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Updated: May 20, 2025
John of Beverley, exclaimed Guy, laughing merrily, 'I cannot but think that the French and English Crusaders are already inclined to hate each other much more than either French or English hate the Saracens. AND what were the sultan and the Saracens saying and doing while the Crusaders were establishing themselves at Damietta, and delighting their souls with visions of the conquest of Egypt?
Well he knew that at his request the faithful but misguided Constance had been taken to Lindisfarne to be punished for crime committed through her mistaken love for him. As if he already saw disgrace for himself and death for her, he drew his mantle before his face, and bent his head upon his hands. Constance de Beverley at that moment was dying in her cell.
"It happened to form part of an important plan of mine," he said, "that a man who was dangerously ill should be brought over to England without raising any suspicion as to his bona fides. I made use of your sister's name and social position to ensure this. There has been, as I think you have often acknowledged, Beverley, a debt owing from you to me. Half of that debt your sister has paid."
Having no desire that the rash Beverley printer should squander his own or his children's fortune in the obscurity of Warwick Lane, I immediately acceded to his request, shortened sail, and went on with my story, perhaps with a shade less enthusiasm, having seen the shabby figure it was to make in the book world.
"Oh, poor, poor Madame," said the old lady, "she is asleep, thank God. But I am dreading her awakening." "The blow is a dreadful one," I admitted; "and Miss Beverley?" "She didn't go to her room until after four o'clock, sir, but Nita tells me that she will be down any moment now." "Ah," said I, and lighting a cigarette, I walked out of the open doors into the courtyard.
However," he drove the poker in a little further, "it's all the same now as she's refused me. That's why," he turned his eyes suddenly upon Sir Beverley, "there's nothing to be said." There was no defiance in his look, but it held something of a baffling quality. It was almost as if in some fashion he were conscious of relief. Sir Beverley stared at him, angry and incredulous. "Refused you!
But what struck me most was the name of Colonel Beverley. "Are you sure of all these?" I asked. "Sure as death," he said. "I'm not saying that they're all friends of yours, Mr. Garvald. Ye've trampled on a good wheen toes since you came to these parts. But they're all men to ride the ford with, if that should come which we ken of."
The president of the company, Walton Beverley, put the dirty work on me as treasurer. Now you can imagine what that meant." He had fallen into a cynical tone again. "It meant that I soon found, or, rather, thought I found, that every man has his price some higher, some lower, but a price, nevertheless. It was my business to find it, to keep it as low as I could with safety.
Common delicacy dictated an avoidance of Val Beverley until she should have recovered from the effect of Inspector Aylesbury's gross insinuations, and I was curiously disinclined to become involved in the gloomy formalities which ensue upon a crime of violence.
"I have been at Sandal twenty-two years come Martinmas, but I'm going to Beverley next feast." "You'll not do it, Ann. It's but talk." "Nay, but I'm set on it. I have taken the 'fastening penny, and I'm bound to make that good. Things are that trying here now, that I can't abide them longer."
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