Great Britain -- History -- Mary I, 1553-1558 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
By this time the inn was thoroughly aroused. Doors were opening and
shutting on all sides of me, and questions were being shouted in
different tones from room to room. In the midst of the hubbub I heard
the landlord come out muttering, and go downstairs to open the door.
Instantly I unlatched mine, slipped through it stealthily, sneaked a
step or two down the passage, and then came plump in the dark against
some one who was moving as softly as myself. The surprise was
complete, and I should have cried out at the unexpected collision, had
not the unknown laid a cold hand on my mouth, and gently pushed me
back into my room.
Here there was now a faint glimmer of dawn, and by this I saw that my
companion was the serving-maid. "Hist!" she said, speaking under her
breath, "Is it you they want?"
I nodded.
"I thought so," she muttered. "Then you must get out through your
window. You cannot pass them. They are a dozen or more, and armed.
Quick! knot this about the bars. It is no great depth to the bottom,
and the ground is soft from the rain."
She tore, as she spoke, the coverlet from the bed, and, twisting it
into a kind of rope, helped me to secure one corner of it about the
window-bar. "When you are down," she whispered, "keep along the wall
to the right until you come to a haystack. Turn to the left there--you
will have to ford the water--and you will soon be clear of the town.
Look about you then, and you will see a horse-track, which leads to
Elstree, running in a line with the London Road, but a mile from it
and through woods. At Elstree any path to the left will take you to
Barnet, and not two miles lost."
"Heaven bless you!" I said, turning from the gloom, the dark sky, and
driving scud without to peer gratefully at her. "Heaven bless you for
a good woman!"
"And God keep you for a bonny boy," she whispered.
I kissed her, forcing into her hands--a thing the remembrance of which
is very pleasant to me to this day--my last piece of gold.
A moment more, and I stood unhurt, but almost up to my knees in mud,
in an alley bounded on both sides, as far as I could see, by blind
walls. Stopping only to indicate by a low whistle that I was safe, I
turned and sped away as fast as I could run in the direction which she
had pointed out. There was no one abroad, and in a shorter time than I
had expected I found myself outside the town, traveling over a kind of
moorland tract bounded in the distance by woods.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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