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Updated: June 7, 2025
This was not because of what I had said, though no one present, and he least of all, could be fool enough to misunderstand it, but because of its effect on him. Then, as now, blood flowed like water on far lighter occasions than this, and Brocton, with all his faults, was a ready fighter.
You just write on your face as plainly as this" and here her dainty finger toured her face, ending up where the tear of milk had trembled "S-M-A-C-K." I roared aloud, she did it so frankly and mirthfully. What a treasury of moods she was! She had stepped across our house-place like a queen, she had fronted that devil, Brocton, like a goddess, and now she was larking like a schoolmaid.
Plainly as if she spoke the words, her great blue eyes were saying, "Am I leaning on a broken reed?" As she caught my look she turned to Brocton, and I gritted my teeth and listened. "So your lordship has found me!" She spoke easily and lightly. "How small the world must be since it cannot find room for me to avoid you!" "Say rather, dear mistress, that my love draws me unerringly towards you."
The thought did occur to me, though I took great care not to hint at it, that he intended to make away with the Colonel, and looked to finding tools among his blackguardly dragoons and an opportunity when in actual conflict with the Highlanders. I hesitated, however, to believe that Brocton was such a villain as to commit an unnecessary murder.
"The Highlanders would march it in less," replied Master Freake, "and this is not a campaign, but a race." "Where to?" It was Brocton who spoke. "London," was the prompt reply. "That's the heart of England, my lord, and if Prince Charles gets into the heart he need not be concerned over Wade marking time in the heels or the Duke sprawling about in its belly."
Yet Brocton dared not look at him again, as he shuffled forward on his man's arm to speak to Master Freake. "Mr. Freake," he piped, laying an imploring hand on the merchant's arm, "you will not be too hard on my foolish son?" It was the old rascal Earl of Ridgeley. I had not seen him since the trial, when I was but a lad.
Finally, when the sergeant was ordered to keep me at his peril till such time as I could be lodged in Carlisle jail, Brocton greedily tossed off a bumper of wine and laughed aloud at some vulgar sally from a lady in a green paduasoy. On leaving I bowed to the Duke. He was a vigorous, able man with the manners and morals of a bull. Brocton followed the sergeant out.
After a miserable drag of some two hours, a fresh dragoon came with a message, whereon the sergeant conducted me to the presence of the Duke, who was quartered in a large house in the village. The Lord Brocton, the Lord Mark Kerr, and other officers were with him, and also several ladies who would have been more at home in Vauxhall.
There were hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, horse and foot, and guns and wagons without end. Lord Brocton was there, and Sir Ralph Sneyd, who is just a duck, and a nasty-looking major with his face all over blotches. And they saw us, and crowded into the vicar's to talk to us." "And what about Jack Dobson?" "Oh, Oliver, what have you got your best clothes on for?"
"Since you took up with farmers you've got chicken-hearted at cards. Play on, my lord!" "I have told you," said I quietly to Brocton, "that his lordship has an engagement with me. That should be enough. If you want your revenge, which is natural, there are other nights available."
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