Love and Money by Phyllis Bentley Read Free Book Online Page A

coach,” said Thomas steadily. “What else? It holds pay for the King’s trained bands.” “You are a colonel of some of the trained bands yourself.”
    â€œAt the moment, Tom, for your sake I am a cutpurse.”
    â€œThat makes me a cutpurse into the bargain.”
    â€œWell, Tom, that cannot be helped,” said Sir Richard in a kinder tone. “Be off now, and see thou know naught of this night’s work if any question thee. By God! The coach is almost on us. Get back into the bushes. Put on this vizard and for the love of heaven keep still. And keep thy Bess still likewise if it be any way possible.”
    Perhaps it was the last taunt which prevented Thomas from riding away at once as he had a mind to do, away from the coach, away from Sir Richard, away from Bellomont. Instead he jerked at Bess’s head, turned her into the shadow of the hawthorns and drew her up to face the road, with a savage command she had certainly never experienced before at his hands. Surprised, she stood very meek and still, andthis silent comment on his previous horsemanship vexed still further his troubled spirit. He put the black vizard about his face. It pricked his nose uncomfortably and this made Thomas even angrier than before; he felt the ill fitting of the mask to be both ludicrous and abominable, like the rest of this occasion.
    Then the coach was but ten yards away, and then but five, and while Thomas with fast-beating heart was wondering how one man on foot held up a coach and pair, suddenly the thing was done. Sir Richard leaped out into the middle of the road beneath the very noses of the horses, threw his arms wide and shouted: “Stand!” in a voice of thunder. The horses, terrified, reared and plunged and screamed and crossed their traces, the driver tumbled headlong to the ground, the coach swung across the road and fell heavily on its side into the ditch. Bess trembled and started, but Thomas held her, grim; Sir Richard’s horse merely gave a mild headshake.
    â€œCut the traces, fool!” cried Sir Richard to the coachman, who was rising slowly amid the flying hoofs.
    With a stupefied air the man slowly drew his knife and obeyed, but he had great difficulty in calming and disentangling the maddened animals. Meanwhile Sir Richard stepped to the coach, opened and threw back the door, which lay almost horizontal to the road, and stooped over the aperture. A shrill scream and an oath sounded from within, then Sir Richard stepped back, shaking one hand as if it pained him, and holding in the other a leather bag with an official seal. He was laughing, his teeth showing strangely white below the black vizard, as he turned and ran towards the hawthorns. But just then a man’s hands, somewhat coarse and dirty in the moonlight, appeared clutching the sides of the overturned doorway, and with a great scrambling heave the man himself stumbled out into the road. Scrawny in limb, mottled in face, sandy-haired, and somehow bedraggled, even in this light, thought Thomas, he was clearly not a gentleman, but he did not lack courage, for he was tugging at his sword-hilt.
    â€œUncle!” shouted Thomas. “Behind you!”
    Sir Richard threw aside the leather bag, turned and drew his sword; the stranger also at last managed to draw and shouting: “Have at you, thief!” rushed upon him. They fell to combat lustily.
    An hour ago the lad Tom had dreamed of rescuing his uncle in just such an exciting situation, now the young man Thomas Bellomont knew that nothing would anger Sir Richard more than any such clumsy interference on his part. So he sat still and left his uncle to his own devices— Sir Richard’s sword-play was so superior to his opponent’s that the result was never in doubt. Observing presently, however, that the coachman had succeeded in calming his horses and was gazing at the battle doubtfully, it occurred to Thomas that this onlooker might perhaps