Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Before I had been on the cliffs an hour, I had made my plans, and these
I started to carry out without delay. First of all I went back to the
stable and had my horse saddled, and having ridden four miles in the
direction of Pycroft Hall, I cast my eyes around in the hope of seeing
some one. But no one was in sight. The neighbourhood was thinly
inhabited. Not a horseman was to be seen on the road, not a labourer was
working in the fields. I found out afterwards that practically the whole
country side had emptied itself in order to be present at the landing of
the king at Dover. That not knowing the exact day of his coming they had
gone to Dover a few days in advance so that they might be certain to be
there to give him a royal welcome. In truth I found out that for a full
week before the king came the town of Dover was a huge fair, and that
revelry continued from midnight to midnight without ceasing.
Presently, however, I caught sight of a man who was cutting wood by one
of the fences some distance away, whereupon I rode across the fields to
the place where he was.
He looked at me attentively, and then held the tool with which he worked
in such a way that I imagined he thought I meant to attack him.
"You be young for your work, young master," he said, eyeing me grimly.
"Why?" I asked pleasantly.
"Otherwise you would never come to a working man who has not a groat in
his pouch," he replied.
"Why, you think I am a footpad?" I asked.
"Else why should you gallop across hedges and ditches as though the
devil were behind you? Eh, young man, give it up. It only ends in the
gallows, and it must be a fearful life to live, always seeing the rope's
end dangling before your eyes."
"Instead of wanting to take your groats from you, my man, I will e'en
give you one instead. Nay, believe me, I am peaceably inclined, and
instead of being a highwayman I am making inquiries about an old house
which I am told is empty, and which may perchance be for sale."
Again he looked at me, and then touched his hat respectfully.
"You be from London, young master?"
"I left London less than a week ago," I replied. "I have come in search
of a house, and I have been told there is one near here, which being
empty and forsaken, a man might buy cheaply."
"The name o't, young master?" he said questioningly.
"It is called Pycroft, or some such name," I replied.
"And is it Pycroft you thought of buying, young master?"
"Rather, I am come to ask questions about it."
At this he laughed. "No man will ever live at Pycroft," he said.
"Why? Is not the house a good one?"
"It's the company, not the house I was thinking of."
"The company?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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