We had knocked three times in this way and received no response, when an old woman came round the corner of the house and asked fearfully what we wanted.
“We want Master Dennis Watson,” I answered. “Where is he, dame?”
“Alack, master!” she answered; “that I cannot say. He was here this morning, yea, indeed, but he rode away before noon, and since then his father hath been well-nigh mad, so that I pray you go your ways, lest he come out and do you an injury.”
But at that moment the door was flung open and Rupert Watson himself appeared on the threshold, a tall, weird-looking figure with white hair and beard. I had not seen him for many a year, and it startled me to see the change that had come over him, for in former days he had been a sturdy, square-shouldered man, but now was old and somewhat bent and looked fiercer than a wolf.
“Who are ye?” he asked. “Is this a time to come knocking at honest men’s doors?”
“Ay,” I answered, “if there be such excuse as we have, Master Watson.”
And I stepped back a pace or two so that the moon shone full upon my face and figure. He started as he saw me, and I knew that he noted the resemblance to my father.
“William Dale’s lad!” he said. “William Dale! What should a Dale want of me?”
“Your son, Master Watson.”
He lifted his hands and shook them in the moonlight, and his eyes gleamed through his bushy eyebrows.
“My son? I have no son! Son? He that was my son hath robbed me—me, his father! A thousand guineas that I had saved and hidden—do you hear?—he hath taken them all and fled, like a thief. My son—my only son. Begone, William Dale, begone. Nay, stand there, stand there, and hear me curse him!”
We stood silent and horrified, watching the old man as he shook his trembling hands in the air and cursed his son in the name of God. The men behind us crept up and listened and trembled; the old woman, weeping and sobbing by the house wall, shivered and quaked as the terrible white-haired figure lifted his arms in the moonlight and cursed his son with awful words. And then suddenly the old man paused in the midst of his denunciation and fell down on the ground as if he were dead. Truly the wrongs that himself had done were returning to him in tenfold measure.